In Pursuit of a Dream

[Galvain7]

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The scene opens with the entourage of one Lady Cil, (crime boss, opium magnate, and your employer) heading into the interior of Delta to take stock of the recent poppy harvest in her main producing area, Serenity Isle. Lady Cil and company are traveling on an Imperial Mail Steamboat (called a packet or mail packet) to avoid unwanted searches by the local militia in the employ of Governor Slumprump.

With great weariness of body the Old Man clamored on board the packet boat bound for the interior. He was the last to board, and before he could find a place to sit the boat lurched away from the rickety pier and into the channel of the river. The long delay caused by the loading of the cargo and passengers was in a way a mixed blessing, for the boiler had already built a full head of steam, and the engine churned with a mechanical rhythm that was conducive for sleep.

As the only real cabin was already occupied by the Lady and her maids, the Old Man made do under the canvas awning over the aft section of the boat, above the door that led to the stern cabin. The engine was in the center of the boat, where two sullen slaves were feeding the engine with coal. In front of the engine was the wheelhouse, manned by the warforged, Captain Three Arms. Although the wheelhouse was enclosed, the third stinger-like arm between what passed for Three Arms’ shoulder blades clutched a pink parasol.

In addition four guards in Postal Service uniforms and armed with muskets and cutlasses aimlessly walk the deck, smoking and casting shifty glances at the shores on either side.

Before long the rain began, heralding the coming of the ‘Very Wet’ session. The combined rainfall and engine turning made a soothing song and before long the Old Man closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Though he did not sleep, his attention was far away.

Three clangs like the violent ringing of a bell grope at the Old Man in his meditations, but he does not stir.

The twin cries of “Treason!” and “Blasphemy!” coming from the mechanical throat of Captain Three Arms finally tear him from his reserve with a start. The Old Man’s eyes come open just in time to see the naked back of one of the stoking slaves dive into the water. Hastily turning his gaze to the engine, he beholds a disturbing sight. The second slave lay dead on the deck, blood gushing from a massive dent in his face. A shovel lay nearby, coated in blood that was rapidly being washed away by the rain. The murderous slave had somehow jammed the smoke vent to the funnel closed with a shovel, and battered the handle off the fuel door to the boiler. The smoke buildup was rattling the bolts that held the cast iron engine together….

A single super-heated screw flew 50 feet into the air with a sound like a rocket, arching toward the jungle canopy on the port side of the ship.
For a moment all that could be heard was the futile hissing of the engine as the boiler leaked steam. The packet boat stalled in the water, disabled. In the distance a solid crash could be head as the iron screw burnt a hole in the canopy. Smoke began to rise from the jungle.

“Oh. Oh No!” gasped the guard sergeant. “Flasks ou-“

The order was cut short by an enormous bang like a cannon shot, as a dark shadow falls across the boat. Hundreds of thorns the size of a man’s foot slam into the boat like so many arrows, and the craft rocks from the force. The barrage tears the guards on deck to ribbons, and they collapse like rag dolls, howling in agony. Arching high above the boat, coming over the river from the port side, four enormous, tentacle-like strands of murder-vine crash into the desk, splintering the wood with an ear splitting crunch. Instantly the plants find their prey among the four dying of the guards on deck, wrapping around their mid-sections like engorged snakes. With blinding speed the four vines whip their prey off the deck and into the jungle, accompanied by the hapless screams of the men, and the drizzle of their blood mimicking the raindrops on the deck.

Then everything fell silent for a long instant.

Spoiler

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The raised sides of the aft gunnel on the boat saved you from the throne barrage. You have one full round to prepare before things get interesting! As a free action, I’ll allow a perception check to see if you can spot anything that might be of use in the upcoming fight. Technical aspects of the battle will follow your full round, and I would like you to insert any thoughts that come to you during your medications. Initiative is unnecessary, as you are waiting for the attack to come to you- i.e. you go first.

[DueceEsMachine]

The Old Man

*With a bit of a groan, the old man adjusts his limping gait to the sudden lurch of the packet boat. No respect for the elderly. What is the world coming to? Shuffling his way over to what looks like a comfortable spot beneath the canvas canopy, he settles in with a groan. Youngsters. Always in such a hurry. Well. Such was the way of things. Their blood ran a bit hotter than his own, no harm in that. I wonder what some of these pups would think if they knew I'd spent more time pouring over pages in my library than they've been alive...*

*With a light chuckle, he pulls his pipe from one of the seemingly numberless pockets of his coat. Such a treasure, that pipe. He took a moment to admire the delicate silver lines, the fine workmanship. It was a thing of beauty. Ah. Memories. Old men seemed to have no shortage of those.*

*Making careful note to conceal his hands as he conjured the smallest of flame to light the pipe, he puffed slowly, enjoying the simple pleasures all around. The intoxicating aroma of the world. The music being played all around. It was lost on the rest of them, he was sure, but they'd learn in time. If they lived long enough.*

*Loud sounds echo from somewhere on the ship, but for a moment they are just another addition to the music all around. There were plenty of guards to deal with any problems that might arise.... or so he thought before the cries of the captain echoed out.*

*With a start, he watched the bolt as it arched high into the rainy sky, hoping that it would cool enough through it's flight not to start a fire, but he knew better instantly. Time seemed to slow as his vision focused on the bolt. It hadn't gone more than a dozen yards into the jungle, but even as it fell, he could still see the red-hot threads nearly stripped from it's forceful ejection. Ah, hells..*

*It was probably his reflexes alone that saved him as he bent his body forward behind the cover of the gunnel, a thorn tearing through the back rim of his hat where his head hand been only a moment before. It was a bother, but the least of his worries. His eyes scanning the surrounding area, his hands worked with a mind of their own, pulling the small pump and sprayer from one of his pockets. This was going to get ugly before it got better. *

*With a glance towards the boiler, he thought about somehow unplugging the chute. Their best bet for survival was to get that door open and get this thing moving again. Pulling a small glass rod from a pocket with his other hand, he didn't hesitate for another attack, instead going straight for the hinges on the door, careful to stand to the side as he let the small tendrils of the creatures inside work their magic. Hopefully this would work.*

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Alright, well, I'm going to have my sprayer ready with a does of defoliator if the vines come back, I guess that's a readied action, and I'll use the rust monster wand to eat away the hinges on the door, and with any luck the pressure will blow it out the rest of the way.
Perception -
[roll0]