"Gems will be handy, no doubt. Locks, not so much.", Túrion muses, listening to what Mel shares about her origins.
When she asks about himself, he is taken by surprise:"Me? Hm. I suppose you'll want to know a bit, if you are trusting me with your life in battle. I was born and mostly raised in Avinoax, except for a small period...abroad, early in my life. While most of the magic I wield is through study, my blood carries a gift for it as well. When I was younger, I was...less controlled, more impulsive - I suspect because of my bloodline. It's also why I never received the weapon training so traditional among our people - the instructor considered me a danger to others.", he smiles apologetically: "That same impulsive approach to things is probably the reason I'm a father despite my age. Two girls, two mothers. And neither of them wants contact with me any more. Mayhaps also the reason I started living on the edge of my hometown, and spend more time in the woods, with Nelly and her pack - several generations now. They are majestic creatures. I also love nature. It is ever-changing, ever-moving, never still. Even in the coldest winter night, the cycle keeps going. I suppose you could guess from that, but I don't follow a classic God. If I were to pick, then the first tree at the heart of Avinoax as an embodiment of nature would come closest."
Thinking a bit more, he adds:"As for what I like: I love reading. More specifically, I love learning something new, or experiencing something new. Books are great tools for that, either by letting one experience what someone else did, or created, or learn things without an instructor for the topic. I enjoy the good things in life, and making new experiences oneself is certainly best, but books are a close second and more readily available - and less dangerous, for that matter."
Mel raises her eyebrows at his mention of having two children already, but does not comment on that specifically.
"When I was very young, a dog ... sacrificed himself to save me. I am therefore fond of all canine creatures, wolves included. Although I know wolves and dogs are very different from one another." She nods to Nelly. "And books have long been my greatest joy. So we have a few things in common."
She smiles ruefully. "Including, it seems, study abroad. I hope yours was less ... traumatic ... than mine has been thus far."
When Turion mentions following the green faith, or something like it Fyrtor sits up straight. When there's a break in the conversation he chimes in. inHe speaks as though he's made these areguments many times. "I have many friends like you, people who revere nature and ignore the gods. They are good people, and I respect them, but I don't think that that's the right way to go about things.
There is good and evil in this world, both of which are forces that stand outside of nature. People, and other other more intelligent creatures I suppose, can understand the right and wrong of things. We make choices and those choices shape our souls. Each right choice makes us a little better, a little more like those gods who champion good in this world. And the knife cuts both ways, when we choose evil, we move closer to condemnation and the Abyss or Hell that awaits those that serve only themselves.
People, unlike the animals and plants of this world, can and should strive to become more than what they are in this life. The gods teach us how we can do that and watch over those who serve them.
You said you enjoy books. I have one that you could borrow. It tells of the goddess I serve, and how she became what she is. Here, take it. Even if you aren't religious in the traditional sense you might find it interesting."
Finished speaking Fyrtor pulls out a well work book with a brown leather cover and extends it towards Turion.
"Oh, wolves and dogs are different, but possibly less so than you'd think. They are simply more primal and less corrupted. Nothing against dogs, they are valuable creatures in their own way. As for my time abroad - I was...very young, and remember little. I was not even certain those things I do remember were so until I pushed too far during the last battle...but I'll need to understand that better myself before I feel comfortable being less enigmatic. I hope you understand."
When Fyrtor offers the book to him, Turion politely smiles, taking a brief look, before returning it:"Thank you for the offer, but I have read it. I have read most religious works available, to better understand the agendas and motivations of these beings. I disagree with your assessment, though. Morality is a construct of a civil society. They one in Avinoax differs much from that along these Orcs, but both societys have a sense of right, of values important to them. Gods attempt to enforce their ideals, further their goals. But they are not infallible, nor perfect. Worship grants them power, but before there was worship, before Gods arose, there was a perfect balance, a perfect equilibrium - Nature, left to it's own devices. It was in the beginning, and after all our kinds die, and Gods are forgotten, Nature will remain. It is a constant yet always changing. It's morality is universal and final. I said it, I am not really a religious person. Sarenrae's probably one of the better choices I would see in a companion - but it is not mine."
With a shrug Fyrtor takes back the book and puts it back into his bag. "To each their own. I can't deny there is beauty and power in nature. Too many people forget the land and their ties to it. People are dependent on the land and the plants and animals we share it with. We must care for it so we don't destroy it. Doing so is a good thing, a right thing. That requires we exercise restraint. People have to choose that course, a choice that is not natural. In nature, the limits are only what can be done, not what should be." With a sigh Fyrtor moves to change topics.
"Well, here and now is not really the place. If you ever have questions though feel free to ask." Turning to face the group as a whole he raises his voice. "Something we do need to talk about though is what happened near the end of the fight. We need to be in the same page when we are fighting. Indecision like what happend when Captain Muse tried to offer a truce could get us all killed. I am all for mercy, but mixed signals like that put us all at risk."
The brief joy Mel had felt on learning of her parents' safety leaks out of her expression at this new topic. Heavily, she says "I agree. It was a kind thought, Captain. If they had broken and run, I would have been happy to let them go. I would rather not kill if I can avoid it. Given my own choice, I would prefer to take prisoners rather than slaughter every opponent."
"But -- we are not in a position to do so. We have no secure place to keep prisoners. We are too few to guard them effectively. They would slow us down, and might well put us in danger -- for example, by shouting to alert their fellows to our presence at a bad moment."
She shakes her head. "Though it pains me, if they will not flee, all we can offer them is death."
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"Right. All right, all right, here we go. It's something that I was looking to address while we're here anyway; not the most graceful segue, but it's an awkward topic all around - raiding party tactics and the how, when, where, and whys of killing people." The captain rubs his eyes and puts his thoughts in order. "We're outnumbered by a hostile force, and that informs our tactics. Since we woke up today we've exploited magical silence, alchemical noise, and defensive fortifications for everything that they're worth, and at times it was barely enough to keep us alive. So when you argue that we shouldn't make things harder on ourselves, by the gods do I see where you come from." He raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
But it's with sudden vehemence that Muse says, "But I can't agree. Doing the right thing is always harder than doing the convenient thing. I mean, it's practically a tautology; you have my word as a well-traveled Medium that Iustia and the Concordat are just the newest faces on the ancient tradition of powerful people making their lives more convenient at the cost of other peoples'. And I'll also guarantee that at least most of the Concordat Council and the schlubs in King Stephen's orbit harbor at least faint misgivings about what they're doing or what they enable. It's just they'd rather take the path of least resistance than do what's right."
Increasingly unable to keep the frustration out of his voice, Muse pronounces,"we're outnumbered by a hostile force, and yes, that informs our tactics. War's an unpleasant affair, and I've waded through the cognitive debris of people who weren't able or willing to prioritize their friends and themselves over the people trying to kill them. Wherever possible my recommendation is to trick, trap, ambush, divide, conquer, and generally pit their weakness against our strength. But on the slim chance that parley could avoid a pitched battle, or when the worst of the fighting is behind us and I think the survivors might be willing to capitulate . . . I intend to ask!"
"To me, the problem wasn't the asking, it was the way of the asking. We hadn't talked about the possibility beforehand and when you made the offer we became confused as to what we were doing, and that left us vulnerable.
Fighting is always somewhat of a confused mess, and we haven't been fighting together long enough to know each others' normal actions. We need to talk about all of this, so that in the heat of battle we can keep working together even when plans fail or are forced to change.
In this situation... for multiple reasons, I do think that mercy may have been the wrong decision, but... maybe I was wrong. I'm not really sure..."
Fyrtor seems to be troubled by Brolin's words.
Algric, for the first time spoke up. From the window he was looking out of he turned, an unpleasant look on his face. ”I’m nay sparing any of them. I see a murderous fooking orc here? I kill it if I can. Bloody fooking fools ye be! Sparing these monsters. They’ll loot MY HOME!” he snarled ”and move on to ye lands. They’ll murder ye friends, ye family...they’ll take everything and squat on their graves. All because yer bloody feelings are more important.”
”Algric...” He began.
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”What is it, Kazador?” He put emphasis on the name as he stared Kazador in the eyes.
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Kazador turned away. With a sigh he got up. ”...going to check the second floor.” He muttered as he got up and walked away from the confrontation. Algric didn’t press any further.
"All right, Brolin," Mel says. "Suppose we fight another pitched battle like that, and towards the end you offer to let them surrender. Suppose they take you up on the offer. What then?"
"Take their weapons, bind them, see what kind of deal we can cut - what questions they can answer, or what they can do for us. And then most likely turn them over to the blues to be held or judged by their own customs."
Kazador slowly sat back down as Algric stalked away. Rather than be alone to his own thoughts he instead turned his attention back to the morality debate his comrades were having. He didn’t see what the big deal was about killing your enemies, but he had been around humans long enough. They had the capacity to be the most merciful and the most cruel of creatures. They were fascinating, really. On the whole he was glad that his friend was on the more compassionate end of the very wide spectrum. He just hoped that he was intelligent enough to not lead to a situation that would make him regret it.
"In many places, turning them over to the local authorities would be a reasonable solution," Mel says. "They might get imprisoned, or set to hard labor, or even ransomed back to their people. But that's not how orc society works. In most cases, captives are executed immediately. That is, unless the victorious tribe feels like torturing them for fun first."
"Occasionally, a lucky captive might be enslaved instead -- which may arguably be just a longer, more involved form of torture. The life of an orc slave is ... well, anyone in the tribe can use you for anything they want. I once read A Narrative of my Captivity in and Restoration from the Orc-lands by a human woman named Tarsa Willoughby. She spent five years as an orc slave before she managed to escape. In that time she was starved, degraded, routinely beaten, and bore four half-orc children to her ... master." Mel spits the last word out like she'd bitten into a plum and found it rotten. She unconsciously lays a hand on a dagger on her belt.
"It's all tied up with their notions of strength. Surrendering means that you are weak, and therefore worthless. The best you can hope for is to be treated as disposable labor by the tribe -- but most of the time, you're just killed. The weak are considered nothing but a drain of resources that would be better spent feeding those who are strong."
"So your chances of getting an orc to surrender are pretty slim. As they see it, it's a choice between proving their strength by dying in battle, or proving their weakness by surrendering, and then dying without even the comfort of what passes for an honorable death among their kind."
"You might get some to flee. Running away is a blow to your standing in the tribe, but doesn't automatically render you worthless. If your enemy fails to catch you, that proves that you were strong enough to evade the hunter. It's a sort of probationary status -- but the ones that do it tend to fight twice as hard the next battle. They need to prove themselves worthy again, you see."
She sighs. "It's a cruel, harsh culture for a cruel, harsh people who have been shaped by the cruel, harsh environment they live in. And like it or not, they're going to act according to their culture. It's all they know."
"Aye, you do NOT want to be taken alive by Orcs, Mel's got that right. A friend of mine travelled to Belkzen a few years ago and returned telling me of a custom they had there: When a young girl had the onset of puberty, she is gifted a knife she wears on a cord around her neck. That knife is not for self-defense. It is given to her so she can kill herself to avoid being enslaved by the Orc Tribes nearby. Because that seems the more desirable course of action. Take a moment and think on that, Brolin. These people gift knives to their kids and instruct them on how to kill themselves efficiently to avoid this fate.
Túrion had still been standing with Mel and Fyrtor, now deciding to participate in the moral discussion as well: "That said, Fyrtors objection is right: We need to know what we are doing, going in, coordinate our actions. I understand Orcish. I know you meant to talk with them, not just allow them to flee. That was not the time, and not the place. Ceasing hostilities in the middle of battle and resuming diplomatic talks does not easily work after one side suffered casualities, much less with a warlike society like the Orcs. If you had a plan, include us next time, and we can single out a leader and take him prisoner. If you had no plan and made this up on the fly, don't be surprised if nobody else is certain what to do."
Taking a few steps, he stops next to Algric:"Finally, it's not our call to make. It's the home of Algric and Kazador. A graveyard where their friends and loved ones, essentially everybody they knew perished. Now there's groups of the invaders fighting over the best plunder. They agreed to stay their hand and side with one group to accomplish our goal, and ultimately cause the death of more orcs - don't try and force them to be mercyful to those who destroyed their lifes. Nobody expects you - or Mel - to act against your beliefs and kill someone. But just as that decision is not forced on you, don't take the option away from others."
A few more steps, Túrion ends up near the stairs:"Death is part of nature. The stronger kill the weaker, sometimes prey on them, feed on them. A natural process. This? This is unnatural, something created by our intelligence - we are in a warzone right now - and it will not be the last on this continent - stop the concordant, and someone else will unleash this terror...Make no mistake... War is coming. With all its glory... and all its horror ...those who die here and now may be the lucky ones."
Pausing a moment, he steps up the stairs, longing for some solitude - Nelly followed quickly behind.
He'd realized it was a stupid thing to say as soon as the words had left his mouth, and now he had to sit through the two elves reminding him just how stupid an idea it was. This is why I stay at sea. The world's haunted. Cursed.
"I'll figure something out. If we can't do better than our illiterate contemporaries, we might as well not bother recording history or remembering it."
As the elves give the reasons for not taking prisoners the concern on Fyrtor's face seems to fade, though it doesn't leave completely. When Turion mentions hope knives Fyrtor nods. "I've heard of hope knives, Belkzen isn't far from my home Woodsdale. I'd hope that orcs would be kinder to their own, but I don't suppose we could really expect that. Still we should be ready to offer mercy to does when we can.
In an effort to keep us working together smoothly in our future fighting, I would like to make a proposal. As Turion has mentioned this is Kazador and Algric's home. They know the area better than any of us and have the most at stake. I think we should make Kazador something of a war martial, or captain. He has the most experience fighting in general and is used to fighting in small groups like this.
That said, it would only be during the fighting here in Kazad Gravr, and we aren't a military unit. But this way we have someone who can help guide us. Like a driver for a horse or ox team. We will be more effective and safer listening to a single voice rather than each making our own calls."
Kazador shook his head. ”I’m done leading. It won’t lead us anywhere good. I am not trusting my own judgement at the moment. And Algric...” He glanced behind him to make sure he wasn’t overheard ”...is too consumed right now. I wish I had something more to offer.” He fell silent, thinking about the dream he had. With a sigh he continued ”I...can offer my advice. Based on my experience. But I give no orders.”
"Then we shall simply have to do our best, and hope that that is enough," Mel says.
"We need rest. Shall we set watches? I am willing to serve one."
Fyrtor frowns at Kazador's words, but Mel speaks up before he can say anything to the contrary. With a sigh he says, "yes, we need to rest. I can take a watch as well if that is needed."
"I have one, and only one spell of the first circle left. I can either let some of you keep watch without need for rest, or I can set an alarm. Pick either as you wish. I will be of no use without spells, so I'll sleep. Nelly is used to keeping watch over me while I do, she'll not be offended if you include her in the rotation."
Mel hauls herself out of the chair. "Let me take a look at Nelly, Túrion," she says. "I can tend her wounds. It will take a while, though."
It's difficult after a brutally tiring series of engagements, but Mel manages to bind Nelly's wounds.
Not the sort to sit idle and watch while someone else works, Muse helps Mel however he can.
He's not a doctor by any stretch, but with someone competent telling him what to do and how to do it four hands prove better than two.
"Much appreciated. Thank you, both."
Fyrtor steps up to Kelian, "I should do my part as well."
Fyrtor mutters a few words and a soft glow appears and fades.
You take turns keeping watch during the night. But any who look outside see that Halak's faction also watches over you. You wake in the morning, hungry and uncertain what will meet you today.
After treating Nellie, Mel seeks out Kazador, finding him sitting by himself in a corner, slightly removed from the others.
She comes and joins him. Reaching into her handy haversack, she pulls something out. "Here," she says, handing it to him.
Looking down, he sees that it is a book, bound in serviceable black leather with the title neatly stamped into the cover and inlaid with gold leaf: A Treasury of Tales, being a compilation of folk lore from Old Feldnost, Revan, and the Troscari Wilds.
"I had this commissioned for you, back in Helm. I thought of it after we swapped stories that one morning. It's got more dwarven folk lore in it than any other title I know. I would have given it to you earlier, but ... well, first I wanted to re-read a few of my favorites on the sea journey, and then I was mad at you about the explosion on the pirate ship, and since then we've been busy fighting for our lives. There hasn't really been a good time. But ... there you go. I hope ... well, maybe it can bring you some comfort."
Muse casts false life on himself, locking his arcane spells in as longarm, false life, and communal darkvision.
Before laying down to sleep that evening Fyrtor runs through a set of sword drills. At first he moves through the forms slowly and deliberately, later inceasing the speed until he sweats from the exertion. Afterwards he takes a seat against one of the wall and pulls out the book he'd offered Turion earlier and reads from it for nearly half an hour. It is obvious he knows the book well as he flips beween passages frequently.
From The Birth of Light and Truth
"And the glory of the redeeming fire shall burn the wicked who turn not away from their wickedness. And the enemies of righteousness shall be stuck down, the Abyss scoured and cleansed. Then shall peace reign and lamb lie with the lion and dove make its nest upon the falcon's eyrie.
- - -
The faithful shall endever to teach the ways of righteousness. Be therefore an example to those who know not the way they should go. All are imperfect. Let mercy be shown to all who will receive it. Take not life needlessly. Give not offence, neither seek conflict. Yet a light cannot be but it drive away darkness. Be not afraid of those who know not the path.
- - -
And I fought with the Beast together with all those I had gathered. And we prevailed and cast him down. And the Tyrant sealed him up in the earth."
Reading from the book he loves Fyrtor is troubled by the day's events.
I let Kazador execute those orcs. They had fought against us and probably would have kept fighting were it not for Mel's magic bow. But they weren't fighting us when Kazador killed them... Did I do wrong? Did we take life needlessly? Yet what would we have done if Kazador hadn't killed them?
Making them slaves would be worse than what did happen. I doubt they would have turned from their evil ways, even if they owed a lifedebt. They just don't think the way we do. And yet this Halak seems to be sensible enough. Maybe we could have done more...
Fyrtor continues to wrestle with these thoughts as he tries to come to a conclusion one way or the other. In the moment, what Kazador had done seemed right, if regretable. Now after having met Halak and seen that orcs can be reasoned with he is less sure.
Quietly he prays, "Mistress of Light give me guidance. In one hand thou doest carry the swift sword of justice, yet in the other thou proferest peace. What should I have done? If I did wrong in not stopping the killing please forgive me. I am sorry for my failings. Please help me. Help me to know the right way to go. May they light shine before me and illumen my path."
Tired and still unsettled he lays down to sleep, rising when it is his turn to watch.
In the morning Fyrtor pulls out the three flasks he'd prepared the day before. He hands one each to Turion, Mel and Brolin. To Mel he says, "Mel, please take this. Do you remember the spell I cast that made a cloud behind me that made the pirates sick? Well, you may not have been able to see, but what this does is it will make a disguesting cloud that follows you around, though it won't bother you. I wish you'd carry something more than that dagger of yours for if you get caught up in a fight, we did find a very nice shortsword I think would be a great side backup for an archer. If you won't carry that, at least this will give you something to disuade someone from chasing you.
To Turion and Brolin he says, "Here, these are minor healing concoctions, not very powerful, but they might come in handy if I or Mel can't get to you."
Brolin and Turion each receive a concoction of CLW (CL7, DC11)
Early in the morning you hear a sharp rap on the door and Halak's voice calls out "Ready go? Wasting time!"
"Before we depart, I took a look over the noteworthy loot from our last battle. We may want to consider utilising some of that..."
Pointing out three Headbands, Túrion continues:"Two of those increase their wearers intelligence, one of them their Wisdom. I already have one of the former kind, so they are free for grabs, if some of you want to be smarter than they are." He grins:"They will also grant, by their design, aptitude in a certain skill aligned with them. Which one, we don't know yet, but a welcome boost nonetheless."
Moving to the next item, Túrion holds up a Belt:"It increases the wearers vitality, their very life force. Certainly useful for all of us, albeit those in close combat would probably benefit most...Fyrtor, you seemed to get knocked out quite regulary...how about it?"
Focusing on the table on the opposite side, Túrion points out a scorpion whip, a chain shirt and a pair of scissors: "The whip is a magical weapon - but I am not sure any of us have the skill to wield it. Maybe our new allies could benefit from a gift to secure our temporary alliance? The armor is crafted from Mithril, and also boosted with a powerful enchantment. Definitely a worthwhile option for anybody used to light armor. Heck, I wish I had mastered casting in armor to be able to use that. The scissors can be wielded like a fine dagger - with a few other abilities that I can explain to an interested party."
Headband of wis +2
Belt of con +2
+1 scorpion whip
+2 mithral chain shirt
Fate's shears
"I would like the chain shirt, please," Mel says.
She hesitates. "The headband that fortifies one's will power would probably be best suited to Fyrtor, as I believe the Druidic arts require a strong will. Fyrtor, are you already wearing such a thing? If so, I might like that as well. In that last fight it took me far longer than I would have liked to fight off the blindness from that spell. It was ... terrifying. And debilitating."
“I caved and bought a magic headband a few years back, to boost my spellcasting, and while it’s earned itself back several times over I still get antsy around the things. There’s just something profoundly unsettling about wearing a magic item that changes how you think.”
"I already have a similar headband, sobi won't be needing this one. Also I have a similar belt though it improves one's reflexes instead of boosting vitality. I am more of the mind that avoiding harm is better than enduring it, not that I've been too successful at either since I joined myself to this group."
"All right then," Mel says, "I'll take it. I very much dislike being blind."
She dons the headband, and carefully replaces her scarf above it, leaving just a hint of it gleaming at her brow.
"This does not look like orc work," she says, examining the chain shirt. "Hmm. They must have stolen it from someone." She reflects, uncomfortably, that this particular set of armor doesn't seem to have done much to help its previous two owners, but puts it on anyway. It fits well. She tucks her other set of armor -- the leathers she'd commissioned in Helm -- into her enchanted bag.
At Fyrtor's suggestion that she carry the sword they found earlier, she hefts its slightly. "No," she says. "I think my daggers suit me better. The balance doesn't suit me quite."
"As for this," she says, examining the ... nauseating concoction ... "I think perhaps it would be more useful to Kelian. Using it effectively requires one to get up close to the enemy. He is fully armored, shielded, and fights up close, while I am better advised to keep my distance." She pats her bow.
She returns the sword, hands the concoction to Kelian, and takes a moment to make sure everything is situated. "All right." she says. "I am ready to go. Brolin, if you could perhaps cast the spell to lift darkness from our eyes that we discussed?"
The next day while packing his belongings, Kazador willed his armor to have a small pocket over his chest. He slipped the book inside so it would sit next to his heart. It meant more to him than he could readily express or even admit.
Hearing you talking within but not exiting, Halak attempts to open the door. Finding it locked, he knocks again. "New day. Move on. Can't wait forever. If move quickly, other tribe no big problem."
<Orcish>"We'll be out in a minute, we're simply performing final preparations needed."</Orcish>, Túrion responds in Orcish, then moves to open the door.
Greenskin scent was greenskin scent. Nelly trusted Túrion to distinguish prey from not-prey, friends from enemies. But she was cautious all the same, ready to pounce anything behind the door he was opening if it turned out to be hostile.
Seeing the giant wolf bristle and being not entirely sure why puts Muse on edge himself. “You ok there?” he directs the question at Nelly, but he’s hoping for confirmation from Turion.
“Hold up a moment everyone,” the captain says, digging through his pockets for an agate. The one he finds, he found on the side of the road in some no-name fishing port where the Sonder put in after a storm. The rock has fascinating orange and brown whorls that Muse could stare at for minutes without hyperbole. Fifty or ninety years ago, it’s hard to be certain with these sorts of things, a halfling did just that, and then took to carrying it for luck. Whenever they had nothing else to occupy them, the fur-footed smallfolk would absentmindedly rub their thumb against the stone, over time wearing a polished groove almost through it. The halfling’s boredom, nervousness, and giddy anticipation clung to the keepsake like a shirt dipped in tomato sauce that’ll never be quite white again.
“Remind me to pick up a bag of carrots next time we’re in civilization,” Brolin gripes, snapping the material component for Omit’s spell in half to avoid losing another rock from his collection should he need to cast the spell again. The agate catches fire and burns as arcane tunes write themselves in the air. “This is a spell that’ll let you see in the dark, as discussed.”
Túrion takes note of Nellys behaviour as well as Brolin seeming unsure about it: "She does not like being indoors. It puts her on edge. But she's a smart girl - won't attack without reason or order. Be at ease, Nellys only trying to keep us save."
When he feels his vision change, he blinks a few times:"That will be handy. Thanks. To you, too, Fyrtor." - then he proceeds to open the door.
Halak enters. "Come. We go that way" he points to the northeast "To push out enemy tribe. Scout say saw elf that way too but only for one beat so maybe wrong. We clearing out enemies. You stay close."
Kazador knows that the vaults are toward the northeast of the dwarven city as well.
"Your scout saw an elf?" Mel says. "Hrm. That's a little unexpected. Perhaps an agent of the Concordat?"
In the absence of directions from Kazador or Algric, she is content to head northeast, moving quickly and quietly.
Halak nods. "Yes. Think so." He eyes Turion curiously but says nothing. He continues walking along with his troops as you head to the northeast of Kazad Gravr.
You come to a long, 10 ft wide hallway with a 90 degree bend to the right. Halak grunts and points "Scouts say enemy have position there. We go in. You help?"
"How big a fight are we expecting here? I have a couple of spells prepared that will allow for a very one-sided fight, but I can only cast them once. One will summon a sleet storm that no one can see through and it makes it harder to move about. Another spell would allow a group of people to see through that storm. Together those spells are devistaring, but I can only do that once today."
"I've got to second Fyrtor's question," Brolin asks the shaman, "how many combatants are we looking to fight? And, while we're discussing tactics, what manner of druidry do you have prepared for use, Halak?"