During these five days, Guthruc asks ozzy where the entrance and exits are to the "weapon house", the "warriors' sleep room" and the "king room". He plans to block these doorways with snakes.
The "weapon house" is area Z9, the "warrior's sleep room" is area Z5, and the "king room" is area Z8.
I'm interested to know this as well, and do any of these have locks that Mr. Winky could attempt to jam (with his Disable Device skill)?
There is the owlbear's pen (area Z6). Perhaps he could do something to the portcullis holding it in? Give me a roll.
Fifty-four people, including Akiros and Kressel, Auchs, and the Stag Lord. Ten are on guard.
Re: nets and catchers: sure, but the catcher-things will take a -4 penalty for being improvised weapons. Not that matters, since I don't believe the penalty stacks with the one for non-proficiency . . .
The day leading up to the battle, guthruc hunts and consumes nearly any creature with an adaptation beneficial for survival and battle, eating far more than an entire family might eat on . ensuring that the last thing are was a bird, and the entirety of it.
EDIT
A day before they attempt to storm the fort (to thin their numbers, without putting everyone on alert when we're trying to sneak in), Mr. Winky attempts to make the owlbear containment "mysteriously" fail.
When we are ready to sneak in, he'll attempt to jam locks if they are present, and tie door handles shut if not, to prevent entry to the "weapon house" (maybe there's a small hole in the wall that he could sneak through, allowing him to do this from the inside, if there isn't a lock?) and egress from the "warrior's sleep room" and the "king room".
Ozzy instructs the mites to concentrate their Doom SLAs on Auchs, then hands out a net and improvised mancatcher to each of them.
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When it is time, as the day turns into dusk, Abaos gathers his crew- Happs, Bright Awn, Dharak, and 16 bandits- Townsend's been left in charge of the mounted bandits- and heads down into the tunnels. It's dark, and rank, but Abaos can tell, even through the gloom, how well constructed this tunnel is.
It might not last forever, he muses silently, but with a little effort, this could be made into a permanent construction. Something to consider for later, and his mind begins reeling, possibilities turning. But he quickly steels himself back to the task at hand.
The bandits don't move easily in the dark; for some reason, he's always had better night vision than his other human friends; and it's apparent, as the torches the carry do no prevent them from stumbling around and into the tunnel.
But they make it, yes they do. And there, perched in the intervening tunnel, await two kobolds, one wielding a rapier, the other a shovel.
The two commandos, Abaos thinks to himself. Good.
With a hushed whisper, Abaos relays the plan again, using primitive hand gestures a monkey could figure out. Kobolds in first, fanning out to guide the others against . 14 bandits, plus Bright Awn and Dharak, followed by Happs, Abaos, and two bandits wielding longbows instead of swords or glaives.
As they assemble, Abaos sends off a silent prayer to whatever gods may be listening, hoping for good fortune on this day. And then, with a nod, the kobold begins digging. One, two strokes, and suddenly, they're through, and everyone begins pouring in.
"Go! Go!" Abaos whispers to his men as they pour through. "Onwards to victory! "
Meanwhile, Ozzy mentally signals Mr. Winky as he soars above, beyond the reach of the torches' light. He casts Dancing Darkness from his wand enough times to surround the fort, at first placing the spheres of gloom below the walls to cover the mites' approach. As the mites begin to climb, so does the darkness, each inky orb taking up position to blot out one of the torches that allow the human guards to see. The mites begin to execute their plan to incapacitate and silence the guards, before turning their attention to Auchs, magically terrorizing the ogre's feeble mind until his resolve breaks and he is forced to flee.
While Guthruc and company await the signal/battle, Guthruc paces back and forth, anxious to join the coming bloodbath. It had been so long since he felt the thrill of battle, instead, all this planning and digging. He had this instinctual lust for battle, for war, for conquest. An itch that needed scratching, a hunger that needed feeding; And tonight was going to be a feast!
EDIT:
Saw Guthruc's post. I assume this means he can take on any trait from Beastshape 1 now?
The darkness washes over the torches, plunging the defenders into total darkness. They cry out in alarm as the mites surge forward under the cover of darkness. The centipede riders, quickly outpacing those on foot, reach the base of the wall and begin climbing it.
The room appears to be a cell of some kind, sealed off from the rest of the basement by a porticullis. (These guys love porticulli.)
The cell has an occupant, who I'll let describe herself.
There's been fighting in the fort above where you've been imprisoned, on and off for the past five days, breaking only for thunderstorms. The fort's been set on fire twice, and injured people have been carted into the basement-prison on several occasions to receive healing from the prisoner in Area A.
Since late last night, you've heard the sounds of someone or someones tunneling their way through your wall. So you aren't taken completely by surprise when two small black scaled reptilian humanoids come through the wall, swords in their hands as they scan the room for threats.
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Abaos watches as the men's rushing in is quickly turned to frowns of confusion. After a moment, one of them crawls back in the tunnel. "Eh, boss," he says. "You might want to take a look at this."
Abaos motions for Bright Awn to follow him, then shuffles his way to the front, and steps out. Piercing purple eyes take in the scene, and alight upon the tiefling woman, and the cause of their predicament. "Not Falgrim Sneeg, nor Nugrah," he says at last. "So who are you?"
With a silent hand motion, he nods to the kobolds. "See if you can squeeze through."
He slowly approaches the woman, hands out, no obvious weapons, though the men keep a close eye on him.
Awn watches with keen interest as Abaos approaches the fiendish woman, and with a distinct lack of weaponry or guile.
A new strand is wound and woven into the tapestry...
Awn watches with keen interest as Abaos approaches the fiendish woman, and with a distinct lack of weaponry or guile.
A new strand is wound and woven into the tapestry...
Qed and Gix scan the room for threats. Instead, they find an unarmed Outsider (Native).
”She’s blue,” Gix points out the obvious.
”She looks delicious,” Qed too, notes the obvious.
I mean, she doesn’t look Abaos level delicious, but on a scale from Bright Awn to Abaos, she’s maybe a Happs Bydon. Qed knows better than to say this aloud. Abaos has been learning their language.
”Hold up, she doesn’t have any weapons,” Gix frets. ”Are we allowed to eat her? She might not be one of Lord Iorskan’s friends’ enemies.”
Qed points his sword at the blue apefolk. ”Maybe she’s magic like Tartuk. Aren’t we looking for a magical apefolk down here? Maybe better not to take the chance.”
”I think we should ask for orders,” Gix says obstinately.
”What if we were supposed to stab her, and she gets away?” Qed is frustrated. He and Gix are the only kobolds in the tunnel, which makes them the highest ranking kobolds in the tunnel. Abaos is Lord Iorskan’s friend, but as far as Qed is concerned the humans exist outside the chain of command.
”Then we find her and eat her later,” Gix shrugs. Qed never eats before a fight, says it makes him “sharp”, but in Gix’ experience it just leads to things like this. ”Maybe she has whole family with her, and we eat all of them.”
That reminds Qed of something he’s been wondering. ”Apefolk don’t lay eggs, right?”
”Mammals,” Gix agrees.
”They just grow hatchlings inside of them?”
”I believe so, yeah.”
Qed shakes his head. ”Weird. How can you tell when they’re making one?”
Gix doesn’t know. ”I don’t think you can.”
”Then, for all we know, she could have one right now. It’s like a two-for-one deal! Kill one human, eat two.”
That’s a compelling argument. ”Let’s ask Abaos.”
Things were simpler back when we ate everything that wasn’t a kobold.
Jen looks back and forth between the two kobolds and shrinks back against the wall. "I swear, if I make it out of this alive I'm learning Fireball, first thing I can..." she mutters under her breath.
I have all my spells for today, though, maybe they're not very intimidating but, by Boccob are they effective.
Her resolve steeled, she looks back at the kobolds' hungry eyes,
"Hey! I'm not food!"
Wait. They said something about leadership and orders... hopefully there's something holding them in check from making me into Cornish Game Jen...
Jen draws herself up and demands, Who's this Abaos fellow?
The kobolds are taken aback by Undrell’s linguistic skill. They feel much the same as a Narnian would if they discovered the rabbit they were discussing eating was actually a sapient creature.
”You can talk?” Qed splutters.
”Abaos is Lord Iorskan’s friend,” Gix says, as if that explained anything. Hurriedly, she slips back into the tunnel that she came out of.
Ragged and dirt-encrusted humans come filing out of the kobolds’ tunnel two by two, gripping polearms that they don’t have room to maneuver. When they realize their tunnel leads to a dead end, tense silence becomes mutters and curses. A man in a leather hood hisses sharply at the noise, and it dies immediately. A whispered command later, someone heads back into the tunnel to tell the others.
Abaos motions for Bright Awn to follow him, then shuffles his way to the front, and steps out. Piercing purple eyes take in the scene, and alight upon the tiefling woman, and the cause of their predicament. "Not Falgrim Sneeg, nor Nugrah," he says at last. ”So who are you?"
With a silent hand motion, he nods to the kobolds. "See if you can squeeze through."
He slowly approaches the woman, hands out, no obvious weapons, though the men keep a close eye on him.
Awn watches with keen interest as Abaos approaches the fiendish woman, and with a distinct lack of weaponry or guile.
The two kobolds try and fail to squeeze between the bars of the porticullis. Their shoulders are two wide.
The heavyset half-orc in the group looks at the device appraisingly. ”Buncha people here. I bet’cha we could force it.” He rattles the bars, softly. ”Bet’cha I can force it. The walls’re made a’ dirt, we can rip this sucker right out.”. He looks at Abaos, as if for permission. ”It’d be loud.”
Cautiously, Jen approaches, her patchy cloak that might've once been some distinguishable color but that's now just an amalgamation of greys, browns, and funny looking splotches drawn around her shoulders.
"Name's Jen, technically I'm still "Captain Undrell" in Brevoy but I haven't actually served for several years. Also, this isn't Brevoy, or anywhere respectable, for that matter."
Her golden eyes widen with alarm as a large, malevolently orange patch of mold unleashes a brief torrent of rancid water and she jerks away, closer to the bars. Her sleeves slip down and a slender ring flashes briefly on her left index finger.
There's some desperation, amplified by her dark, matted hair and dirt-caked clothing as she says "I really would appreciate it if you got me out of here, the fellow who told me I should try adventuring really didn't mention the dungeons, or the wails of the tormented, or the fact that you don't have to be a druid to start trying to talk to rats after a few weeks in this place..."
A thin, waifish girl steps forward. Her undeveloped frame stands an inch short of five feet, and her pale skin is completely devoid of color. If she were human, a first guess at her age would peg her at twelve, maybe thirteen years old.
She looks up at the azure-complected demi-fiend through pupilless eyes that are so white that they seem to glow softly in the gloom of the unilluminated cell. The girl appears to be dressed entirely in bands of dark silk that encircle her limbs and torso, like a shimmering black mummy, but even a cursory examination of the magical auras surrounding her would reveal the ensemble to be a work of glamoury. When she moves, the soft jingling of fine chainwork links clinging to her upper body can just be heard over the silence.
Her inky, unkempt hair falls in thick strands across the right side of her face, cascading over obsidian-lensed goggles pushed high on her forehead. The left side of her scalp is closely shorn, and shows faint scars, tracing out her first clumsy attempts to use the razor.
A single pauldron of dark leather with a scuffed chrome orb adorns her left shoulder, appearing to be the only surviving piece of what may once have been an exorbitant suit of plate mail. Her spindly legs are covered to the knee in tightly-laced leather boots that would reach significantly higher if they weren't folded over at the top.
Several long, pointed sticks protrude upward from the pack she wears at her back. She carries the longest of these in one hand, straightening it upward to rest the blunt end on the hard floor as she exits the tunnel.
Behind her, she raises the other hand, and a large, unnatural beast steps forward, dipping its huge head to let her fingers run through its thick, dark grey fur. It has the body of a wolf, and a large, flat face that sports a small nose flanked by eyes the size of melons. It looks at the tiefling, seemingly evaluating whether she is a threat to its master, as a long reptilian tongue darts up from the corner of its mouth to lick one of its eyes.
When Jen introduces herself, the girl smiles. I'm Ozzy. She says cheerily, waiving a gloved hand. Then she wraps her arm playfully around the creature at her side. And this is Mr. Blinky.
Though it's almost impossible to notice in the darkened cell, neither the girl nor the beast casts a shadow.
Guthruc steps out of the tunnel to examine what the hold-up was, weren't we here to kill a few blokes and then start the attack?
His giant frame forces the tunnel wider as he pushes more rock and dirt into the dungeon, revealing his monstrous strength and musculature. He looks nearly strong enough to lift a light horse off the ground without any help. Guthruc stands a few inches over six feet, that is, if he weren't hunched over like he was taught to walk on all fours. He has red eyes, 2 inch tusks jutting from his lower lip, and nails that could be described as claws equally well. His matte black hair is tangled, torn, and overall beat up as it falls in the rough and unkempt "ponytail" he puts it in. His ponytail, if you could call it that, falls just past the shoulders, only grabs about 2/3 of his hair, and is held together by a torn piece of rope. His green-grey skin is covered with animal furs and skins as armor and he wears nothing but a loincloth on his lower half. He has 5 ornate, handmade daggers along his belt (which is really just a rope), each one unique.
And finally, He drags a club in tow, just as tall as himself, with unwashed bloodstains coating the "business end". The club clearly appears to be a large tree branch that was forcefully broken off the tree. And has a fetish of hair, blood, and other bits and pieces of a very large humanoid, who still lives.
He eyes the blue woman before him.
Not comprehending draconic (yet), he repeats the obvious.
Demon girl blue...
He turns to Iorskan: Does that make taste good? clearly speaking in common, with no regard for trying to hide his intentions.
Jen's seen her fair share of alarming individual's, especially in the past few weeks at the Stag Lord's hold. Nonetheless, she takes an almost involuntary step back at the sight of the rather intimidating orc man.
Her eyes narrow and she looks back and forth between Abaos and Guthruc. The classic good guard, bad guard? Or just a band of deranged lunatics waiting to clobber my head in and eat the bloody remains?
"No, the blue's actually an unguent of nightshade that I apply to my skin every day; if you took one bite of me you'd be dead before you could say 'Nerull's Knees'." Jen says with complete and utter sobriety.
"Besides, whatever you people are trying to do, I know upwards of 25 spells, could come in handy."
Ozzy's eyes widen, and her black lips form a perfect circle. Turning to Guthruc, she says in a whisper that isn't actually any quieter than she was speaking before, She's like Shameska... only not dead!
Turning back to Jen, Ozzy excitedly asks What kinda spells?
There's some desperation, amplified by her dark, matted hair and dirt-caked clothing as she says "I really would appreciate it if you got me out of here, the fellow who told me I should try adventuring really didn't mention the dungeons, or the wails of the tormented, or the fact that you don't have to be a druid to start trying to talk to rats after a few weeks in this place..."
The half-orc near the door smiles in what he hopes is a winning fashion. ”We’ll get’cha out of here, no sweat. Appearances aside, we’re the good guys.”
The man in the leather hood snorts at this. The half-orc frowns at him before continuing.
”My name’s Dharak.” he extends a hand to shake. ”Any enemy of the deer-skulled despot is a friend’ve mine.”
He eyes the blue woman before him.
Not comprehending draconic (yet), he repeats the obvious.
Demon girl blue...
He turns to Iorskan: Does that make taste good? clearly speaking in common, with no regard for trying to hide his intentions.
”Maybe don’t eat her,” Dharak suggests. ”I think she’s a friend.”
Dharak isn’t a small person, but his silhouette doesn’t strike fear into the hearts of humanoids the way Guthruc’s does. Despite this, the congenial half-orc seems comfortable around the admitted cannibal.
Guthruc intentionally fails his sense motive check.
"Guthruc too strong for nightlock to kill."
"Are you sure we shouldn't consume her? She doesn't seem to like us very much... Plus, she uses that artificial arcane magic. I don't trust those who spit in the face of the natural order like that."
“Says the mutant bird monster . . . as far as sins ‘gainst nature and reason go, you’re right up there on that list, I’d think.”
Ozzy listens blankly, scratching Mr. Blinky behind the ear as her two orcish companions trade strings of unintelligible grunts and growls. She rolls her eyes in an exaggerated motion involving her entire head (because normal eye rolling wouldn't be visible when the eyes lack pupils), then begins to giggle when she picks out a word that, by coincidence, sounds exactly like the Undercommon term for "butt".
Jen casts around towards the more rational and non-cannibalistic members of the group. I certainly hope they can keep this Guthruc in check, I do have some tricks up my sleeve but still...
Glancing at Ozzy, the least intimidating person present with her small build and youthful appearance, Jen searches for the kinder tone of voice that she's grown disused to using. "Well, I certainly hope I'm not dead, I haven't been very.. uh... devout." She lets out a little chuckle that dies off slightly as Guthruc's harsh, guttural orcish cuts into it.
She's silent for a moment, but, with the sound of Dharak's placating tone, she adds to the fetchling girl, "My spells are the sort that debilitate and immobilize armies, that render them useless before the swords of my allies."
With this she feels somewhat more confident, as she thinks to herself, I'm not bragging, there's a reason why I climbed the ranks so fast, after all.
Suddenly she remembers the olive branch Dharak had extended to her and turns towards him, in doing so revealing her slender blue tail, which is curled behind her back. The friendlier half-orc seems to be having some sort of dispute with his cannibalistic companion in orcish, so she waits for a pause in the talk before asking, "What's this you said about the Stag Lord?"
Debilitating and immobilizing armies?! Ozzy's face brightens, and she hops into the air, triumphantly. That's exactly what we need! Could you do it to the guys upstairs? Then, after a pause too brief to let Jen respond, she continues, ...but not OUR army. They're outside the fort, waiting to attack when we give the signal.
The friendlier half-orc seems to be having some sort of dispute with his cannibalistic companion in orcish, so she waits for a pause in the talk before asking, "What's this you said about the Stag Lord?"
”I’m a huge fan of racketing,” Dharak explains, ”but I’m less fond of racketeering. We’re here t’make the countryside safe for small, independent bandits again.”
”Speak for yerself,” the man in the leather hood mutters. ”I’m in this for petty revenge,” he continues, which isn’t strictly true but he’s not in the best of moods so we’ll forgive him.
...
There're lots of reasons to want the stag lord dead. Everyone outside the fort walls seems to wanna kill 'im for one reason or another. Ozzy says, as she squeezes her way through the now-crowded cell toward the portcullis. Pro'lly some of those inside, too. She is now speaking distractedly as she inspects the door, looking for a quieter way to get it open. Besides all of us, I mean.
The door’s made of crisscrossing metal bars, and is a couple inches wider than the doorway it fits into, it sticks into grooves in the walls. It looks like it slides upward into the ceiling, so there’s probably a winch or something on the floor above to open it with. Someone could also try lifting it straight up, though it looks pretty heavy and there isn’t a ton of room for loads of people to help.
The door could also be opened by pushing it over; though doing with would require pushing the sides of the porticullis through the walls holding it in place.
Jen reassesses Ozzy, taking in again the girl's lithe frame and wan complexion and holding it up in her head against Ozzy's words. Hmm, I suppose it is possible that she ages at a different rate...
"Who are you aligned with, then, that's sending in an army?" she asks, ducking to the side to avoid another deluge of mold juice. It's a swift, graceful move, made as she speaks but it's unclear whether it's the speed of anticipation of a regular drip, or simply good reflexes.
”I’m a huge fan of racketing,” Dharak explains, ”but I’m less fond of racketeering. We’re here t’make the countryside safe for small, independent bandits again.”
”Speak for yerself,” the man in the leather hood mutters. ”I’m in this for petty revenge,” he continues, which isn’t strictly true but he’s not in the best of moods so we’ll forgive him.
Discreetly, Jen looks between Dharak, his unnamed companion, and the orc, who's silent and hulking in the manner of a storm waiting to strike. It's a strange, motley group, she thinks as she stands in an awkward silence after the hooded man's bitter remark.
Finally, she says to Ozzy, "I'd be glad to help your army if you can get me out of here, consider it my repayment for your kindness."
Finally waddling in came Iorskan. The little wyrmling wasn’t so little anymore. He had been growing quickly, in a boiling a frog kind of way. You didn’t realize how big he was getting until your femur was shattered and he was licking out your marrow. As he walked, he swished his tail back and forth in agitation. He didn’t didn’t like being underground. He was supposed to fly. Not that he could...yet. He looked at the strangely colored woman quizzically. He didn’t know humans came in that color. He idly wondered if she would taste different. But if Guthric wasn’t eating her then he assumed that she wasn’t food or the enemy. Doing his best to be patient he waited for the others to stop wasting time talking. Again. They talked more than they ate, which is why the siege was still on. He couldn’t wait for the Eat-Murder to start.
"Who are you aligned with, then, that's sending in an army?"
It's our army, Ozzy says piquedly, turning back to Jen. There's mites, and kobolds, and humans, and horses, and a huge (she emphasizes the word "huge", stretching her arms as wide as they will go) centipede, and a bunch of smaller centipedes that are still big enough for the mite to ride on, and a dragonfly big enough for a mite to ride, and another dragon... a bigger one... he's blue, like you... Ozzy looks upward in thought, as if trying to remember something ...Oh, and Anura. He's some kinda big frog that only Guthruc can talk to. She begins listing off these allies in a huffy, defensive tone, but by the time she finishes the list, she has forgotten about any perceived slight, and sounds more like a child proud to have finished reciting the correct sequence of letters for a difficult word in a spelling bee. She smiles, then turns back to inspecting the door.
The door’s made of crisscrossing metal bars, and is a couple inches wider than the doorway it fits into, it sticks into grooves in the walls. It looks like it slides upward into the ceiling, so there’s probably a winch or something on the floor above to open it with. Someone could also try lifting it straight up, though it looks pretty heavy and there isn’t a ton of room for loads of people to help.
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Perhaps it was the shadows, or Jen's incarceration. Or perhaps it was all the weird personages that came after that confused her as to what entered before. One moment she was talking to Ozzy, and the next she remembered that the man seemingly made of roots and branches and wait, what...weird smooth skin...and flowers had been there for some time.
He was wyrd. Like a piece of wyrd, perhaps folded in on itself, upside down. Twice. And then flattened and elongated and then rolled up into a wedge of possibility. At least that was what his eyes felt like. Because he was staring right at her. With a heady mix of nonchalance - the kind of nonchalance you are born with - and imperturbable...stillness. Which would be unsettling if he didn't then suddenly break out into a gickshit eating grin. Which was great, because then his eyes went back to...normal. For a tree. Then again, for Jen, as a tiefling, normal left a loooong time ago.
Essentially, he wore a loincloth. Less essentially, but more practically the bark and roots covering his torso created armor. A blade, elf-curved jutted insouciantly from a scabbard at his hip. Mostly he stood. And watched.
"I'm Awn. And you, you are the Change."
Ozzy turns to Dharak. If a couple of you can lift it, I bet I could prop it up with a couple of extra weapons. She places her face against the bars, looking up with one eye into the groove. If we use polearms, we shouldn't even have to duck to get under it. Then turning back toward Guthruc, she quickly adds If you can lift it that high.
Jen starts slightly as the gold dragonling enters. She seems somewhat wary but not entirely surprised, as if she's encountered stranger things and people in her life and at this point a dragon is almost expected for her.
Her eyes skip back to Ozzy and she listens with half in ear to the girl's petulant prattling, and then a tree appears out of nowhere. Or rather, no, that wasn't it, it was more just that it... It became a part of the world she knew, when maybe it had always been there and her flawed perception of the world had simply never...? Or, no maybe it was that... Ah, Nine Hells, shut up brain, you're not making any sense; this is what happens when you get locked up in a moose man's dungeon for three weeks!
Mostly he stood. And watched.
"I'm Awn. And you, you are the Change."
Not one to back down from a challenge, especially one delivered by someone who didn't seem to be a deranged, cannibalistic orc, Jen watches Awn back. She refuses to blink first.
Not one to back down from a challenge, especially one delivered by someone who didn't seem to be a deranged, cannibalistic orc, Jen watches Awn back. She refuses to blink first.