.
Deep within the bowels of a twisted heap of metal and scrap, beneath a killing field of blood, metal, and bones, within a room of glowing panels set in a rusted ceiling, a group of racial misfits kneel before a crimson behemoth, its lower half of smoke and flame, its upper half of a well-muscled being of fiendish origin as it floats above a pedestal comprised of four metallic lights. The creature’s red eyes glare at an armored figure kneeling in front of the others, his orcish half-breed heritage apparent from the green-tinged skin and small tusks that jut from his mouth. The half-orc winces at being reprimanded, even if the speaker’s voice is droning and monotonous.
”My- My Lord Hellion -”, the half-breed stammers before being interrupted again.
Hellion’s massive fists clench as it glares at the slow-witted half-orc, whose eyes widen in sudden realization of an unexpected promotion. Although Nalakai begins to say something again, the fiend cuts him off for a third time, and the half-orc bows in reverence and quickly retreats to where the others are kneeling.
Kneeling next to Nalakai, a large, brutish and well-muscled orc lifts her head and grins wickedly in acknowledgement. ”I will be more than happy to slaughter those fools for you, my lord.” Her hand absentmindedly reaches for the large, toothed weapon slung on her back, its metal serrated edges stained with the blood of innumerable foes gutted with its roaring power.
Though disappointed, the orc nods before standing up, her spiked, rusted armor clanking, and leaves the room through a side door.
Hellion turns to a large creature behind the others, its great green hide standing taller than even Kulgara. Hellion pauses and glares at its minions.
Book II: Lords of Rust
Part 0: Preparation
”Groog! Don’t you dare pick up that weapon! Quick, someone get him something to shove in his mouth!” Khonnir shouts orders to one of his tavern’s patrons as Groog appears board and looks to pick up his weapon for some nefarious purpose - likely picking the jam from between his toes and flinging it randomly into someone’s food and drink. Scared witless, one of the nearby patrons throws his plate of fried meat from some mutated creature in front of Groog, who giggles in delight and begins chowing down. The situation abated, a tangible sigh of relief washes over the tavern as the crisis of a bored Groog is averted - for now.
Almost as if called, the four individuals Khonnir and the rest of the town councilors had called arrive to the Foundry-Tavern, entering through the tavern’s southern entrance.
”Ah, there they are! Please, sit, sit. Food and drink is on the house!” Khonnir gets up to greet each person individually, and the other councilors follow suit. The first after Khonnir is a gruff and elderly dwarven woman whose iron grip leaves a tingling sensation after she roughly squeezes it. After her, another elderly person - this one a human male with the marked holy symbol of Brigh hanging from his chest and stitched into his artisan’s outfit. Two other less-remarkable women make up the rest of Torch’s council
After the greet and meet is finished, everyone sits at the bar counter while Khonnir moves to get everyone food and drink as they wish. In the meantime, one of the councilors, Serantha Olanthir, fills the group in.
”It has been nearly a month since we first met a group of adventurers known as Hoots’ Hellions, who promptly saved our town from a group of cultists that had not only infiltrated the town, but snuck into what turned out to be a crashed ship beneath the town and turned off our namesake atop the black hill, siphoning the power off for some nefarious purpose. After they had turned it back on, we tasked them with heading north east to the where the cultists originated from to make sure this wouldn’t happen again. As it so happens, the cultists ard came from a massive junkyard and bandit haven known as Scrapwall. Just a few days ago, one of their members, the orc named Groog reappeared here in Torch, alone and without memory of what happened. We fear the worst, and need another group to investigate” Groog looks up to see who mentioned his name - in reponse, he leans to the side and rips a massive fart that vibrates the bench he’s on and causes the tavern to grow silent.
”Groog will accompany you.” Serantha adds after the silence abates. ”And of course you’ll be compensated for your troubles. We just need to know that whoever sent the cultists is taken care of and won’t bother Torch again.”
An average looking kellid man in leather armor enters the tavern. He appears to be unarmed, but there is a small wooden shield strapped across his back above his pack. He wears a wide brimmed hat that heavily shades his face. The traveler seems to be very uncomfortable around so many people, and is constantly scanning the room, and twitching at every noise. He keeps his arms crossed firmly over his chest in a defensive posture.
Once he spots Khonnir, he makes a direct line to the tavern owner. As Khonnir and the other councilors get up to greet him, he ignores their offered hands, meeting each one's gaze with a slight and silent nod. "Call me Gaius," he offers before sitting down.
Gaius listens to the job offer and then asks "Payment?" Need to earn some of the gold these people use for everything. Plus I doubt there will be any Technic League in a scrap pile.
The tanned drifter who's wandered about town enters the tavern to hear what the gathered council has to say.
Removing her hat as she does so, shes drops her tinted eye wear to dangle on a loop of string about her neck. Having come to the town only to find she's been late in looking to claim the reward offered for the returned forge flame, Sunset is amiable at looking for this latest offer of shine to ease the town's possible troubles.
She nods an acceptance of the council's hand shake and introductions, nodding to those gathered before turning and settling into a chair at a table in a corner of the room. Her poncho only being shifted to give clearance to the strange weapon always present upon her belted waist.
The large Orc's antics phase the Half-Elf seeming not a whit, though the calculating gaze she some times passes over the creature might give others pause for thought as to what she might be thinking.
hours before dawn, Small Tarl bolts upright: sweating, screaming, terrorized by nightmares of something he’s only seen in his dreams: ferocious metal monsters. These nightmares--sent to him by the spirits--reveal his fate. He knows this, and is resigned. Led by them, he has made the long and dangerous trek from the tropical mountains that surround Tolguth in the Realm of the Mammoth lords. He’s left his tribe behind and finds himself increasingly anxious about the strange new realm he’s entered.
Each morning, he thinks longingly of turning around and going home...and feels the angry buzz of the spirits in the back of his mind. No. I must go on and confront these metal monsters face to face.
It was a relief to meet the odd woman known as Scholar on the road, who seemed to know so much about this unsettling land. They’d been traveling together for several days now...and so far his screaming nightmares hadn’t made her change her mind.
A wild-eyed halfling walks into the tavern. He has unusually long and well muscled arms & legs, lightly covered with black fur. His face has an almost angelic perfection of features, though it’s hard to tell due to the expression of anxious dread he wears. He's dressed in furs with many small totems stitched into the seams or dangling from leather straps: teeth of great saurians, a disk cut from a mammoth tusk...and a miniature “robot” made from twisted twine (that he crafted from the images in his nightmares).
Standing just behind him is Raksasa: an obviously predatory bipedal dinosaur, her hide a mottled mix of red and brown with a spray of crimson under her chin and on the spines that ridge her back. She stands 5’ at the shoulder and almost as wide, with three massive claws on each forearm, and jagged teeth visible between her gums. On her back is a saddle and a shirt of loose chain.
The hairy halfling keeps one hand on it’s long thick neck, attempting to signal as best he’s able that the spinosaurus doesn’t need to be feared.
When he opens his mouth, he speaks slowly and in barely more than a whisper. ”Hello. I’m Small Tarl. Thank you for the food. Yes, I will go and fight the metal monsters.” After forcing the words out of his mouth, he looks about realizes that noone seems to have heard him over the din in the tavern.
With a grimace, he approaches closer to Khonnir, Groog, Gaius, and Sunset, waving to get their attention. ”We will help. Small Tarl and Raksasa.” he manages to say, glancing back over his shoulder at the spinosaurus who stands there, taking in the room with predatory eyes.
Small Tarl tentatively grabs some mutton off a platter, handing some to Raksasa and then biting off some for himself.
Gaius looks at Raksasa with awe in his eyes. Amazing! I've never seen a beast like that before. He observes the animal very closely, almost ignoring all the people around him for the next time.
Scholar hovers at the door to the tavern, lost in thought as she gazes over her surroundings. She watches the birds fly overhead, divining insight from their flight. Images flash through her mind; time, travel, machines and mystery. Home, and youth. Endless knowledge, and new companions. Collecting her thoughts, she adjusts her wide brimmed hat with a gloved hand, then pushes open the door and enters with smile on her face and a spring in her step.
Scholar is an attractive human woman in her late 20's with medium length black hair pulled back in a pony tail. She is dressed in armor and practical, if dusty, traveling clothes; a thick leather skirt, solid boots, and a wide brimmed hat. She carries a mace on her hip and a backpack on her pack, and a luxuriously thick dark green cloak wrapped around her shoulders.
As she meets the councilors, she smiles and introduces herself as Scholar. She takes a seat by the bar, and takes samples of various foods and drinks offered. She watches with interest as Serantha tells the group why they have been assembled, and of the achievements of Hoot's Hellions. Unable to hear, she reads Serantha's lips, easily done with long practice, but does not notice Groog's impact on the conversation until the smell wafts its way to her.
She wrinkles her nose slightly; images fill her mind, of skunks, and guts, and gas that burns before she centers her thoughts.
She speaks with a slight slur, a strange accent to her words not quite like anything anyone has heard before. "I will gladly do this task for you. I am low on funds for my travels, and Scrap...wall you said? Will undoubtedly hold many mysteries and much to learn. Small Tarl, you are coming as well, yes? I look forward to spending more time with you and Raksasa."
She turns to the two other individuals here to make up the group and gives them a big, warm smile. She waves at the two of them. "Hello! My name is Scholar. I look forward to traveling with both of you.". She reaches up and taps her ear with her right hand. "I can not hear, so I must see your mouth to understand you. I apologize if I may ask you to repeat some things at times."
Her eyes flicker briefly to the device at Sunset's waist. Images flash through her mind; explosives, alchemy, chemistry, saltpeter and smithing. Books and discussion, but few experiences. A future image, a decision to meditate on the device at a later time.
Groog remains silent in the corner of the tavern for quite some time, half heartedly poking a pea around his plate with a bone. The little people were talking to Connor and Dorf Lady. Boring talk, smart people words. Words that likely had anything of interest behind them.
It is then that he saw it.
Puppy!
The ugliest puppy he had ever seen. And it walked weird, on just its back paws. But a puppy nevertheless.
Groog locks his eyes on the ugly, hairless canine, with the focus of a bird of prey. He begins walking towards it, hands opening and closing excitedly as he closed on it.
A moment later, Groog snatches up Raksasa in his hands and begins petting the creatures scaly head.
"PUPPY! LOOK CONNOR! PUPPY! I KEEP HIM!" he says excitedly, holding the dinosaur up for Connor to see.
He notes Hat Man's interested eyes on his new puppy, and pulls it away defensively, and takes a few steps back towards his seat.
Seated at her table Sunset nods after Scholar has introduced herself to the people paying their way and thence introduces herself.
The arrival of 'Tarl' and their... mount(?) do not see Sunset move a whisker. Her pale blue eyes taking in the form of the halfling and the... lizard(?) seeming cool and casual, though those seated around the table near her might notice her hand dropping to settle lightly on the small weapon on her belt. Only Groog's actions elicit any emotion.
(O_o)
The blond Half-Elf's eyes actually widen at the Groog's actions as the man(?) lifts the creature that's about his own size up. Though she doesn't stir in body, it's clear that her mind is working furiously as her eyes shift left and right. Tilting her head so that Scholar might 'hear' Sunset says in a low voice of her own.
"Well... I'll put coin down on the lizard. Who wants to match the bet?" She offers.
Scholar shakes her head.
"I would not bet against Raksasha. She may be very young and relatively small, but Spinosauruses are deadly combatants at all ages. Ahem, Groog, that is not a puppy. Her name is Raksasha, and she is Small Tarl's friend. Please put her down."
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Small Tarl yelps with terror when the orc picks up Raksasa and (somehow) manages to lift her over his head.
As the spinosaur starts to bear her rows of sharp teeth, he says, "Rakasa, down. No bite."
Seeing that his companion is at least tolerating the hug, Tarl relaxes a bit and tries to get the orc's attention by waiving (though still speaking in a strained whisper). "Groog, this is Raksasa. She's a spinosaur. I don't want her to hurt you. Please give her back."
Groog narrows his eyes at the talky ones. "My puppy! Found it first!"
Scholar arches an eyebrow at him. "Raksasa is already Small Tarl's puppy. He found her a long time ago. What do you want to do with the puppy, Groog?"
Sunset stands up, slowly so as not to upset or startle the critter. Keeping relative eye contact with Grooge she drawls,
"Bad Groog." Then, as she settles her back against the tavern's wall an folds her arms.
"Tarl? Might wanting to be letting the Lady speak for herself, hmmmm?" She suggests to Small Tarl.
Gauis watches the exchange silently, his arms still crossed over his chest. The outside world is even stranger than I imagined. Is that orc mentally handicapped, or are they all like that?
Groog snarls his tusks at the women that keep talking to him.
"Groog keep puppy. Groog will pet it and hug it and name it..."
As Groog began the arduous process of thinking of a name...he moves over to a chair and sits down, setting the dinosaur down to focus on the extremely important and difficult task.
”Ahem,” Khonnir coughs in order to get everyone’s attention. ”While it is certainly good all of you have made your acquaintances.. we would certainly like to know if you are interested in the job. Compensation - if you can go to Scrapwall and put down whatever sent the original cultists - will be two-thousand gold each. Some sort of proof will be necessary that the deed is done, of course. Are you interested?”
”I would like ter add somethin’, Khonnir.” Joram intervenes after Khonnir finishes talking. The elderly priest of Brigh stands up to address the group. ”As I had previously mentioned ter tha last group who failed - mostly - ter return, I believe an old colleague o’ mine is hidin’ out in Scrapwall - a fellow of Brigh named Dinvaya Lanalei. She fled ter Scrapwall while being pursued by tha Technic League - however, that was many years ago, and it seems they’ve since stopped caring about her. If ya could find her and, if she still lives, ask her ter come ter Torch, I would very much appreciate it - I would throw in my Metamagic rod that I use ter extend my spells should ya be willin’ ter do this for me.”
Khonnir nods at Joram’s request and folds his hands as the older man sits back down. ”What do you say?”
Gaius's head snaps around at the mention of the sum on offer. Enough to escape to the south forever. I must do this.
"I am," he says simply. Looking at Joram he says, "I will make sure your friend does not fall into the hands of the League. I will take her your message."
Small Tarl keeps opening his mouth to protest...and then closing it again.
"Tarl? Might wanting to be letting the Lady speak for herself, hmmmm?" She suggests to Small Tarl.
Tarl shakes his head, confused, and whispers. "She can't talk, only growl."
When the massive orc sets Raksasa down, Tarl moves toward her protectively...only to notice that she's nuzzling her head against the chest of the massive orc.
”I, uh, that is...maybe we can share her...” he shakes his head again, more bewildered than before.
At Khonner's and Joram's request, Small Tarl begins to tremble. His fingers begin to nervously rub the twine 'robot' charm that he's crafted from the images in his nightmares. With a sad, serious nod, Tarl says ”We will do what must be done.”
Sunset just raises an eyebrow at Groog's behavior... or maybe that of Raksasa, it's hard to tell. At the committee's words Sunset nods,
"Aye, we're goin', we're goin'." She thinks a moment more and looks to Joram,
"Might ye be havin' something by way of introduction to yon lass in Scrapwall? A bunch of roughs just turning up on her door-step, uninvited? She might not take our demeanor all too positively."
Images flash through scholar's head at the size of the suggested reward. A pile of gold, and the books, scrolls and learning it could buy. At the mention of the rod, Scholars smile widens and she becomes visibly excited. "That is a very generous reward, Khonnir. I will go, and will relay your request to this Dinvaya if we are able to find her."
Groog loses track of what it was he was thinking about...it must not have been important. When he hears talk of these talkies leaving, he shrugs and goes to admire Khonnir's head chain behind the bar. It was quite impressive, but Groog just couldn't piece together how such an old, small man could acquire such a trophy.
Maybe Groog make head chain that good...
He then goes back to his corner and sits with a bored thump.
Khonnir nods, satisfied by the group’s collective answers. ”Well then, we hope you a speedy journey to Scrapwall and a successful adventure there!” At this, Khonnir hints that the group should take Groog and leave immediately - particularly since the orc is appearing bored again and might cause yet more shenanigans if not distracted by something to do.
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A few weeks later, the group, after not only having to deal with Groog’s constant shenanigans, whether trying to swim with the odd assortment of mutated fish or constantly trying to pet Raksasa, who wants little to do with the big orc, but also after having to deal with the boat they boarded at Hajoth Hakados: a run-down steamboat ran by a smelly, loud-mouthed dwarf named Horgen, finally arrive at their destination: Aldronard’s Grave.
”Alright ye sods, be careful now! Aldronard’s Grave’s been known for its bit of bad luck for anyone to stay there; They say tha’ place’s haunted or some such; neva’tha’less, ye should be able ta find shelta’ there ‘till yer ready ta hit up Scrapwall. Don’ say I didn’ warn ye about tha’ lunatics, cannibals, an’ worse in tha’ junkyard!” After Horgen lets the group off on the shore a half-mile from the fort, which resides inland upon a defensive rocky outcropping, he and his two crewmates wave goodbye to them before Horgen begins yelling at his crew to get back below deck so they can get a move on to Chesed. As the boat begins to move, Horgen yells at the group a final message; ”Oh, by tha’ way, I’ll be headin’ back this way in abou’ two weeks’ time if ye need a ride down back ta Hajoth Hakados. I’ll wait a day or so ‘ere for ye on me way back down south!”
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The trek to the Sarenraean crusader fort of Aldronard’s Grave is a short one through the rocky hills of the Sellen Hills. The fort is seen first thanks to the numerous tendrils of black smoke rising from within the fort; The fort itself, when it comes into view, is an old, half-ruined thing that can barely be called a fort. Roughly two-hundred feet long at its widest, the keep has certainly seen better days. Both the keep and what appears to have been a chapel are both long-ruined, with the latter’s stained glass windows barely remaining intact, while smoke continues to rise from a building on the southern side of the fort. A series of smaller tendrils of smoke rise from nearer to the keep on the north side, and the smell of cooking meat can be smelt wafting from the fort.
As the group approach, they take note (and are taken note of by) a pair of helmed guardsmen standing atop the western watchtower. The two guards look at each other before addressing the group. ”Halt! Dest youz keed heading udri-ee-er, the ‘horts deen in’hected dy a drague, ‘ouldn’t ‘ant youz gettin’ in’hected too!” The man speaks with an extremely hard-to-understand accent, where he apparently is unable to vocalize certain sounds. As he speaks, he waves one of his hands in a ‘keep on moving’ gesture; his arm appears to be clothed in mis-matched hides and scrap. Besides his head, covered in a full-helm as it is, the rest of him is hidden behind one of the crenelations. The other guard is the same way.
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Groog looks up at the man with the mush mouth. It all seemed familiar to him, but for what reason, he cannot remember. All he knows, is this man is clearly lying, and that is rude. He clearly just doesn't want to share whatever candy it is that has his teeth all gummed up and keeping him from talking right.
He then turns to the talky ones who never let him play with Puppy. "Mushmouth liar. Doesn't wanna share candy. Groog go get candy!"
He then heads to the iron gate, and hooks his hands into the bars, and begins trying to lift the gate up.
Scholar looks between her companions as Groog runs over to start pulling at the gate.
"Those two are somewhat far, and I was not able to catch all they said, beyond 'Halt'. Are we welcome to enter here, or are we being kept out for some reason?"
Sitting casually on her large horse Sunset tilts her head enough to look up at the pair guarding the gate.
Even as Groog trundles forwards and begins to haul at the gate Sunset turns her head and replies to Scholar,
"I think they be sayin' 'Halt. Best you keep heading udder, the forts been infected by a drake?" She frowns, "That in't right... um... drague...Hmmm... plague? 'Couldn’t or wouldn't want you getting infected too!'." She translates for the other woman. Here eyes sweep across the surrounding vista of open and rather desolate plains.
"Well.. not like we've a lot of choice. A roof and shade be right comforting, though paying for the pleasure with illness? That makes it a conundrum. Puke if we do, sun-stroke if we don't." Sunset muses, her eyes focusing on Groog's efforts before she look up at the guards again,
"" She calls, "WHAT SEEMS T' BE THE TROUBLE? MAYBE WE CAN BE OF SOME HELP?" Sunset calls an offer.
"A plague?" Scholar frowns. "I have no magical means of treating disease, but I have made a cursory study of medicine. I may be able to be of some small help." She hesitates briefly. "I receive visions from the gods that show me many things. I can divine if entering this place will be dangerous or beneficial for us, if any of you wish."
Sunset nods to Scholar, "If it wouldn't be too taxing or take too much out of you..." Sunset replies.
Scholar nods to Sunset, then puts her fingers together and her eyes glaze over, as if she is viewing something far away. Her eyes begin to flicker back and forth, watching something only she can see...
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Seeing the other owman 'trance out' She squeezes the flank of her horse so as to move into a more covering position of the now, possibly helpless, woman. With her back to Scholar, Sunset continues to watch Groog's progress at the gate.
"Just watch out they don't drop something on you big fella." Sunset cautions.
I like this Groog character. He's so dumb it's hilarious. Strong too. Perhaps I can use him to help myself. First I must befriend him...
Gaius goes to stand near Groog, and several translucent tentacles of barely visible force erupt from his back. The end of each tentacle is tipped with a humanoid hand. They snake forward, extending as they go and grab onto the edges of the gate, then all yank at the same time.
When using basic telekinesis, you can move an object that weighs up to 100 pounds per kineticist level you possess. When using your telekinetic blast, you can throw an object weighing up to 100 pounds per kineticist level you possess, but this doesn't increase the damage. If you accept 1 point of burn, the maximum weight increases to 1,000 pounds per kineticist level you possess and the duration increases to 1 minute per kineticist level you possess.
This ability is similar to mage hand, except you can move an object that weighs up to 5 pounds per 2 kineticist levels you possess (minimum 5 pounds), and you can move magical objects. Additionally, you can create a container of entwined strands of aether in order to hold liquids or piles of small objects of the same weight. You can dip the container to pick up or drop a liquid as a move action. If you possess the extended range wild talent, you can increase the range of basic telekinesis to medium range and increase the rate of movement to 30 feet per round, and if you possess the extreme range wild talent, You can increase the range of basic telekinesis to long range and increase the rate of movement to 60 feet per round. You can also use your basic telekinesis to duplicate the effects of the open/close cantrip.
After straining at the gate and finding it too heavy, Gaius notices the lever a few feet inside. Derp, he thinks to himself. A moment later, one of his 'hands' snakes through the portcullis and pulls the opening lever. His real arms remain crossed firmly over his chest.
Sunset continues to watch out for Scholar behind her while keeping an ear out about the goings on around the corner at the place's front door.
Groog continues to strain against the iron gate, and finally feels it budge and begin to slide upwards with ease. As he opens his eyes and looks around, he spots the clear, stretch hands receding back towards Hat Man. Groog's eyes, now filled with total, absolute astonishment and childlike wonder, follows them until they completely fade from sight.
He then steps over to Hat Man and begins lifting up the man's arms, clothes, hat, anything and everything he can get his hands on to find where the glass arms went.
”Wait, Groog!” Small Tarl yells as Groog runs towards the gate. He facepalms as Gaius follows the orc and the duo try to lift the portcullis through brute strength. As the hobgoblin gets a better idea to try and open the gate via the mechanism seen right through the gates, Tarl runs after the duo, Raksasa right on his heels.
Scholar, her eyes closed as she attempts to augur the situation, doesn’t realize that she’s all been left behind - only Sunset remains near the oracle, watching the rest of the group blunder towards the gate.
Above, the two guards start panicking as the group leaves their field of vision.
As Gaius telekinetically opens the gate, Groog gasps in joy, thinking his efforts are what’s moving the gate - as he pushes upwards, he is nearly lifted off the ground due to the grip he has on the portcullis. Just as his feet leave the ground he lets go, grinning. Just as he does so, a trio of ‘crusaders’ run into view.
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Unlike the two helmed ‘crusaders’ up on the walls, these are obviously anything but righteous Sarenraean crusaders. Each of the three gang members are wearing mismatched hides made of patchwork pieces from mutants, bits of metal and the odd piece that looks suspiciously like dried, preserved human flesh - especially since one such piece of patchwork looks like someone’s dried bare chest, hair and nipples and all.
However, it isn’t their hideous armor that sets them apart. It’s the fact that they have no lips - each of them are bearing hideous scars that appear to be caused due to someone - probably themselves - ripping their lips off and healing the wound, which remains gruesomely fresh, despite the lack of blood. This lack of lips leaves them with a perpetual smile - that, combined with their sharpened teeth shows just how feral they are - and explains their odd speech impediment.
All three of the ‘smilers’ have axes in one hand, the axehead having been replaced with jagged pieces of scrap metal, and pistols made from equal parts scrap and high-tech material in the other. Their eyes bulge in excitement as they prepare to charge.
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"Strewth!" Sunset curses as the hoots and hollers emanate from the gate way. She looks to Scholar who's eyes are still closed and shrugs,
"Ah well... least there's time t' get ready fer th' fight..." She sighs and checks her weapon as she draws it forth.
Looking for targets on the walls as she unstraps her rifle.
Seeing the men with the candy take up weapons, Groog's smile fades to a frown. He begins walking forward, drawing his own sharp club as he does so, and says sadly, "Groog just want candy too!" before swinging the blade powerfully for the nearest one' ribcage.
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Scholar continues to receive her visions.
Gaius grimaces as he sees the psychos. He ducks around the corner of the gate, and grabs the nearest pieces of scrap with his kinetic hands. Lifting it quickly above his head, he flings it at one of the smilers closing with Groog.
Frowning at their disfigured faces, Small Tarl lends Raksasa the aspect of the bull, and then urges her into a run.
As the two come barrelling down on the thug, the spinosaurus opens her mouth wide, a lick of drool flying behind her. Meanwhile, Tarl begins to shriek--something that might be a mighty battle cry or could just be him screaming in terror.
As Groog slices the smiler in the gut with his adamantine blade, he giggles and laughs. He then tries to slash at Groog with his axe and simultaneously sets off his pistol in Groog’s direction and goes to try to bite him - however, he fails to touch Groog.The second smiler gets hit in the head with scrap metal and then attacked by Small Tarl and Raksasa - covered in blood and his own wounds, the Smiler should be dead but somehow remains standing. He screams at Small Tarl as he tries to slash at him with his handaxe,
The third smiler also tries to slash, bite, and shoot Rakasa - however, while his axe and teeth fail to penetrate the spinosaurus’ tough hide, his pistol draws blood, the thunderous shot hitting Raksasa in the leg.
Behind the group, two more Smilers appear out of each of the towers surrounding the gate; one out of each tower. Although one is busy pulling his pants up, the other has his weapons out and takes a shot at Raksasa, but misses.
Meanwhile, the two Smilers sitting atop the tower split up. One shoots at Sunset but his shot goes hugely wide. The other one screams at the top of his lungs and lunges off of the thirty-foot tower. He lands flat on his belly and groans.
Meanwhile, on the far side of the fort, another Smiler appears - this one is different than the others. Although he wears armor similar to his minions, this guy - ‘Ehwar’, you suppose after one of the Smilers called to him earlier - carries a jagged two-handed axe made from some deadly high-tech blade. On his face is some sort of mask, concealing most of his face - he sees the group and his eyes go wide, before he charges the group and pulls out a curious-looking iron sphere, raises it up above him and screams, Unlike the others, he doesn’t have a speech impediment.
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