"Ah keep telling ye, jus' hit them hard enough an' ye'll do fine." Rogar grits his teeth as rubble from the room behind him swirls forward, unleashing a torrent at the closest satyr. And while it utterly fails at knocking the fey back, it is an incredibly solid hit.
Wulfram stabs the nearest satyr, driving his spear into the fey's side.
Karla and Nik'o move in to attack as well, but neither one manages to land a good hit. The sorceress' crossbow bolt breaks against the stove.
Rogar hurls a huge torrent of stone at the wounded satyr burying him under the barrage of rocks. The other one laughs. "Ha ha! Stew it is, you sassy sous chef!"
Eustoma moves into the kitchen and shoots the satyr with a cold iron arrow. Sia rushes him as well, biting and tripping him.
"Argh! Perhaps some music shall soothe ye savage beasts!" The satyr pulls out a set of pipes and blows a haunting melody on them, filling you with fear!
"I don't much care for that one," Wulfam replied, dropping his spear. He moved over to the prone satyr, reaching for his mace and swinging down.
Rogar manages to shake off most of the haunting tune, and sends another torrent of stone at the surviving satyr.
Though the rest of you resist the scary melody, Eustoma yelps in terror and turns to run away!
You all try your best to hit the satyr, but though several attacks come close, none quite hit the fey. "Ha ha! I am invincible!" he declares. He concentrates on using a spell-like ability defensively, then sends forth another invisible cone of terror from his outstretched hand!
Rogar turns for a moment to watch Karla and Eustoma run past him, then summons another mass of earth. However, this one he holds at the ready for as soon as the satyr does something.
Wulfram suppressed another wave of fear and struck at the fey again. "You can't dodge forever!"
Karla flees, but Sia and Wulfram resist the fear spell. Sia and Nik'o bite and claw at the satyr, but the lynx only manages to get one good claw hit in that doesn't hurt the fey much. Wulfram fares better, smashing the satyr in the chest, though he's still up.
"Oof! Lay off me, will ya?" He concentrates on another ability, and Rogar tries to interrupt, but the blast of stone flies over the prone creature's head. "I think your women need to be consoled! Go after them and make sure they're okay." The last statement carries the weight of a magical compulsion.
Wulfram hesitated. Maybe I should go and see if I can do something for Eustoma and Karla. No, that's what he wants me to do. "They'll feel better when you stop talking!"
"Ah, will ye shut up?" Rogar calls to the creature, preparing another blast of stone for the next of the fey's tricks.
Wulfram smashes the satyr with his mace once more, knocking a few teeth loose. Rogar arcs another blast of stone, and this time it falls on the prone fey. The creature's screams cut off as the rocks pummel him to death.
After several more moments of terror, Eustoma and Karla regain their wits and rejoin the group in the kitchen.
After making sure his allies were all OK, Wulfram quickly searched the satyrs and looked around the kitchen area.
The satyrs each have only a kitchen knife and a set of pan pipes on them. The kitchen contains a great deal of basic cooking supplies, but nothing particularly valuable.
"Everyone ready to go and rescue the prisoner?" Wulfram asked. "Hopefully he or she can give us an idea about what's going on here."
"Let me take a look." Estoma moves forward down the stairs quietly.
-Posted with Wayfinder
The rest of you follow behind Eustoma as the halfling tries to approach stealthily. This low-ceilinged cellar is crammed with bags, boxes, and barrels. A stout door leads to the southwest.
A burly korred is in this room, chugging from a bottle of liqueur. He has a broad chest and a thin beard. His arms and legs are short for a korred, and his hands and feet are nimble but unusually small. Despite Eustoma's best efforts, the korred spots the halfling lurking at the bottom of the stairs.
"Oi, what's this we got 'ere? Another halfling? Come to rescue yer boy-toy, is it?" He waves the bottle around while he brandishes a club in the other. "Ye're gonna have ta get through Linder Largehands first, lassie!"
Rogar sighs, and pulls a flagstone up from the ground and blasts it at the fey, "If ye insist, bu' are ye sure ye don't just want ta surrender?"
Linder Largehands grunts as Rogar blasts him, though her retains his footing.
Karla shoots her crossbow at the fey, but it whizzes past harmlessly. Nik'o bites the fey, and he hollers in pain but doesn't fall down.
"I ain't gonna surrender! I'm gonna smash ye good!" He takes a step forward and his hair reaches out to try to entangle the lynx. Then he smashes Nik'o with his club, a potentially devastating strike!
Rogar steps into the room, sending another blast of stone at the korred, the very dust in the air gathering into a spike and hurling itself at Linder.
The spike impales Linder in the chest, driving him back and pinning him against the wall behind him. He hangs there limply, the blast having left him quite dead!
When you have time to look around the cellar, you find a large amount of food, spices, and other sundries. In addition, there is a large chest with the words Stay out! This means you! crudely carved on the lid in Sylvan. The chest has a heavy lock, but you find the key on Linder Largehands. Inside is a large amount of alcohol: mostly cheap spirits, cooking sherry, and watery ale. However, there are six bottles of rare herbal liqueurs, each worth 125 gp.
The doors to the south have small openings, 6 inches square, at a human's eye level. The openings are inset with iron bars spaced 1 inch apart. The doors are barred from your side, and a ring of keys hangs on a hook near the southernmost door.
Looking inside, you see a broad cell that reeks of death and filth. Several sets of manacles are bolted to the walls and ceiling, apparently much newer than the stone of the cell. Nine of the restraints hold only corpses, but a tenth set contains a weakly breathing halfling. He appears malnourished, and his left leg seems to have been severed at the thigh.
"Please... Let me out... I'll help you however I can..." he pleads quietly.
Wulfram followed everyone else downstairs and healed Niko.
He grabbed the key ring, unbarred the door, and went in free the prisoner. "I'm Wulfram. We're going to get you out of here." Once he removed the manacles, he examined the weak halfling, and treated him as best he could, while offering him some food and water.
Aside from the malnourishment, the halfling seems to be okay. The stump of his leg has been stitched shut and doesn't appear to be infected. He gratefully accepts the food and water, partaking of some before answering Karla's questions.
"My name's Cirieo. Cirieo Thessaddin, and I appear at the moment to be the commanding officer of Fort Ristin, on account of my being the only Chernasardo Ranger left alive here.
"Some two weeks ago, we were attacked by a horde of hobgoblins, along with a passel of trolls and forest animals. No idea where they came from; scouts never mentioned a force anywhere near that size. We held our own, though, until their dragon swooped in, spraying acid and ripping down the north wall. I got in a nice knock on his jaw, and he returned the favor by biting my leg off. The soldiers bandaged up the few of us who survived and tossed us down here.
"I recognize the Ironfang Legion. They're a mercenary legion that works for Molthune. But this doesn't feel like a Molthuni operation. Too little regard for the fort's strategic value, and no follow-up from human forces. The Legion started stepping down their forces after that first attack, like they were withdrawing, and then a few days ago we heard some commotion, and that's when the fey moved in. Sounds like they're having a hell of a party."
"I'm from Phaendar," Wulfram replied. "The other three here were in town for the Market Festival, when the Ironfang attacked. Like here, the attack came out of the blue — everything was normal, then suddenly there were hobgoblins everywhere. There was a stone tower in the middle of the green that wasn't there when I walked to the inn a couple of hours before; troops were marching out of it.
"Ourselves and the few survivors have set up a settlement in some caves south of here. Aubrin the Green, a former Chernasardo Ranger, is there now.
"We went to the Ranger outpost near Phaendar and found it abandoned. We found evidence that they were recalled to Fort Trevalay, although we don't know where that is.
"Do you know what the relationship is between the Legion and the fey? We saw hobgoblin corpses with slit throats hanging from gibbets in the courtyard. We heard a couple of korreds refer to the 'Red Rock Revel', and indeed stones are stained with the hobgoblin's blood."
Pele had emerged from Wulfram's pack while he was examining the halfling ranger. After listening to the conversation (which she couldn't understand) for a bit, she yipped, *Ahem, aren't you going to introduce me?*
"I'm sorry," Wulfram replied. "Cirieo, this is Pele."
"Hello, Pele," Cirieo says, holding his hand out for the fox to sniff. "Don't think I've ever seen a proper fire fox before. Very nice."
He looks up at Wulfram. "All the other Rangers here are dead, except for me. Most everyone died defending the fort, and everyone else has been dropping from infected wounds or because these fey bastards keep forgetting to feed us. I know where Fort Trevalay is, and I can take you there. I also know we keep a secret stash of weapons under Fort Nunder, and I'm happy to share. All I ask for is another meal or six."
"As for the fey, they probably were just as eager to slaughter the hobgoblins as they usually are eager to slaughter us. If I had to guess from the charming, hairy gentleman who's been pointing and laughing at me the past few days, they're lead by Halk Grundlechar. He thinks of himself as some kind of fey warlord, but we've spent the past few years liberating him of those illusions. Sounds like he and all the shiftless fey of the Chernasardo have made themselves at home."
"Nah, I don't think they left. I think the fey got 'em," Cirieo says. "We could leave if you want to, but I doubt old Halk is going to rest on his laurels for long. With a real fort to operate from, he could attract a whole army of malicious faeries to his banner. Might be best to try to take him and his cronies down now, once and for all."
"If he's really attacking the Ironfang Legion, how much effort should we be putting into dealing with him right now?", Wulfram asked. "Is he that much of a threat? Don't get me wrong — I get that you've suffered greatly from his actions. I'm just trying to understand the big picture here."
"Halk is a destructive force of nature--both literally and figuratively. He'll attack anybody he comes across, human or hobgoblin. He's a threat to everybody. Plus, you just killed one of his brothers. Once he finds out, he'll be looking for you to take revenge. If you want to ensure the safety of the other survivors from Phaendar, I would recommend taking out Halk."
"I overheard a couple of the korreds talking about Halk, and one said that Halk is only the boss because his brothers support him," Wulfram said to Cirieo. "He mentioned the names Bristle Billie and Linder Largehands; I assume that the jailer here was Linder. The korred said that Bristle Billie 'stitches together things that aren't meant to be stitched' (the thing that we fought upstairs looked like it could be his handiwork). Do you know if Halk have any other brothers?
"I'm pretty sure Halk only has the two brothers. Well, had, I suppose," Cirieo says to Wulfram.
The halfling shrugs at Karla's suggestion. "Fey don't think the way normal folks do. You might have a chance at pulling off a deception like that, but it's hard to say."
"I suppose it would have helped if we had disguised ourselves as hobgoblins or something, before walking in through the courtyard...", Wulfram remarked.
"Yes, well, that's hindsight for ya," Cirieo says. "Anyway, I'm ready to get moving when you are. Say, Eustoma, mind if I borrow your sling staff? I'm a good shot with one, plus it will make a decent crutch so I can hobble around a little faster. The fey might be holding my own gear somewhere around here. It would be nice to get it back, but it's not essential."
Rogar stays quiet for much of the discussion, keeping an eye out for any more fey that might come check on the prisoners, but speaks up towardse the end, "An' how do ye think ye could make it look like we're Hobs wi'out tha entire camp seeing us disguised? Ah woul' rather they never see us a' all, bu' that we jus' take 'em all out one by one."