1d20+7-1; 4d6
Cricket's ball of fire scorches the monster again, to little obvious effect.
Kelgan moves out of the acid fog a second time, loading another bolt into the crossbow. He braces and fires once again.
1d20+7-1; 4d6
Cricket's ball of fire scorches the monster again, to little obvious effect.
Instead of trying to bite again, the monster simply exhales another cloud, surrounding itself:
... and rather than lash its tail futilely at the Jaegr, this time the creature goes for a straight grapple:
Then Caspian, then Tsarok.
Jaegr avoids the worst of the cloud, but it leaves him open for the dragon's grab. "Caught me off guard this time beastie! Won't happen again"
The thing's crushing coils tighten inexorably; Jaegr is wounded and unable to bring his pick to bear.
The first acid cloud has dissipated, but this second one is maybe settled into a hollow or something and doesn't seem like it's in a big hurry to disperse. Tsarok can see the combatants inside because of his mist sight. Wyvurn has a 20% miss chance due to partial concealment up close (also, he needs to save vs. acid damage); and no one else can see into the cloud at all.
Caspian's up, Tsarok on deck.
Continues to use inspiration....
"Come on skin that gas-bag!"
Tsarok shouts out general directions to any trying to make their way through the mist.
"Just to the left... no, the other left...!"
He once again proves why he should perhaps he should stick to magic and not wielding weapons. In his defense, he's trying his hardest to not jab Jaegr in the backside with a ranged taser shot.
Wyvurn, please kill this monster before it eats Jaegr! Also don't forget to save for last round.
If Wyvurn doesn't finish the job, Cricket is up, then Kelgan, then Jaegr can either try again to escape, or else pull out a light weapon and go to town on the thing.
Note that, even if the thing dies before its turn, people still in the fog when the monster's initiative count comes up will take acid damage again.
Kelgan will charge into the cloud at the sound of crunching bone, closing with the second drake and shielding Jaegr. His glaive goes to work interfering with the drake's chokehold, trying to pry the dwarf out.
Status
AC: 32, CMD: 18, HP: 34/42, AoO: 2/3
Dropping his crossbow again, Kelgan lumbers forward, disappearing from view into the cloud of acid fog. Somehow his shield disperses enough of the droplets to keep him from suffering the effects that the others do, and he prepares to wedge his shield between Jaegr and the dragon, protecting his friend with a massive covering of wood and steel.
Wyvurn, then Jaegr...
Jaegr's failed attempt to slip out fails and when the beast begins to squeeze the life out of hit him decides to take out a dagger make it release him through pain.
Wyvurn grits his teeth and stands his ground, taking the worst of the cloud. He channels his ki again into the sword and lashes out with it along with a punch to the drake's flank.
Wyvurn, bravely standing in the midst of a cloud of acid, slashes a deep, powerful wound along the monster's neck. The monster wails in agony, heavily wounded, and as it rears back, Jaegr manages to draw a dagger and plunge it to the hilt between the drake's scales. With a shudder, the creature collapses to the ground and is still.
Yeah, take that you [bleep bleep bleep bleep]!!!
Looks around and sees Tsarok.
Uh, I mean...Dear Old Mother Tree, red in tooth and claw, forgive our trespasses against your sacred beasties, as we forgive those who trespass against us...
Thinks better of that last part.
Well, please forgive us anyway.
Tsarok shakes his head at the goblin. "No need to withhold your celebrations. The slaying of a mighty beast is something to be appreciated... as well as respected."
At those words, the lizard-man places his gear on the ground and slowly approaches the fallen dragons. "Let me put the spirits at peace. Not doing so would endanger us even more; the su-nath-yee would haunt our every step, seeking revenge." He was woefully unprepared for a sending ceremony such as this... May the Great Spirit guide me.
Tsarok begins to sanctify the corpses in his own way, involving the specific placement of twigs, stones, and knotted reeds around the bodies. He chants during the entire process, and those with some knowledge of Draconic may follow along with his greatly exaggerated descriptions of how mighty and fearsome the dragons were, as well as heart-felt pleas for their spirits to leave this place. A mix of mud and his own blood is smeared across the beasts' heads in the shape of a Draconic rune pronounced the same way as the 'Ts' in 'Tsarok', and he sears the inscription into the flesh with a few targeted jolts of lightning. Finally, he kneels before them, continuing the chanting with increased fervour with his eyes closed. Eventually Tsarok seems to be sated with his progress and slowly steps away, breathing heavily from the exertion of his ritual.
"It is customary for the slayers to take a piece of their kills with them," he says, looking at Jaegr and Wyvurn, "but if you do not wish to do so, I will humbly accept the duty of watching over the su-nath-yee souls, as you are mere guests in these lands."
"Additionally..." Tsarok glances back at the two dragon corpses. "It would be prudent to not waste their bodies. We should feed from the fresh meat and make use of the sinew and scales." Waste not, want not?
Although Cricket has not even a single rank in Knowledge [Religion], he is a 4th-level druid trained by wood elves, for Old Mother Tree's sake, and he helps out as best he can with the sending ceremony.
He also chants, but in Wood Elf.
La, la, luh-luh-luh-la, la, luh-luh-luh-la
Cricket, even untrained in the B.S. spouted by organized religions, is pretty sure that Tsarok is totally making up all this stuff as he goes along -- but at least it seems sincere (either that, or the lizard man is a major-league disturb-o). That said, Cricket, as a druid of the Second Circle, can detect spirits at will, and he senses that the spirits of this place are not overly agitated. So whatever it is that the self-proclaimed shaman is doing, it at least doesn't seem to be hurting anything.
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Wyvurn will wait until the ceremony is complete.
"Agreed on making use of as much as we can. If you say the meat is edible, Tsarok, then let us preserve what we can."
Wyvurn will then take the eyes from one of the drake's and puts them in a pouch holding it open to Cricket first.
"Would you mind laying a preserving spell on these until I can have them properly set into the pommel of my sword"
"Looks like you took some damage, Jaegr. Time to make good on my promise. Sit a spell and let me work on those burns."
Job finished, Kelgan wanders over and hands another glass bottle to Wyvern.
"You can plop the eye into one of these jars of spirits. I once met an Aramni who compared my whiskey to the embalming fluid they use on their dead in the desert. It should keep the eye preserved for weeks. Let me patch you up as well"
With the nesting drakes dead, it's probably safe to camp nearby, provided you don't sleep too close to rotting corpses. Alone, Tsarok would probably find a nice, cozy burrow in the mud to sleep in, but the others (except maybe Jaegr, who spent most of his life underground...) would probably have issues with that sort of accommodation.
Caspian looks over the two dead creatures trying to recall if he ever heard of good uses for dragon parts......
Also drops his inspiration
Knowledge lore
"Tasaroc would this hide make good armor?"
Caspian's lore ability is right on -- dragon hide tend to make great armor! However, Wyvurn, who is busy butchering one of the things to cook over the campfire, says, "this hide is pretty thin, compared to what I imagine a full-size dragon's would be."
"This might be an upgrade for Cricket."
Looks at the druid to confirm......
"I want to try and get a peice big enough to make bongos, and maybe a sack for the bagpipes."
"I want to try and get a piece big enough to make bongos, and maybe a sack for the bagpipes."
Neither Caspian nor Cricket has any training or experience in crafting instruments, nor in tanning leather, so you guys can grab smelly bits of scales with rotting meat still attached to them, scrape it off as best you can, and hope that you've got what you want...
The fact that Tsarok is probably making stuff up on the spot doesn't mean he doesn't believe he's divinely inspired by one thing or another... smile and nod, people, smile and nod.
He'll help Wyvurn with the skinning and gutting and so forth, although possibly a little disconcertingly will likely happily munch on some uncooked and sodden drake flesh as he does so.
Alas, he knows little of crafting. "It was never my job in the tribe to create armour and tools," Tsarok admits a little ruefully. "As third eldest, my craft was my mother's: mixtures and remedies."
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"And I thought they smelled bad on the outside...."
After the battle Jaegr take a moment to recover (Take a Breather) feeling a little better. Kelgan comes over to help heal his wounds and thanks him and Wyvurn. After the dust (acid cloud) clears he examines their work, "Well they were two mighty beasts, that is for sure. If this doesn't impress the tribe, then I am not sure what will"
For the record, Cricket doesn't mind sleeping in the mud.
"They were mighty, indeed. Quite fiercesome beasts. We fought well together, indeed. Solid aim with the firebomb, Wyvern. Would you like to carry one always? I have a few to spare."
Kelgan will take neither hide nor hair; it is bone he claims: a thick leg-bone as long as his arm. He volunteers his boiler to cook in, relishing a hot meal and the opportunity to taste dragon. He'll boil the bone bare and set to carving while the others prepare the meat.
First, he carves himself a new set of teeth. The dragon bone is solid and dense, and it will likely last significantly longer than the wooden ones he routinely destroys. Next, he sets about roughing out a long-handled pipe. He takes his time with that piece, carving carefully and deliberately. His task is far from finished, and it will take him several days - or even weeks - to do so, but he seems satisfied to wait and do the job properly.
Kelgan, untrained in any sort of carving, is having a hard time even with the teeth; every time he thinks he's done, he realizes they don't fit quite right. Getting a set that works might be an extended process with a lot of wasted raw material
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Wyvurn gladly accepts the flask of spirits but declines any healing. In fact, by the time Kelgan is done with Jaegr, the hobgoblins wounds are already closed.
"Thank you Kelgan. This should do just fine. I'll take you up on the firebomb as well. You never know when it will come in handy. I know first hand what it's like to catch one right to the face"
Wyvurn does the best he can to prepare the meat for the pot. Seeing Tsarok eat the meat raw, he dares try a nibble himself...and immediately regrets it as it tastes like the the drake bathed in vinegar and lemons for a year.
"Must be the thing's affinity for acid"
When no one is looking, he adds a dash from an alkali flask in hopes of cutting the acidity of the meat.
The night passes uneventfully, your sleep disturbed only by a hollow, forlorn lowing sound echoing over the moors. Even a half-hearted attempt at a catnapping watch is sufficient, because most creatures of the moors have taken to avoiding the drakes' lair.
Early the next morning Caspian has found a nearby cane pole attached some line and a hook and is attempting to fish with a hunk of left over drake meat....
"Morning all! Seems fine and fair fishing weather."
The poor halfling is having trouble staying firmly on the banks due to the general soggines of the grounds. Most would feel such cold upon their feet, but Caspian is one of the hairfoot breeds and his feet are not tender.
Cricket wakes up, prays to Old Mother Tree and does his morning callisthenics.
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After eating and breaking camp, you proceed deeper into the moors... the grasses become thicker, and the ground marshier. You pass a small herd of red cattle -- the bull snorts angrily in warning, and prepares to charge if you come near; his cows and calves stampede away, frightening aloft a flock of the gigantic boobries.
Cricket:
The birds, in turn, are saying to the cattle: "That's really rude of you to stampede over our lunch. For revenge, we're going to poop on your heads."
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[Does the virile red bull look like he could easily carry a 4th-level goblin druid into battle with ease?]
Cricket loudly announces to his boon companions Friends, halt! Don't move! That bull is looking to do it in the swamp and we would be wise to not invite its attentions. Does anyone have a red cape?
Cricket slowly and stealthily, oh so stealithly, works his red winter blanket out of his--boo ya!--handy haversack, dismounts from Wolvie and cautiously, oh so cautiously, moves towards the bull, his blanket held loosely out and in front of him, like a matador.