S Pew "Club" vs T: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12 for 2d6 + 10 ⇒ (6, 3) + 10 = 19
18 Tiabrar : 5ft step, longsword, wild swing
18 Mobled : Flurry vs wight, hits for 9HP, 11HP, drops the wight
18 Martigan : Casts Bless
11 Petrel : Stabs at burning skeleton, misses
6 Doruk : Slashes at burning skeleton, hits for 7HP (DR5), drops it
24 Mukluk : Wands skeleton by Tiabrar for 3HP
24 Wight (-40): dead dead
24 Lg Skeleton #1 (-21) : dead dead
24 Lg Skeleton #2 (-3): Swings bench at Tiabrar
18 Tiabrar :
18 Mobled :
18 Martigan :
11 Petrel :
6 Doruk :
24 Mukluk :
Tiabrar backs away, unused to wielding his longsword, slashing wildly and missing while Mobled continues to simply punch the wight into a more permanent state of death.
The Sun Father's blessings twinkle with a warm light as Doruk's guisarme slices through the burning skeleton, and Mukluk is forced to aim his wand elsewhere, it's arcane energy rippling through the menacing bench-wielding monster facing Tiabrar.
The large skeleton advances, handling the wooden bench like a toy club, smashing it against the wall near Tiabrar as the elf winces and recognized the sheer, destructive strength of his adversary.
Only the large skeleton attacking Tiabrar is left.
Ah it did attack with reach... no worries though, as...
Mobled rushes forward through the debris, bringing her dorn-dergar into what surely passes for the skeleton creature's ribs, while Doruk rolls into position and brings his guisarme upward. Despite it glancing off the bone, it manages to shatter most of what remains on the creature as it drops back into a lifeless pile.
Combat is over! Mukluk can save that last wand charge he used.
A thorough search of the room determines the orcish wight was wearing what appears to be a masterwork breastplate (of the agile variety), while a magical aura can be detected on the full plate armor worn by the long dead dwarven corpse.
"Take that, ye boney bastard! No unlife for you, ever again!" Mukluk strokes his beard and puts away his wand, still awed by the dwarven holy room. "Martigan, don't suppose you can help re-sanctify this room so that these things or worse don't like being here until we can get a true Moradinite here to do proper dwarven blessings?"
Mukluk has a hopeful gleam in his eye. "I can help out some with the high prayer, it would mean so much."
Crossing the hall to the far side, usual precautions are employed prior to opening the door before Mobled swings it open and everyone cautiously advances, light cantrips renewed and weapons ready.
This large room is line with hearths.
Pots, pans, cauldrons and kettles lie scattered throughout the room, and an archway to your right leads into a pantry filled with what you can clearly identify as rotting foodstuff. You spy several rats fleeing for deeper darkness at your approach.
The room obviously once served as the kitchen for the dwarven smiths.
Mobled begins to enter the room as she always does, and Doruk steps forward second. Upon Doruk's entry and seemingly ignorant of Mobled's presence, the large wooden table in the room shudders and seems to come to life as it advances forward at the Shieldlander.
Male Human (Oerdian) (Per +2 | Fort +5 Ref +2 Will +1 | AC 26 (f24/t12) | CMD 21)
I still am not certain the armor is going to Doruk, but if it is, he carries his banded and sets it down at the door to each room as they enter, retrieving it as we walk to the next room. At least until we surface again and he can set it with the other gear.
Doruk, shield up and guisarme at the ready, wonders at the moving table.
Perhaps it is simply being helpful. It is reasonable that not EVERYTHING in here is hostile. Some things must be in place to help the Dwarves in their daily routine. Why not a moving table?
None the less, he warns the others just in case.
"It may be nothing hostile, but that table is moving toward me."
Male Human Rogue 4: Knife Master, Sanctified Rogue
Petrel is surprised Mobled would turn her back on a suddenly animated table, but laughs off her sudden rage at the compliment.
"Oh! You've been imprisoned so long you probably don't recognize a compliment anymore. That is how people talk: As strong as an ox, as pretty as an elf, as smart as a dwarf, as nimble as a cat... Or as violent as an Orc."
Duegar sure are touchy. They hate orcs more than dwarves and elves put together!
butch female Dwarf Per +8 | Fort +10 Ref +4 Will +7 | AC 18 (f17/t14) | CMD 20)
Mobled, having very little interest in the daft 'human' woman, walks over to the ladder, but hesitates for a bit. She avoids meeting the eyes of her companions, a look of shame on her face.
He didn't mean anything by it... Daft human dinna know what th' orcs did t' ye. T' yer clan. Mukluk urges 'im on, but 'e's as barmy as Coz Gobfob. Guess coz is takin' pity on th' poor soul. Should do th' same.
"Petal, I'm sorry fer snappin' at ye. Ye're human 'n 'ave no way o' knowin' what th' orcs done t' m—." Her voice chokes as her hand drops to protect her lower abdomen. She quickly regains her composure, and looks up with a fire in her eyes. "My people."
"'N Petal, I'm no duergar. Th' duergar're th' stuff o' madness 'n corruption. I'm jus' Haela's daughter, all fury 'n spite."