Dorn watches in horror as the hideous creature burns Gyro with its disgusting attack.
"Oh, Tymora, save me from myself," Dorn prayed as he moved closer and loaded another crossbow bolt.
Actions for tranche #3:
Dargrim's mighty blows dispatch yet another hapless foe, his quick reverse swing breaking the beack of the bulbous corpse in front of him and liquefying any internal organs that yet had structural integrity.
As with the previous downed victim, this one releases a yellow cloud, foul smelling and inky, affecting both Dargrim and Gyro:
Dargrim - fort save vs DC 14:
Gyro - fort save vs DC 14:
Dargrim remains unaffected, but Gyro retches at the foul odour! He is sickened for the next 2 round, suffering a -2 penalty to all rolls.
Dorn repositions himself and reloads his crossbow.
Actions for tranche #4:
The plant readies against approach, and takes no other actions.
Tranche #5 is up next - Gyro, Kevkas, and Ulciscor!
The map is here for your convenience. As noted earlier, I always copy the map to the campaign info page, as well.
Being sickened, and slower than most, Gyro decides to take the creature head on, and charges it!
Ulciscor and Kevkas are still pending actions; if no action by tomorrow morning I'll act for them.
Actions for tranche #5:
Gyro charges the evil-looking plant, and strikes a heavy blow with his hammer!
Not quite able to make his own charge, Kevkas moves up to J15 in order to support his gnomish companion.
Ulciscor moves forward 20' (to E17) and holds there; if things go badly he's going to have to deploy some healing!
Round six, tranche #1 - Lioslan and Innocent - are up next!
Lioslan shuddered to see the acid that ate away at Gyro's flesh. The gnome was brave to attack through such pain!
Encouraged by the effect his last arrow had on the walking plant, Lioslan edged to the side to avoid having Gyro in his path, then fired again at point-blank range.
Alas, his arrow tangled in its fronds once more. Lioslan closed his eyes for a moment, sending an exasperated plea to Correllon. Please, may I avoid embarrasing our kind?
Innocent emerges from the yellow cloud of spores that cling to blotches of coagulated blood on his face. He moves straight for the plant, anticipating a stray strike from a tendrils and trying to duck it before carving into its leafy flank.
Actions for tranche #1:
Lioslan's arrow does no discernible damage to the grotesque, moving weed.
Innocent moves in to attack the vile plant, though as he does so one of it's tendrils whips past his head:
AOO:
Dmg:
It misses wide over his head, as his own blow slashes at a vulnerable pod, severing it!
Tranche #3 - Dargrim and Dorn - are up next!
Dorn moves up and fires at awkward, disturbing mass of plant matter.
Dargrim closes the distance to the enormous plant-creature and continues whirlwinding his mighty hammer about him with cries of glee.
>
>>
Dargrim annihilates yet another foe, his powerful hammer reducing the foul plant into green and yellow, sappy remnants.
A yellow musk creeper - very dangerous! Argentia notes this whilst dispatching one final animated corpse with a slash of her sword. I've not seen one in the flesh before - nor was I aware they were just loitering about on the way to the mines.
"Somehow, I doubt they were to be found loitering about on the way to the mines, until very recently." Ulciscor's tone was wry, as he moved to make sure that the dead were actually (and would remain) dead, and take stock of the living.
"Who is injured?"
Dorn reloads his crossbow with a shaky breath. That had been far too close for his liking. Why was he doing this again? Oh, right, fortune and glory. Well that and he wasn't sure he could live with himself if he abandoned those minors.
"I'm hesitant to ask this, but do any of these corpses look familiar to you, Argentia?"
"First that statue of the rot-god, then this." Kevkas shakes his head. "I expect we'll see more of these moldy plant monster things in there." In answer to Ulcisor's question the big, badly wounded half-orc just grunts.
Lioslan surveyed the others as he stowed his bow once more. It appeared that they were neither badly injured, nor inclined to comment on his woeful representation of the elven people. Good on both counts; Lioslan had little in the way of excuse for his miserable showing. He examined the plant, looking to see if he might salvage any arrows; his expression told of the inner berating he was giving himself.
Finished with that task, he wiped his hands on a cloth, clearing the disgusting pollen from them. "I had hoped that Moander's rot would be confined to that hapless mining camp. I see now that we may have a more insidious foe to face than mere orcs. The treachery of the foreman likely knows no bounds."
He listened to Argentia's answer to Dorn's question, then regarded the dead with pity. "There is little time to spare to bury the dead. The living may yet be saved. Perhaps Ulciscor might say a few words over them, to ease their spirits before we move on."
Ulciscor first focused on the living, bringing all of the wounded together, away from the dead plant-things. Then he called upon his god.
"Peace has been brought unto the bodies of the fallen, Lord. Grant these souls succor, for having done this good work."
Seeing very little effect from that prayer, Ulciscor looked up at the sky with an exasperated expression. Then his tone changed a bit, and he prayed again.
"Now that Peace, and its reward hath been attained in this place, Doombringer, Grant unto these souls here Thy strength, that they may bring Retribution unto those who have so mistreated the innocent."
"Hmph." Ulciscor nodded, as healing energy flowed through him more fully this time. The message was clear - to him, and quite possible to his companions - which aspect of this mission the Doombringer was more fully behind.
With another nod to his companions, Ulciscor turned to the dead. He bowed his head over the bodies, and began the words of the funerary rites. Though they didn't have time to bury these dead now, Ulciscor was not going to cheat the dead of the proper intercession for their souls.
Whereas others may sheathe or put away weapons, Innocent's scimitar remains in his hand and his body alert for several seconds after Dargrim's hammer makes a sour salad of the yellow musk creeper. The blackguard turns on his heel to look past the clearing, then at the bodies, and finally sweeps the tip of the blade at one of the dead plant's leafy vines before the adrenaline ebbs.
Blade still in hand, Innocent then stalks the battleground with no apparent purpose, for though he looks intently at each dead villager taken by the creeper he does not begin looting pockets. Instead he sees faces he remembers; Saul the front guard whose arm he cut off. That midwife who didn't believe him when he said they wouldn't harm the children in the nursery and forced him to open her throat to keep her from screaming the alarm. Hector the blacksmith who disarmed him and put up a hell of a fight until Innocent bull rushed him over an anvil and crushed his chest with the hammer, still glowing red from the furnace. In each of their eyes, the sentence of betrayer.
He stopped in front of the head he had lopped off, and kicked it over to stare into the blank eyes. He was relieved to find no judgment in them.
"The treachery of the foreman likely knows no bounds."
"Treachery rarely does," the grim warrior remarks, finally rousing from his silence and cleaning the blade of filth and gore. He doesn't bother to do the same for himself, and remains caked in blood and pollen-yellow spores.
"Grant unto these souls here Thy strength, that they may bring Retribution unto those who have so mistreated the innocent."
He looked up at the priest obediently. Aside from the obvious, the wording of the prayer left him with no comfort. But Ulciscor had proven he cared as much for the dead as for the living. To him, and to the Doombringer, the dead were more than just discarded chaffe. They retained at least one need to be fulfilled: vengeance. Though to Innocent, the exercise of visiting revenge still seemed more for the sake of the living who either take comfort in balanced scales or who thrive on conflict.
The dead of Yûlash, on the other hand...
Dorn moves over to Innocent, noting the gore upon him.
"Er. I could, you know. Clean that all up, if you'd like. I have a spell for that," he says trying to sound helpful, even as the gory sight makes him feel almost faint.
Gyro stands up. What ever the thing did to him loosened some of the knots in his body. He felt a bit more... nimble so to speak. Not the running around and jumping like some of his family. No... his arms felt like they needed to contract and heave a bit. Was a horrible sensation. But now he could feel it was needed as he weighed his hammer in his hand. Yes. Much simpler.
"We done here? Lets get going we need to go make sure we can save who we can"
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Kevkas nodded his thanks to Ulcisor. In response to Gyro's comment he grunted. "I think saving might be off the table by now. Vengeance, though, that's always available."
Argentia nods her head at Dorn, surveying the field of fallen bodies. I knew many of them, indeed, Dorn....
We'll move on as soon as you're ready, men ... I can only imagine what lies ahead of us.
Having finished cleaning his blade, he sheaths it and looks at Dorn, as though the man had asked him whether he preferred his ice cubed or shaved. Once catching on, he acquiesces. "Too bad you haven't one to clean that up, wizard," he tells the sorceror, angling his head towards the bloody mess along Dargrim's trail of destruction.
He nods in agreement with Kevkas. "I have less and less belief in survivors the more we discover. At least half of us are trained for battle. How could the miners have fared better?"
He sets off with the company.
"My Lord called us here. In my experience, that rarely means something good has happened."
Ulciscor shrugged.
"'Rarely' doesn't mean 'never,' though."
He seemed undisturbed by either possibility, merely nodding to indicate his readiness to proceed.
"Numbers accountered thus far leaves plenty left yet fer th'saving." Dargrim offers with a bit of hope. "Nary had t'put down plants what raise deaders afore. Puts a crawl aneath me skin ah cannae itch, it does. If yer bleedin' God needs vengeance doled, ah'll nay shirk th'task, lad." Dargrim plants the butt of his earthbreaker against the ground, his hand gripping the weapon's haft firmly near the enormous head. He nods grimly to Ulciscor.
"Th'wee one's right. Maybe th'bulk o' them be dead, an' maybe they're still suckin' air aneath the ground somewhere. We won't reckon a'true until we delve th'deep ourselves." He hefts his hammer before him and presses forward with the rest, the thrum of adrenaline from the scuffle still not out of his blood completely.
Ulciscor returned Dargrim's nod, the corners of his mouth ticking up slightly as the dwarf referred to him as 'lad,' - though whether that was from amusement or pleasure at the informality, one couldn't tell. Ulciscor was almost always smiling, after all.
"Let's be about it, then. Rescue, Retribution, or a little of both."
Progress up the road remains slow, though uneventful, aside from the number of bodies that remain strewn along the road. Most have plant growth emerging from every orifice on their heads, a thick, thorny, sickly green growth with oddly shaped mauve flowers.
After an hour or so, you see, about 400 feet away, a lone figure just standing in the middle of the road. It remains unmoving, giving no evidence that it has seen you. It just stands there, stock still, not responding at all.
A survivor? whispers Argentia, dropping low and moving into the bush at the side of the road.
"Not moving... i dont like this. Ill go have a look. Have backup ready if it us what i think it is"
He begins to walk towards the figure
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"Or perhaps someone a bit more subtle could scout ahead. No offense Master Gyro, but you're not exactly, er, discreet."
"Scouts can cover me. So just let me walk to the person and ask directly. Much simpler than jjust skulking about. Not saying dont sneak. But sneak while i provide a distraction "
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"If you're to be directly in front of it, what purpose does a distraction have? We may as well all approach." Lioslan pointed out. "But I shall cover you, if that is your wish." He nocked an arrow and shrugged at the others.
"Argentia, do you by any chance recognize that person?"
Not from this distance, Lioslan. Male, human, workers build - could be any of hundreds of mine workers.
The individual remains still, giving no indication of having seen your group. He does move, periodically, looking up to the sky. He isn't armed, at least from what you can tell, and is dressed in civilian clothes, dirty and tattered.
"If it is a sentry, a 'distraction' is likely to be counter-productive," Ulciscor said. "But 'sneaking' is not a talent Hoar has seen fit to bless me with. So." He shrugged.
"So we sit back and simply wait? Uhg... i hate doing nothing. But fine. If everyone is so keen ons sneaking about. I will wait here and be bored." he huffs
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Innocent surveys an area about 200 feet ahead, half of the distance between them and the target, looking for possible cover. If he spots areas to take cover near there, he suggests it to the others. "But otherwise, Gyro has the right of it. We close half the distance, and if nothing happens and we are still unnoticed, take cover and I will fire an arrow near the target and hail friend or foe. Anything shy of friend and we cut it down on the spot."
"No, Gyro," Ulciscor said, with his slight, ever-present smile, "We don't do nothing. We just do our 'something' with some strategic thought involved. Follow Innocent. He's good at strategic thought."
"Ah, if tha' be a lookout, he's doin' a s#**e job at it." Dargrim squints and shields his eyes from the sun to stare down the way at the motionless sentry. "Worry not Gyro. One thing yer always safe t'bet on's a fool're a beasty what needs a proper crushin'. Come nightfall, our arms'll be sore o' the toil, eh? Hue hue hue!"
"Bah! Let's all just go and crush anything that tries to kill us! If nobody's scouting, why have any of us hang back?"
"If none of us are particularly good at scouting, then I suppose it doesn't make much sense to try. So we're agreed then? We all move in together?"
Lioslan sniffed at Dorn's remark; of course an elf was good at scouting. But he bowed to the majority rule.
"Agreed. Let us move forward, and see what villainy lies in our path."
Ulciscor shrugged, and nodded, prepared to follow the others.
As you get closer, the figure - a human male, early middle age, brown hair - looks at you. His right eye twitches, several times, as if he is about to enter a spasm, but it quickly relents and a smile spreads across his face.
Greetings, travelers! Fine day for a walk, isn't it? I have the day to myself, free of our great work in the mines. Can't work myself to death, can I? Ha. Ha. Ha. The voice is monotone, lifeless, and there is no mirth behind the laugh. He takes no other action, however, just looking up to the sky, then down to your party.
Lioslan's hands tightened on his bow and arrow, though he didn't raise them. "I mislike the smell of this," he whispered to his companions, scanning the trees and the sky above. "More precisely, his smell. Like rotten flowers. What purpose could he have here, but as a sentry? Perhaps a trap?"
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"This thing is dead. There is a plant creeping out of its ear. Do we end it now? "
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While the man has the manners of an automaton, he certainly doesn't seem dead - his chest heaves as he takes breath, and his skin, while of an odd pallor, does not have the greyness of Myrkul's hand upon it.
He continues to smile at your group, while he sits down in the middle of the road.
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"He's not dead. At least not that I can see," Dorn whispers to the others. "You can see him breathing."
Dorn tried to recall reading of anything like this before.