"The whiff of fire always seems to take the backbone out of these miscreants!"
Throw a fire bomb
The trek through the Puddles was challenging for Hrimnagel with the sea water coming to his waist. When they had left the Puddles and into the scrub of the coast, he had drawn and carried his longbow from habit. Although the situation looked desperate on the cliff, he was at least dry. Hrimnagel snaps off a shot at the thug at the end. The arrow sinks into his left shoulder narrowly turned by his armor away from his heart. Then, he advances attempting to disappear in his shadows.
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Argor quickly assesses the situation, and hanks to his much improved vision, quickly locates the man fitting the description of their quarry. "There, on the right end of the line."
He then leans his staff into the crook of his shoulder as Arctyryx takes flight, and begins the practiced motions of a spell he had mastered as a child. His chanting continues for several seconds as he builds his arcane power.
Noting the distance (and still rather exhilarated that she can see with clarity that far away), Cladissa sights along her crossbow, taking aim at one of the toughs. She exhales slowly, and tries to steady her nerves at using potentially lethal force against a living target. She needn't have worried, as the arcing bolt sticks fast in one of the thugs' leather jerkin, doing no damage.
Stopping for a moment to gather bearings has never been a tactic in Grommuk's arsenal. Hearing of what occurred in the Soggy Piper, the orc's desire to inflict injury on something builds steadily into a raging maelstrom. Even as the party clears the district proper, leaving behind paved streets and buildings for coastline vistas and vegetation, his breathing becomes more heavy and agitated. His strides deteriorate from composed and calm to determined and brutish—animal like even. Grommuk's right shoulder leads into his chosen path, his movements becoming lopes; then the thugs in question finally come into view. His feet are already thumping a charge before he even realizes the old men are there.
An incomprehensible slur of enraged bellowing and syllables that don't form any actual words gives way long enough for Grommuk to finally manage something almost intelligible. "Graaaah! Dogs with leashes! Puddle Dogs! Grommuk HATE Puddle Dogs! Grommuk crush Puddle Dogs with bare hands! Raaaaaauuuuughh!" Despite his immense size, Grommuk's speed is considerable as he charges into the enemy lines, occasionally leaning forward to all fours as he leverages his thick knuckles to propel his even thicker frame along.
Cyrill walks forward as he draws a couple of small vials from a pouch on his belt. "The whiff of fire always seems to take the backbone out of these miscreants!" he says as he mixes the vials together and throws them at the tattooed thugs. The explosive filled glass arcs through the air landing behind the thugs and splashing them with flaming liquid. They scream in shock, whacking their clothes and limbs trying to extinguish the blaze.
The trek through the Puddles was challenging for Hrimnagel with the sea water coming to his waist. When they had left the Puddles and into the scrub of the coast, he had drawn and carried his longbow from habit. Although the situation looked desperate on the cliff, he was at least dry. Hrimnagel snaps off a shot at the thug at the end. The arrow sinks into his left shoulder narrowly turned by his armor away from his heart. Then, he advances several yards before disappearing into his own shadowy aura.
The thug which Hrimnagel shot brutally kicks Yargos off the cliff. The fat old scholar yelps as his weight and the chains draw three of the other old men with him. The last one in the line, a former warrior by his look, grabs desperately onto the edge of the crumbling stone. He holds on for now, but surely the aged man can't do so for long!
The rest of the thungs whirl, and move to surround Grommuk. They lash out at him with the spiked gauntlets, which are shaped to look like massive clawed dog paws. "F~%% you orcie!" one calls. These doggys gonn eat you!" says another, as the other three start barking and growling at the top of their lungs. But this is a dance that Grommuk knows well. He dodges most of the blows, shoving the smaller men out of the way easily. Those coming from behind clank uselessly against his chain armor and corded muscles, doing no damage.
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Hang on! Cladissa shouts as she sees the prisoners start to slide off the cliff. Too far away to do anything, she bolts forward, taking long strides to cover as much distance as she can.
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Run this round, finishing her movement at M20.
Hrimnagel snipes the same thug from the cover of his shadowy aura. He takes a deep breath. Suddenly Grommuk looms large between the deep gnome and his target enough to distract the releases of his arrow, which sails off the cliff into the sea. crap.
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As the Eagle does it's work, Argor removes the lid from the red scroll case at his hip. He removes a roll of parchment, unrolling it as he walks forward, his eyes flicking from the writing in front of him to the fight ahead.
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His attackers find no purchase against armor nor hide, like gnats trying to gnaw through the thick hide of an elephant. Grommuk narrowly sidesteps a vicious backhand from a spiked gauntlet belonging to a thug at his rear—a blow whose threat does not go unanswered by the immense orc it sought to maim. Grommuk swings his left elbow around in a wide arc to distract his many foes long enough for his right hand to go to work. The Puddle Dog on his left flank receives the full brunt of the behemoth's rage. His right hand descends and quickly wraps the man's head in a cage of thick, green fingers. A horrible, muffled pop accompanies immensely painful wailing. Blood, bone, and brain matter erupt from between the orc's digits like thick jelly.
Grommuk continues his bestial roaring, reveling in the wanton destruction. The lifeless, spasming body of the mostly-headless thug is discarded unceremoniously behind him.
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>
Cyrill will move to the right, eyeing the target carefully. When within 10' of the target his elbow and shoulder sickenly pop of his sockets as his arms lengthens to more than twice its length, his fist taking the shape of a hammer. [ dice=tohit] 1d20+2; 2d6+3 [/dice]
"Hang on!" Cladissa shouts as she sees the prisoners start to slide off the cliff. Too far away to do anything, she bolts forward, taking long strides to cover as much distance as she can.
Hrimnagel snipes the same thug from the cover of his shadowy aura. He takes a deep breath. Suddenly Grommuk looms large between the deep gnome and his target enough to distract the releases of his arrow, which sails off the cliff into the sea. Crap.
As Argor finishes his spell, a resplendent eagle appears ahead of the party, seeming to radiate an inner light. Argor points to the cliff, and the creature streaks off in that direction, assailing the vile human at the end of the line. The avian tears into the mans throat, leaving a vicious gash on the man's neck as it surveys the villains arrayed before it. The thug tumbles to the ground, dead. As the Eagle does it's work, Argor removes the lid from the red scroll case at his hip. He removes a roll of parchment, unrolling it as he walks forward, his eyes flicking from the writing in front of him to the fight ahead.
Grommuk narrowly sidesteps a vicious backhand from a spiked gauntlet belonging to a thug at his rear—a blow whose threat does not go unanswered by the immense orc it sought to maim. Grommuk swings his left elbow around in a wide arc to distract his many foes long enough for his right hand to go to work. The Puddle Dog on his left flank receives the full brunt of the behemoth's rage. His right hand descends and quickly wraps the man's head in a cage of thick, green fingers. A horrible, muffled pop accompanies immensely painful wailing. Blood, bone, and brain matter erupt from between the orc's digits like thick jelly.
Grommuk continues his bestial roaring, reveling in the wanton destruction. The lifeless, spasming body of the mostly-headless thug is discarded unceremoniously behind him.
Cyrill breaks into a sprint, running forward towards the war hounders and Grommuk. He stops just short of the corpse whose head Grommuk just smashed. The headless hooligan's body flops to the dirt at his feet.
The thugs look terrified after seeing Grommuk smash one of their friend's heads. They all take another blow at the huge orc. Grommuk's thrashing elbows and armor ward off three of the blows. One of the thugs drives his spiked gauntlet into the soft flesh at the back of Grommuk's knee. Though the wound isn't serious, it hurts. The thugs seeing that they are badly outmatched step back from the Pathfinders who are quickly surrounding them. They look like they are ready to make a run for it.
At the edge of the cliff, the old warrior's grip gives way and the old men plummet out of sight and into the surf far below. The wail piteously as they fall, and immediately begin sinking under the weight of their heavy chains.
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Hit
As the eagle's first victim slowly dies to the gushing wound that severed his carotid, the summoned creature moves to it's next victim, the bandit at the edge of the cliff. The beautiful avian unleashes a vicious flurry of attacks that would contradict it's celestial heritage, were it not they were directed at the scum who so eagerly cast chained elderly men into the sea. The eagle's talons first scratch out the man's right eye, followed quickly by the left. The now useless orbs fall to the dirt as the now blinded man flails helplessly against his attacker, unable to defend himself against the same bite to he throat that claimed his ally moments before. The man falls back off the cliff, clutching at his throat in vain, dead before his body reaches the water below.
Argor, however, had been studying the entire scene from behind. He had expected the stronger gentleman to hang on for at least a moment longer, but seeing him plummet off the edge and hearing their pained cries causes him to pick up his pace.
"Grommuk! Stop worrying so much about these fools and save Yargos, we can handle them!"
Argor moves forward more as he reads from his scroll. The chant of magic grows louder as he does so, and it ends with a flurry of motion and gestures that ends in a pointed finger, sending a red orb of arcane energy flying towards another of the "dogs." It impacts the man in the side of the head, the force enough to cave in the region of skull around his ear with a sickening crack. He falls limply to the ground, his nervous system sending random impulses through his body in a futile effort to cling to life, causing the lifeless body to spasm.
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Eagle
N Small animal
Init +2; Senses low-light vision; Perception +10
DEFENSE
AC 14, touch 13, flat-footed 12 (+2 Dex, +1 natural, +1 size)
hp 7 (1d8+1+2)
Fort +5, Ref +4, Will +2
OFFENSE
Speed 10 ft., fly 80 ft. (average)
Melee 2 talons +3 (1d4+2), bite +3 (1d4+2)
STATISTICS
Str 14, Dex 15, Con 16, Int 2, Wis 15, Cha 7
Base Atk +0; CMB –1; CMD 11
Feats Weapon Finesse
Skills Fly +8, Perception +10; Racial Modifiers +8 Perception
Hrimnagel watches in horror as the chained old men tumble from the cliff. He knows his short legs could not have arrived in time, even if his small strength could have held them. Fortunately, Argor recognizes the desperate situation. Hopefully, Grommuk can swim, because he is certainty strong enough to save the old men. We need to put these thugs down as soon as possible. Thoughts swirl through his mind.
He snipes the thug closest to the cat lady. He takes a deep breath and releases the arrow, which buries into his shoulder. Hrimnagel closes and attempts to disappear into his billowing shadows.
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Grommuk growls at the skinny-arms in a long, black dress telling him what to do. Probably because the dullard knows the wizard is right and he'd rather spend the day smashing the thugs into goo than swimming after a chain of old geezers. But, being a newly minted Pathfinder and all, it wouldn't be right to let the old bookkeeper with a funny name drown. Ultimately, Grommuk does his duty, albeit in his own way.
Momentarily slouching forward with knuckles pressed to the dirt, his right hand still covered in the gore of his first victim, Grommuk begins barking angrily in a mock dog noise, "" before lowering his head and right shoulder to barrel into the Puddle Dog that stands closest to the precipice. The man is stricken aghast in the moments before the giant orc collides with him, his attempt to batter Grommuk away with his spiked gauntlet as futile as it is feeble. The pair of thugs nearby attempt to batter Grommuk away from their hopeless companion, but their attempts are little more than mosquito bites to the bestial onslaught. As one, the thug and brawler propel off the edge of the cliff and down towards the sea beneath, accompanied by a human's terrified screams and an orc's crazed laughter. After crashing briefly into a rocky protrusion, the pair continue their trajectory downwards, soon swallowed up in the foamy water.
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>
Cladissa willfully shut out the grisly show of death taking place near her. Though parts of her wanted to shriek and flee from everyone, what kept her moving forward was the look of fear in the eyes of the old warrior as he slipped from the cliff and disappeared.
Heedless of the remaining Puddle Dogs, she dashed to the edge of the cliff and peered down into the water, desperately searching for the victims.
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Move 30' to M-14.
Hopefully, the cliff is not more than 30 feet in height. As long as she's in range, she'll grant Fortune to one of the old men -- Yargos specifically if she sees him.
One of the Puddle Dogs strikes out as she races past and catches her in the side. She gasps as the thug's spiked glove draws blood, but she continues on.
Moving precisely to the edge to the cliff Cyrill does some quick calculations. Mass. We need solid anchor, lacking a sufficient I will have to do. He drinks a potion of enlarge person and prepares to lower a rope. "Gentlemen, a rope is on the way. I highly recommend grabbing at your convenience!" Cyrill will plant himself as best he can making use of his dramatically increased weight (should be around 800 lbs) to anchor the rope.
As the eagle's first victim slowly dies to the gushing wound that severed his carotid, the summoned creature moves to it's next victim, the bandit at the edge of the cliff. The beautiful avian unleashes a vicious flurry of attacks that would contradict it's celestial heritage, were it not they were directed at the scum who so eagerly cast chained elderly men into the sea. The eagle's talons first scratch out the man's right eye, followed quickly by the left. The now useless orbs fall to the dirt as the now blinded man flails helplessly against his attacker, unable to defend himself against the same bite to he throat that claimed his ally moments before. The man falls back off the cliff, clutching at his throat in vain, dead before his body reaches the water below.
Argor, however, had been studying the entire scene from behind. He had expected the stronger gentleman to hang on for at least a moment longer, but seeing him plummet off the edge and hearing their pained cries causes him to pick up his pace.
"Grommuk! Stop worrying so much about these fools and save Yargos, we can handle them!"
Argor moves forward more as he reads from his scroll. The chant of magic grows louder as he does so, and it ends with a flurry of motion and gestures that ends in a pointed finger, sending a red orb of arcane energy flying towards another of the "dogs." It impacts the man in the side of the head, the force enough to cave in the region of skull around his ear with a sickening crack. He falls limply to the ground, his nervous system sending random impulses through his body in a futile effort to cling to life, causing the lifeless body to spasm.
Hrimnagel watches in horror as the chained old men tumble from the cliff. He knows his short legs could not have arrived in time, even if his small strength could have held them. Fortunately, Argor recognizes the desperate situation. Hopefully, Grommuk can swim, because he is certainty strong enough to save the old men. We need to put these thugs down as soon as possible. Thoughts swirl through his mind.
He snipes the thug closest to the cat lady. He takes a deep breath and releases the arrow, which buries into the man's shoulder killing him. Hrimnagel closes and attempts to disappear into his billowing shadows.
Grommuk growls at the skinny-arms in a long, black dress telling him what to do. Probably because the dullard knows the wizard is right and he'd rather spend the day smashing the thugs into goo than swimming after a chain of old geezers. But, being a newly minted Pathfinder and all, it wouldn't be right to let the old bookkeeper with a funny name drown. Ultimately, Grommuk does his duty, albeit in his own way.
Momentarily slouching forward with knuckles pressed to the dirt, his right hand still covered in the gore of his first victim, Grommuk begins barking angrily in a mock dog noise, "Awoooof! Awoooooof! Awoooo!" before lowering his head and right shoulder to barrel into the Puddle Dog that stands closest to the precipice. The man is stricken aghast in the moments before the giant orc collides with him, his attempt to batter Grommuk away with his spiked gauntlet as futile as it is feeble. The pair of thugs nearby attempt to batter Grommuk away from their hopeless companion, but their attempts are little more than mosquito bites to the bestial onslaught. As one, the thug and brawler propel off the edge of the cliff and down towards the sea beneath, accompanied by a human's terrified screams and an orc's crazed laughter. After crashing briefly into a rocky protrusion, the pair continue their trajectory downwards, soon swallowed up in the foamy water.
Cladissa willfully shuts out the grisly show of death taking place near her. Though parts of her want to shriek and flee from everyone, what keeps her moving forward is the look of fear in the eyes of the old warrior as he slipped from the cliff and disappeared. Heedless of the dying Puddle Dogs, she dashes to the edge of the cliff and peers down into the water, desperately searching for the victims.
Moving precisely to the edge to the cliff Cyrill does some quick calculations. Mass. We need solid anchor, lacking a sufficient alternative, I will have to do. He draws a potion of enlarge person and prepares to drink it. "Gentlemen, a rope is on the way. I highly recommend grabbing at your convenience!"
The remaining puddle dog swims away from Grommuk as fast as he can, sputtering and barely keeping above the waves. Undoubtedly he will drown soon if left to his own fate.
__________________________
Hrimnagel runs to the cliff edge.
Hrimnagel looks at the eggheads on the cliff with him: a witch, a wizard, and an alchemist. Someone may have to help Grommuk "If we lose the old man, we fail the mission," he says to no one in particular. Seeing Cyrill growing large and spooling out a rope, he volunteers, "I'll go help Grommuk,"
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Releasing his hold on the terrified goon that joined him their plummet, Grommuk bobs over the surface for a brief second and sucks in a massive gulp of air. He then descends under the water again, thrashing inexpertly against the advance and retreat of the tide as he tries to swim his way to the sea's floor. Though his great strength affords him some measure of progress, it is not a task for which he has had much practice. Several times he his battered and spun by the undertow of crashing waves.
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Cladissa's heart sinks along with the old men when she sees that they are outside the range of her hexes. Furthermore, Grommuck's dive put him outside her reach as well. She glances at the gnome preparing to jump, and she lends him aid just before he dove. She let the strange madness seize her which strengthened her powers through a fit of laughing.
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Hrimnagel, you've got fortune for next round as well, but you'll be outside my reach for any further fortune unless I can somehow get closer. Not sure if I can manage that.
Argor quietly walks forward to the edge of the cliff and surveys the scene. He ponders briefly on finishing off the last of the ruffians, but it is clear nature shall do that for him. Arctyryx returns to his place on Argor's staff. Realizing he has little more to offer, Argor begins examining the bodies of the fallen for any clues as to why they were doing this, or of their true prize.
__________
With his darkvision, Hrimnagel sees Grommuk swimming toward the bottom and the old men hit the bottom 60-feet down. He realizes that he needs more rope. He stays on the surface LISTENING FOR CLADISSA'S CACKLE and swims over to the base of the cliff. "We need more rope! Pull me out of the water a little."
_______________________________
Cladissa continues to step slowly towards the enlarged doctor while simultaneously granting him the same fortune in his efforts as she lent Hrimnagel. She cackles bitterly, not feeling the mirth that it might otherwise imply.
___________________________
Hrimnagel runs to the cliff edge. Releasing his hold on the terrified goon that joined him their plummet, Grommuk bobs over the surface for a brief second and sucks in a massive gulp of air. He then descends under the water again, thrashing inexpertly against the advance and retreat of the tide as he tries to swim his way to the sea's floor. The orc makes it down 15 feet. Cladissa's heart sinks along with the old men when she sees that they are outside the range of her hexes. Furthermore, Grommuck's dive put him outside her reach as well. She glances at the gnome preparing to jump, and she lends him aid just before he dove. Cyrill drink his potion and grows to giant size before retrieving a his rope.
Hrimnagel grabs the rope's end and dives into the water. Grommuk tries to swim deeper and fails. Cladissa cackles and grants fortune to Cyrill, who is anchoring the rope.
Grummok continues floudering, as does Hrimnagel. The gnome calls to Cyrill to pull him out of the water a bit just before he sinks under the surface, while trying and failing to stay afloat. Cyrill yanks on the rope, pulling the sputtering Hrimangel back out of the waves. The gnome dangles a meter above the water like worm on a hook.
Grommuk find himself and swims down another fifteen feet, for a total depth of 30 ft (halfway there).
Hrimnagel hung from the rope and concentrates on creating a platform at the base of the cliff. He starts to work the innate magic that he began playing with decades ago. But then, he is gripped in fear with flashbacks that overwhelm him. First, the rope transforms into his best friend's hand as he relives Konal slipping into the Endless Gulf. Then, he sees the old men being devoured by chokers like Maeva. He just needed to shape the stone to reach them...
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A stone platform erupts from the side of the cliff just above the water line.
Hrimnagel is surprised and thankful for the shaping of the stones. After Cyrill sets him on the new platform, he removes his rope from his pack and ties it tightly to the Cyrill's rope. He calls up, "Cladissa! Thanks for the good fortune. If you want to climb down, now would be a good time."
Hrimnagel pulls out his waterskin and whetstone from his pack.
Hrimnagel threads his waterskin on the rope to act as a bouy and ties his whetstone to the end to act as anchor.
Hrimnagel dives back into the crashing waves and swims above Grommuk and the old men but makes no progress.
__________________________________
Hrimnagel continues to swim toward the spot above the old men and finally arrives among the crashing waves.
__________________________________
While holding the waterskin buoy, Hrimnagel tries to drop the whetstone on top of the old men.
__________________________________
Being at the mercy of the tide does little to soothe Grommuk's rage. The scowl on his face deepens into an enraged grimace, and his limbs begin thrashing more violently to affect his trip downwards towards the old men below. He is nearly knocked off course for a moment by a particularly powerful swell of currents, but manages to avoid being dragged further out to sea by the rip tide with a frantic series of strokes and kicks. Finally, at long last, he makes his way to the where the elders are chained together. Grommuk likely does not appear as much of a savior to them, an immense orc that looks like he is in the fit of a full on blood rage reaching out towards them with swollen, scarred hands. Thankfully, he channels his anger to an appropriate outlet: the chains. Grabbing two two lengths of the bindings, he wrenches and pulls until links begin to unravel and shatter.
Seeing that the old men are now free, Grommuk retrieves two of the discarded lengths of chain and ties the thing around his girdle. After pressing each chain in the hands of one of the men around him he begins ascending through water once more, though is aggravated to see that only the diminutive form of Hrimnagel above attempting to lend aid.
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Climb down. Climb down. But how would I get back up? Cladissa mutters to herself between a bout of manic laughter she doesn't feel. She gathers up a wad of her skirts to use to protect her hands against the rope as she grips it. Then she steps out away from the cliff's edge and lets gravity do its work while she tries to control her descent.
______________________________
Grommuk find himself and swims down another fifteen feet, for a total depth of 30 ft (halfway there).
Hrimnagel is surprised and thankful for the shaping of the stones. After Cyrill sets him on the new platform, he removes his rope from his pack and ties it tightly to the Cyrill's rope. He calls up, "Cladissa! Thanks for the good fortune. If you want to climb down, now would be a good time."
"Climb down. Climb down. But how would I get back up?" Cladissa mutters to herself between a bout of manic laughter she doesn't feel. She gathers up a wad of her skirts to use to protect her hands against the rope as she grips it. Then she steps out away from the cliff's edge and lets gravity do its work while she tries to control her descent. She rappels easily down to the stone platform with Hrimnagel.
Hrimnagel pulls out his waterskin and whetstone from his pack. Cladissa cackles madly. Being at the mercy of the tide does little to soothe Grommuk's rage. The scowl on his face deepens into an enraged grimace, and his limbs begin thrashing more violently to affect his trip downwards towards the old men below.
Hrimnagel threads his waterskin on the rope to act as a bouy and ties his whetstone to the end to act as anchor. Cladissa cackles madly. Grommuk is nearly knocked off course for a moment by a particularly powerful swell of currents, but manages to avoid being dragged further out to sea by the rip tide with a frantic series of strokes and kicks.
Hrimnagel dives back into the crashing waves and swims above Grommuk and the old men but makes no progress.
Finally, at long last, the orc makes his way to the where the elders are chained together. Grommuk likely does not appear as much of a savior to them, an immense orc that looks like he is in the fit of a full on blood rage reaching out towards them with swollen, scarred hands.
Cladissa clutches her aching throat but continues to cackle madly.
Thankfully, Grommuk channels his anger to an appropriate outlet: the chains. Grabbing two lengths of the bindings, he wrenches and pulls until links begin to unravel and shatter. He is able to shatter the links binding Yargos.
Seeing that Yargos is now free, Grommuk retrieves two of the discarded lengths of chain and ties the thing around his girdle. He presses the chain into Yargos's hand.
Hrimnagel continues to swim toward the spot above the old men and finally arrives among the crashing waves.
Cackle cackle cackle.
Grommuk begins ascending through water once more, though is aggravated to see that only the diminutive form of Hrimnagel above attempting to lend aid.
Nearly at the limit of his oygen supply, Grommuk and Yargos thrash ineffectually in the water, fifteen feet below the surface.
As soon as Cladissa sees Grommuk come into range, she gives him fortune, knowing that he needs all the help he can to drag these poor souls back to the surface. And keeps the cackle going through a throat rapidly becoming raw.
Grommuk breaks through the surface near to Hrimnagel, clutching Yargos. He sucks in a massive breath as stars sparkle across his field of vision. A few more seconds without air and he certainly would have passed out.
Round 13, 45' from surface
Round 14, 30' from surface
Round 15, 30' from surface
Round 16, 30' from surface
Round 17, 15' from surface
Round 18, 15' from surface
Round 19, break surface
Round 20, sink back under
With a great display of teamwork over the next few minutes, the Pathfinders manage to secure, and move up the cliff, all of the old men. Grommuk is able to break the others free of their chains. They all thank the Pathfinders profusely for their rescue.
After a brief scrap, tumble down the cliffside, and deep-dive culminating in a climb back up said cliffside, Grommuk is understandably exhausted. Reaching the same precipice that he dove off of to save the aged fellows beneath the waves, he plops down on a nearby patch of grass with a great "" He lays on his back, chest heaving for several moments before he masters himself enough to regain his feet and break the bindings on the rest of the men. Their thanks are met with a green, muscled wall of indifference, eliciting little more than grunts in acknowledgement. Grommuk is well aware of what he has accomplished. There is only one reward he needs for the immediate, however...
...his paces carry him over to where one of the dead thugs lay—one that had been ravaged by Argor's volley of arcane mastery. At first glowering silently down at the body, Grommuk breaks the silence with a warcry of a bellow. His right hand reaches down to grab the corpse's shin, and the brute begins heaving the corpse through the air and back to the ground, smashing and crushing the lifeless weight a half dozen times before angrily hurling it off of the cliff. "Dogs not bark so loud now."