"I agree with Haftor. Let's move."
"Agreed, we have risk enough as is," Trianne says.
The party chooses the better part of valor and heads down the noisome hole, shouts in Giant echoing behind them. Based on the sound, someone briefly opened the door to the latrine but didn't enter.
It takes some time for everyone to climb down and get to the grate, due mostly to the narrowness of the passage and the large volume of loot that Jarrek is carrying. However, there doesn't seem to be anyone outside the grate in a position to notice when it opens, and Seamus is able to exit (apparently) unnoticed.
The gnome gets out and doesn't see anyone on the wall above. He sees some movement in the watchtower to the north, though, and it quickly becomes obvious that the shouts outside have drawn the attention of whatever is up there: what sounds like a large and heavy bell begins tolling from the tower.
The party makes good their escape in the next few minutes.
"Let's get out of here. A mile or so away sounds good."
Jarrek nods. "Let's go."
The party retreats a mile or so unmolested.
"I would guess that the surviving giants could easily figure out our path by tracking us. My guess is that they will watch or seal the sewer entrance so we can't go back in that way. I could be wrong, so it might be worth checking.
Other options would be:
I don't know all of the magic that you have available, and it is possible that magic offers additional options."
Jarrek shrugs. "Let's check to see if we can just go in the way we came out."
The party cautiously approaches the palisade. Before drawing too close, though, there's something obviously different about the place: what had the day before been a few small wisps of smoke from cook fires has turned rather more extensive--a couple of columns of smoke emanate from the interior of the fort. There are no sentries visible on the walls.
On coming nearer, Seamus is the only one who notices that the party is being watched by someone (or something) hidden behind one of the tents.
Psst....Over there the gnome points out the tent with a barely subtle nod and louder than intended stage whisper to the group.
Nothing apparently happens.
As Haftor stomps forward, a figure emerges from behind the tent. He looks like a dwarf who's had an unfortunate encounter with a rogue barber--his hair is cut raggedly short, and of his beard only a few small tufts remain. His clothes are in tatters, as though some wild beast has clawed at them. He's carrying a silvery frying pan.
Kronug does not yet speak Dwarven, so he holds back while Haftor consults with his kinsman.
"Jarrek, you carry many weapons. Might one be more suitable for this dwarf than the skillet he carries?"
If a unicorn had stepped out from behind the tent and kissed Haftor on the lips, he would have been no more surprised than he was at the moment, gaping at the scruffy dwarf. He finally found his voice, and replied,
He switches to the common tongue. "If Ingrahild is your sister, then it is Torag's will that we found you. She seeks you still, and awaits word of your fate at Castle Firrine station. Are you a prisoner of the Twisted Hearts?"
Haftor tries not to stare at the shameful condition of the man's beard.
The dwarf's expression mirrors Haftor's at the mention of Ingrahild. "Torag be thanked, she lives! Thank you, Haftor Ygrendir." He clasps Haftor's shoulder firmly as he regains control of himself. "I am indeed Ingrahild's brother. My name is Umlo Nargrymkin. Droja...ah, it seems she did not tell you her name. She is a half-orc oracle, and the one who cured the insanity that the hags cursed me with. She has also kept me alive when the orcs had me fighting their bears...ah, well. Some of them, at least, have been repaid for that insult. I was a prisoner of the Twisted Hearts, but after last night the Twisted Hearts exist only in the maddened ambitions of a hill giant. Droja made sure I could escape before the fighting began."
Trianne doesn’t interrupt the dwarven palaver, but she speaks to the others hanging back with her. “If the true infighting has begun, there'll be looting. We need to get the other half of the map from Grenseldek. And quickly, or it could disappear to gods only know where.”
Haftor nods slowly, a grim expression forming on his face. "Umlo Nargrymkin, these are my companions, Trianne Ashton, Jarrek Everstand, Seamus MacWirst, and Kronug...my apologies to you as I know not your family name."
He then adds, "We are Giantslayers, and we have come to put an end to this hill giant's ambitions, and her life. Umlo, any details you can provide about this conflict might aid us in choosing a tactical approach to our goal. Where is the fighting taking place? What are the factions? Who is winning?"
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"The fighting is done, for now. It started when the ogres discovered that someone had released the manticores that Grenseldek had captured. One was dead, and they killed the other when it attacked them. They investigated and found that someone had killed two of Grenseldek's kin, then slain their leader. The boot prints they found looked enough like what orcs wear, and many of the wounds looked like what a falchion or greatsword would inflict...they drew the obvious conclusion, and went after the orcs. Droja had some warning, though, and General Karrguk was ready. It was quite the fight. The last I saw, Karrguk was dead, along with about two-thirds of the orcs and half of the ogres and ogrekin. Droja led the surviving orcs away last night after turning the bears loose and starting some fires to cover their retreat." He smiles grimly. "I accounted for a pair of orcs and an ogrekin myself, and would have done more if I'd had my armor and weapons. Though I've grown fond of this." He hefts the frying pan.
Haftor nods slowly, a grim expression forming on his face. "Umlo Nargrymkin, these are my companions, Trianne Ashton, Jarrek Everstand, Seamus MacWirst, and Kronug...my apologies to you as I know not your family name."
Kronug shakes his head.
"We Kellids do not use surnames as Southerners do. Just Kronug is fine. Or Lieutenant Kronug of Lastwall.Anyway, it sounds like the enemy ranks have thinned, but Grenseldek has not fled. Let us take the fight to her and her remaining allies. With Umlo properly armed and accompanying us if he wishes."
Jarrek nods at Trianne. "Umlo, do you know where Grenseldek's chambers are? We're trying to recover half of a map and don't want to lose our chance."
"No. I have never set foot inside the fort."
"Jarrek, can you spare a weapon for Umlo?"
"Umlo, I just so happen to be carrying a flaming scimitar you can use, if you like."
He adds, "I suggest we go back in through the sewer, then. If the giants think it was the orcs, then even if they tracked our trail, they can't be expecting the orcs to come back, right?"
Jarrek nods. "What do you like to use, Umlo?"
"Besides a frying pan," Trianne adds with a smile, stepping up to join the conversation.
The dwarf gratefully accepts the scimitar. "Thank you. I am once again in your debt."
Nothing stops the party from reentering via the sewer.
"I'm going to guess that her quarters are near the manticores' cage. The fancy silk gown? The letters? The dowry?
They were guarding her belongings.
There were double doors behind that cage, leading to stairs up. That's where I suggest we go."
”Right, then.” Haftor hikes up his belt, arms his hammer and shield, and is ready to go.
This building is a fortress, and wasn't exactly designed for luxury. All of the windows are slits; there are likewise no balconies visible.
"Any spells that any of you mages or priests want to cast? I am ready for battle."
Kronug will lead the way through the room with the manticore cage to the stairs heading up.
“Just one quick spell that will allow us to communicate quietly over some good distance, if you’re interested,” Trianne says as she begins to cast, activating the spell on all those who comply.
She backs away some distance and whispers to Kronug, “Ready. Lead the way.” Taking up her position, she instructs any who need assistance in how to send quiet messages.
Jarrek shrugs and nods before casting a spell on himself. "Let's go kill some giants."