Fyrtor for his part faired reasonably well, though it would take some time before the tightness in his chest would subside.
Kazador made it through without issue.
Algric though...
Muse doesn't hold up well under the toxic vapors.
Before the group readies to pass through the Cloudkill with the crates, Túrion stops them:"Wait a minute. Let us check more closely on this side. It was strange enough to me that someone working with the heart could get trapped inside, only allowed to leave at pre-determined times when someone opens the doors from the outside. Until I realized we do not know where the heart ultimately draws its power from. Both the Antimagic-Field as well as the fact entrance is controlled from outside could indicate that they were protective measures AGAINST something that could come FROM the heart. They may have tapped into some dark powers, and taken measures against them escaping into the rest of the colony. Otherwise it makes no sense not to have a way to open the door from the inside."
Túrion then points at the Fog ahead, and back at the corridor:"And this? There's no quarters inside, no storage. No way to sleep, eat, or do anything except work with the heart or stand guard. People didn't stay in this area unless forced to. And I doubt they passed through such a powerful spell draining vitality several times per day without a means to bypass it. That, and all but the most exceptional specimen would risk their lives. If there was a breach, they could not even get most warriors into the Anti-Magic Field because the Fog would slay most of the fighters. Apprentices learning to work with the heart or high-ranking warriors on lever duty would still risk their lives. No, I think there must be a way to bypass this Fog. To deactivate it or create a save passage from this side, at least."
He then proceeds to check the area and walls nearby for any hidden switches, levers or other means to interact with the spell, including looking for magical signatures that could give away special triggers.
Turion looks very carefully and finds a way to temporarily disable the trap. You pass through without difficulty and now you know how to get through the area without poison.
Algric helped drag the box, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow come close to death. But why? He couldn’t put his finger on it. He put it down to exhaustion. Mentally he felt ready to collapse. Veering from wanting to cry and to scream in rage, at that moment he just felt numb. He felt weak. He felt powerless. Kazador, fool that he was, was going to retrieve the artifacts. Retrieve them...so he could give them to elves! And humans! And he hid behind an idiotic religious conviction in doing so. Which meant that he wasn’t just a fool, but a heretic as well. But what could he do? Leave them to fall into the hands of orcs...or elves? The idea would have made him laugh if it wasn’t so tragic.
As Kazador went in, Algric prayed to Torag that the roof would collapse on him. That it would bury him with his folly. Better to let the artifacts be claimed by the mountain than to gift them to outsiders.
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It's pretty obvious from his face that Algric isn't doing well, and the memory reader has an educated guess as to why. Muse falls back a step to walk side by side with the dwarf.
"Algric, have you ever heard," he begins, in nonchalant tones suggesting anything but a deliberate attempt to convince or console, "the tale of Albert Norwich?"
"Believe it or not, he really lived, once upon a time. I heard this from the horse's mouth. Well, Rhalak Spiritdancer isn't a horse, and doesn't have a mouth, but . . . at any rate, it happened in the first generation of Kazad Gravr, back before these halls were a well-kept secret. Norwich was a shepherd. As was his father, and father before that, and so on as far as oral tradition stretched - they weren't big on writing things down back then, see. It wasn't always an easy job, and it wasn't uncommon that he and his clan would have to fight goblins, wolves, and the weather for the right to life and livelihood. And I can't honestly say that he loved his job. I don't know nearly enough about him, but from what I do know I know he was a grumbler. But it was tradition, it was his family legacy, and it was his."
Muse looks sad, recounting what comes next. "From the fact that I've heard this story, you might have guessed that his life wasn't happily uneventful. Raiders came. I'm told they called themselves the Geirdmadra, and I've traveled far enough to tell you definitively - there aren't any Geirmadra left. Dwarves are nothing if not thorough. These raiders treated murder like it was a game, and their battle cry went "this one's mine." The Norwich clan was taken by surprise in the night, and they were massacred. Albert was one of few survivors who went to the dwarves of Kazad Gravr. The Geirmadra were a threat to everyone who loved peace and wanted to live happy boring lives, but Albert wasn't thinking about anyone but himself. He wanted revenge. Kazad Gravr, though, they took longer views. They worried that the Geirmadra might turn their eyes to the dwarves' stone halls, and as they'd always been proactive in managing threats to their security the Rune Wardens went to field. Albert knew the lay of the land, and fought bravely beside them. By the time the Geirdmadra were beaten human and dwarf considered each other fast friends. Together they identified Norwiches fallen kin, and together interred them in a grotto held sacred to Clan Norwich, and a priest of Torag oversaw the ceremony."
"That much," Muse says, adjusting his hat and gesticulating, "survived the retellings more or less intact. Some details were lost or changed, but in the grand scheme of things they don't really matter. What happened after, though, that's been forgotten. See, the dwarves of Kazad Gravr wanted to dig a tunnel to and build an outpost in the grotto where the Norwiches were buried. They had a damn good reason for it. They wanted more advance warning of threats like the Giermadra, and they wanted to mobilize faster if and when one appeared. But Albert said no, unconditionally. They wouldn't move the bones of his family and his ancestors, and he'd die on that hill if need be. Kazad Gravr thought he was being unreasonable, but he was an ally and a friend." Muse gives a sad grin and shakes his head. "So they waited to build their barbican until after Norwich was dead and buried."
The captain shrugs his shoulders as if to say 'they really should have consulted a medium about this.' "Albert Norwich's ghost came back to haunt the place, because of course. And he had friends inside Kazad Gravrs walls that'd been against the idea from the start. Eventually they decided to respect the dead man's wishes, collapsed the tunnel they'd built and abandoned the project. There's no moral to this story, it's just a thing that happened. But if I were to amend one in . . ."
Muse is quiet for a moment, before concluding his tale. "The orcs came from the same direction as the Giermadra did, those thousands of years ago. I don't know what kind of a difference it would have made, a few more days warning and one more place for the Rune Wardens to deploy. I don't know if it would have made any difference, it seems likely that Kazad Gravr has outposts further flung then one they considered making in it's earliest days. But if you asked me about it, I'd say Albert Norwich was in the wrong."
Algric walked in silence, suffering the human’s story with stoicism. But despite himself he was taken in by it. When Brolin was finished, he glanced over. ”Never heard that story before. If ye weren’t a bone talker, I’d think ye a liar.” He fell silent for a moment. He tried to think of the moral of the story, but he couldn’t focus on that. It felt so...hollow. Here, walking through his home, with nothing but the ghosts of regret to fill them, everything felt hollow. Everything except bursts of emotion, lashing out at anything he could to momentarily forget. Slowly, and with his voice low, he said ”Eh...manling. Ye can talk to the dead, right? I...can ye pass a message to me? For my son. Tell him that I’m sorry. That the last thing I said to him shouldn’t have been to yell...that...just that I’m sorry.” He finished, weakly. Glancing around to make sure that the others didn’t overhear. The day that the attack happened, his son had made a warped bow. He had called it a disgrace. To the clan, to the very craft itself, and to the lad. He had said such hurtful things, hoping that it would spur the beardling into working harder. It was how his father had taught him, afterall. And he had turned out fine. It had seemed so important at the time. But now? Now it seemed so pointless. He had never even told the beardling that he loved him. It wasn’t his people’s way to show such weakness. That was shown by actions, not by words. So why then, did it hurt so much? He looked at Brolin with a small spark of hope in his eyes. ”And that he was loved. Can ye do that for me?”
Fyrtor listened to Brolin's story interested. He also heard the gruff dwarf's quiet words. The pain he heard reverberated in the druid's heart bringing to the surface his own regrets and filling him with sympathy. He tried not to show that he had overheard, but there was a tightness in his throat as he spoke and he tried to be discreet as he wiped away a tear. "Ss... So. Assuming we can get out of here without the whole keep collapsing. How are we going to get these crates back into dwarves hands? Where are we going to go? We knew we needed to get here and prevent these arifacts from falling into the hands of the Concordant, but now what?"
He looked at Brolin with a small spark of hope in his eyes. ”And that he was loved. Can ye do that for me?”
Muse gives a wan smile. "I'm always happy to help with things that only I can. When we have a moment to rest and talk, I'll summon his spirit and let you tell him yourself."
"Ss... So. Assuming we can get out of here without the whole keep collapsing. How are we going to get these crates back into dwarves hands? Where are we going to go? We knew we needed to get here and prevent these arifacts from falling into the hands of the Concordant, but now what?"
"I've been thinking about that quite a bit, actually. I think we need to speak with Halak, and there's a few reasons for that." He counts them off on his fingers. "First, because Halak and his 'human lovers' represent a once in a lifetime opportunity to make inroads into the Barbaric Lands. The Bishopric is short on friends and has an unfortunately small pool of talent to draw from in case of war. And while I hope to the gods that the continent doesn't dissolve into chaos, it's probably wise to start talking to potential allies about our mutual enemies. Second, because even if we find a peaceful solution to the Concordat/King Stephan problem, I'd still want to support the cause of any and all advocates of not raiding and pillaging, even if that was only due to extraordinary circumstances. And I imagine the Bishop would feel much the same. I'd like to see what can be done to foster close relations and trade between the Bishopric and the blues, there's plenty we've got that they want. Maybe use that clout to bankroll a mission, it's how Abadar would do it. I'd even be down for helping them fight other orcish factions. We can help them and ourselves at the same time, and the more we prop them up the more they come to depend on us, and the more leverage we have to discourage torture and slavery. Third reason I'd like to talk with Halak, is that the Concordat were generous to donate a boat to our cause, but we don't have enough folk to man it. If the blues have with them any slaves or prisoners, I'd like to buy or negotiate for them. Failing that, see if he'd be willing to send an ambassador plus honor guard back to Helm with us, and we get them to help us sail the Concordat ship. Either way, we get back to Helm way faster than if we waited for the Sonder, and then from there we can get these weapons to the dwarves in Iustia."
"Hmmm, it is an interesting thought. I own Kazador my life and so I won't be leaving while there's work to be done, but I do want to check on my village. Maybe once we get back to the Bishopric proper I can send a message. Either way this war needs to be prevented. You mentioned making the orcs into allies, I worry about that. I'm not sure the people of the Bishopric will accept it. Also the orcs themselves will rightfully be skeptical. What you propose isn't much different that what the Concordant did in manipulating them. I know that it is different, but trust is thin between the races, now more than ever.
Making a crew of slaves the orcs may have would be much easier than trying to take a crew of full orcs I think. Either way what you say is true, if we want to use the ship we will need a crew.
There is another point to consider. While taking these crates to the dwarves in Lustia is the right thing to do, it will have consiquences. It will arm potential allies of the Bishopric which would be good, but if the Lustian government were to hear of it they might consider it an excuse to attack the Bishopric, which we know they already want to do.
What if instead of the colony in Lustian we took these weapons to the dwarves near my village? There aren't a great many there, but they are already inside the Bishopric. Also it would give us a chance to both check on my village and perhaps recruit the goblins that are attacking there. If we were able to gain the orcs trust maybe we can do so with the goblins as well."
"Hmmm, it is an interesting thought. I own Kazador my life and so I won't be leaving while there's work to be done, but I do want to check on my village. Maybe once we get back to the Bishopric proper I can send a message."
"I suppose that we might all be parting ways soon. Van Beem's in custody, Woodsdale is safe, Gael is dead, we kept the Concordat from getting the weapons of Kazad Gravr - I know for my part that I've accomplished everything I set out from Helm to do, and a lot more besides. I haven't known any of you longer than a month, and some of you much less than that, but I count all of you among my friends. If we wind up walking different paths, I'm glad to have gotten to meet you and we'll have to meet again sometime to trade stories. Presuming we all survive the upcoming months and years."
Muse sighs. He'd sooner spend a weekend in Abbadon then relive the past two days of his life, but there's no one he'd rather have at his back if he had to then the people who saw him through Kazad Gravr. "Myself, I don't think I'll be able to sit tight and ride out this storm. Won't be able to summer somewhere warmer. Not when other people are in the way of it, and not when other people are trying to fight it. I'm going to do everything I can to prepare this continent, to batten things down and keep them from flying around. And I'm going to stay close enough to the action to seize opportunities I see develop. Eyes forward, shield out."
"You mentioned making the orcs into allies, I worry about that. I'm not sure the people of the Bishopric will accept it. Also the orcs themselves will rightfully be skeptical. What you propose isn't much different that what the Concordant did in manipulating them. I know that it is different, but trust is thin between the races, now more than ever."
"We know for sure that no one'll accept or agree to anything if we don't ask. The way I see it, trust is thicker between orcs and humans than it's ever been before, because there's something there. I've been thinking lately, talking with Legacy, about what defines an era, about the things that are taken for granted but could change, or have changed, or will change. And it often comes down to little things that snowball. Just having communication between humans and orcs leads to a future better than the past has ever been. Today they're an ally of necessity against a common enemy. Tomorrow, maybe there can be peace on this planet."
There is another point to consider. While taking these crates to the dwarves in Lustia is the right thing to do, it will have consiquences. It will arm potential allies of the Bishopric which would be good, but if the Lustian government were to hear of it they might consider it an excuse to attack the Bishopric, which we know they already want to do."
Muse is unhappy at that. "I've mentioned before that I look tacky in a cloak and am fairly subpar with a dagger. My preference is that we respect the Guardians' final request, but not if that means we're making the same mistake as Albert Norwich. Still, someone needs to go warn the dwarves in Iustia what happened at Kazad Gravr, and the full extents of King Stephan's machinations with van Beem. I worry that otherwise they might fight for Iustia for the sake of their neighbors."
"What if instead of the colony in Lustian we took these weapons to the dwarves near my village? There aren't a great many there, but they are already inside the Bishopric. Also it would give us a chance to both check on my village and perhaps recruit the goblins that are attacking there. If we were able to gain the orcs trust maybe we can do so with the goblins as well."
"If you need to go home, I understand it. There are precious few people I'd rather have at my side sailing headlong into danger, but your friends and your family come first. But we've got inroads with the blues that I don't think there are with the goblinoids near Woodsdale, however many survived the druids' wrath. Open lines of communication. And Halak's been talking with other orcish tribes, he has clout that we couldn't manufacture. I don't plan on sailing about begging every roving band of killers to fight for the greater good, it just doesn't sound like an effective use of time. But Halak's here and I'd be a fool not to talk with him."
Mel listens to this conversation thoughtfully.
"I think perhaps it may be a tad over-ambitious to hope that the Bishopric and the orc tribes may become friends as such. There've been centuries of raids and reprisals back and forth. That history is unlikely to be swept aside any time soon."
"That said, you are correct that the Bishopric does not have tremendous military strength. It's worth proposing an alliance -- or at the least, a cease fire. A mutual agreement to lay down arms, so that both sides may focus their attention elsewhere -- the Concordat, and Iustia."
"If that works out, who knows? Perhaps in time a true alliance -- even a friendship -- might grow. Stranger things have happened. But any such thing will take a great deal of time. Decades, at least. More likely centuries. Cultures change very, very slowly -- and half the problem with any alliance with orcs is that their culture does not encourage fair dealings or treaties or alliances. If you want a lasting alliance with the orc clans, well, you're talking about changing their entire way of life."
"So yes; we can propose such a thing. And I earnestly hope it works. It would be better for everyone. But don't pin all your hopes on it, hey?"
"On the topic of what to do with the crates, I agree that they should stay in dwarven hands, one way or another. At the same time, I would hate to hand King Stephen a convenient excuse to start the war he appears to want. But part of me wonders if it's only a matter of time before he finds -- or manufactures -- one anyway."
"For now, let's focus on getting back to Helm, crates included. We would have to go there anyway. And we've been out of touch with events on the larger stage ever since we left the city. The situation has undoubtedly changed. We can make a better decision about where to send the crates once we know how affairs stand at the moment."
"As for your plan to appeal to Halak for a crew, well ... I can't say I'm a particular fan of the idea. The prospect of being cooped up in a ship full of orcs does not appeal."
"But ... I am willing to go along with it. It would save them from a life of slavery." She turns her green eyes on them. "Because naturally they would be our employees. We would pay them a fair wage, keep them fed and clothed; and if some of them want to leave us, well, we let them go. I for one will not be a slaver, no matter how convenient it might be."
"I think perhaps it may be a tad over-ambitious to hope that the Bishopric and the orc tribes may become friends as such. There've been centuries of raids and reprisals back and forth. That history is unlikely to be swept aside any time soon."
"I'm taking a long view here, but perhaps a shorter one than you'd think. Human generations aren't particularly long, orcish generations even shorter, and centuries of bad blood can be swept aside in less than that. Cultures change very, very quickly sometimes, and history turns on a dime."
"But ... I am willing to go along with it. It would save them from a life of slavery." She turns her green eyes on them. "Because naturally they would be our employees. We would pay them a fair wage, keep them fed and clothed; and if some of them want to leave us, well, we let them go. I for one will not be a slaver, no matter how convenient it might be."
"I'm willing to be a jailer, if it comes to it. It'd sit easier on my conscience than playing catch and release with violent lunatics. Is penal labor not a thing in the Concordat? Restitution, paying back debts to society?"
"Certainly there are prisons," Mel responds. "They're for people who have been tried and convicted of crimes. Halak's prisoners -- if he has any -- are more likely to have gotten that way by losing a fight. It's possible, even likely, that they've also done terrible things that would make them criminals anywhere outside the orc lands; but that's not how you become an orcish prisoner."
She sighs. "But there's no point arguing over hypothetical prisoners. For all we know, the blues may not even have any. The reds certainly showed little interest in surrendering. We can worry about how to treat them once we have actual people at hand and can discuss concrete cases rather than hopeful speculation."
Kazador walked off to grab the artifacts. The others were busy talking...planning...but he wasn’t interested in any of that. He was gripped by religious fervor. So much had built up to this point that he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to. He was certain that this was the will of his god, and he would die before he let Torag down again. His heart steeled, he walked off. To destroy the Heart of Kazad Gravr.
"See, that's what I meant with your short span giving you a drive to achieve something. With as vast differences as there are in culture between Orcs and Humans, it seems ridiculous to think a one-sided adaptation would take place in a mere few decades. They knew of your values and systems for centuries - and decided to keep doing things their way. In a way, it was merit. Maybe in a mutual adaptation, the position of Bishop could be open for challengers?"
He smiles friendly:"Don't misunderstand. This Halak is talking to you. But I doubts that's because he wants to reform his society. It's because there is a mutual enemy. Someone who betrayed and used his kind. When the enemy is gone? The orcs will not stop fighting. Others or each other.", he shrugs.
"That's not to say they CAN'T change. And this cooperation may be a sapling growing into a strong tree. But by their nature, their majority will resist that change every step of the way."
As he sees Kazador walk off, Túrion rushes after him:"There's 4 pedestals in there. It would seem you are lacking 2 hands to grab everything. I know you consider this to be your duty...but those who stand alone...fall." He indicates the halls of Kazad Gravr with a gesture: "I'll provide you with a boost of speed regardless of your decision, so I'll be there with you. May as well help, if you'll allow it."
He shrugs:"If you force me to find a Deep Badger and get it here to retrieve what's left of you from the Null Magic Zone, I won't let you forget that happened, ever."
Kazador nodded. ”My thanks. Torag’s blessings.” He gave a salute, putting fist to chest, before walking off and embracing his fate.
"Go swiftly" Fyrtor says before returning to the conversation. It was good for him to have something to think about and talk about rather than dwell on his worry for Kazador. He didn't want his friend to take such a risk, but he also understood how important one's religious observation is. This was important to Kazador, and so whether he liked it or not, he would not object.
"We should speak to Halak either way. Perhaps the grace of the Healing Light will shine on us and the orcs can reconcile with the Bishopric. Whatever happens we need to get the crates back to Helm and Mel has said, and the Concordant ship is the best means we have, if it's still there. Mel speaks wisdom in not planning too far in advance, but thinking about these things is still worth doing. Thing my change though once we know more.
In the end I think we should stay together in whatever we do. We've just made some very powerful enemies. It's good do have powerful allies otherwise we may each far to a Concordant wizard alone."
Túrion stands next to the Dwarf in the Chamber containing the Heart - with the short duration Haste would last, it was imperative to cast it right before they started.
Looking at the gate, ceiling, and thinking back to the structure of the hallway, he was doubtful if his Dwarven brother-in-arms would make it, alone. Algric was not here to help, despite being a Dwarf, despite this representing the last will of those who stayed behind.
"I'll take just a moment to swap out the spell."
"There's 4 pedestals around the heart. If you want to grab them all by yourself, you'll need to circle around, changing direction 3 times and slowing down to pick them up and secure them for carrying. I suggest you allow me to help. If we start at the 2 dais in the back, we can move directly towards the exit, picking those 2 up and not losing much momentum as we run to escape the collapse. We shed blood together, ours and that of enemies. I am not a Dwarf of Kazad Gravr, but I'll gladly stand with their last Rune Warden."
Heading towards the back of the room, Túrion gets ready to cast Haste the moment Kazador is in position.
Nelly cocks her head in wonder?
Why?
What?
She was curious...but the important thing was that her master was well. And that she was with him. The wolf eyed the pillar, then wondered what time it was, and if the moon was visible.
The nights close to a full moon were most fun to hunt.
Kazador looked at Turion, annoyance clearly written on his face. This was his task! It was...his face softened. One of his very many faults had been his pride. Before his disgrace, that was. And now that he was clawing his way out of the gutter, it was coming back. A familiar feeling of shame crept his way into him.
”I think, elf, that ye have just saved me from failing this test. I said, not too long ago, that all of us come from the Forgefather’s anvil. Not just my people. To act like we are his only children would mean my death, for as ye point out, the odds would be against me. I will need help. To act out of pride would likely kill me and bury our artifacts. And it is only right that if an elf is to bear an artifact with honor, then he must be willing to die to protect it. It...will be my honor to do this with ye.”
The others wait near the exit of the vaults while Turion, Kazador, and Nelly walk back through the anti-magic field, the held-open gate, and to the heart-chamber of Kazad Gravr. Turion casts a couple of spells then they snatch up the artifacts with great speed. The glowing crystal heart shatters immediately and, with a crumbling noise, the ceiling of the chamber begins collapsing. The two dash forward, plunging back into the null magic zone. Here, Kazador runs much more slowly. The cave-in begins spreading with full speed, however, into this area. Loose chunks of masonry begin falling on the pair!
Kazador ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Which, in the null zone, wasn’t very fast. When his armor felt like nothing more than normal clothing, and with magical haste, everything seemed easy. Now, with rocks falling, not so much.
Túrion made sure to only grab his item after Kazador started running - making sure the Dwarf suffered no delay from ill timing. At first, he stayed just behind Kazador, hoping they would make it out in time before the ceiling came down.
But when rocks started to fall, he sped up, quickly pulling ahead in the Null Magic Zone.
If a chance presents itself, he'll look back to make sure Kazador is still behind and going - and if the collapse seems to slow down, he'd wait for the Dwarf to catch up.
Kazador is struck lightly three times by falling rubble. Turion, however, is only struck one glancing blow then runs forward to relative safety. Near the vault exit, the rest of you hear crumbling, cracking, and crashing noises as the tunnels fall in on themselves. You see Nelly and Turion rushing towards you and a great crack passes through the ceiling right above you! Far more than just the vaults are compromised!
Artifacts gripped tightly, Kazador came out at a sprint. Dwarves were not slow, but they were possessed of great stamina. He was glad to have on both his armor and such a sturdy helm. ”Run!” He yelled, not slowing his pace.
"Besides, though it's nearly meant my death several times I have come to enjoy..." Fyrtor leaves off speaking as they hear the cavern rumble. "Oh Light I hope they can make it..." When Turion and Nelly appear without Kazador Fyrtor's heart falls. Then the dwarf pounds into sight, the peal of his heavy footfalls failing to mask the thunder of the tortured stone.
"Run!"
"But the crates?!"
As Túrion comes into view, he looks distressed. Looking back a moment, then turning forward and going for the crates:"Nelly, here...!", then shouting at the others:"The collapse is more extensive than anticipated. RUN! We'll be with you shortly. Kaz is fine and a bit behind me!"
Nelly makes it to the Crates before Túrion even, and he wasted no time re-attaching the ropes to her barding.
Before, they had dragged the Crates at a leisurely pace - not for lack of strenght on Nellys part, but to avoid damaging them. He certainly hoped Dwarven craftmanship on Crates was better than their structural engineering.
The moment he is done, he'll look around trying to see Kazador, then heads towards the exit following the others.
Mel moves to help attach the harness to Nelly.
You all begin rushing out of the Vaults toward the nearest exit of Kazad Gravr to the north. Kazador knows a way out that should get you to safety as quickly as possible. But you have to hurry! You run with great speed, Nelly dragging the sturdy dwarven crates with heroic strength far ahead with Turion. Rubble falls on you and cracks appear in the ground that you leap over.
As Nelly rushes around the corner, the crates get stuck on a piece of rubble. Someone needs to help the great wolf get them clear!
Algric ran, with rocks raining down upon him the entire time. Cursing loudly, he kept looking around in uncomprehending horror.
Kazador, meanwhile, assisted Nelly so that she could get the crate loose and keep moving. Despite his thick armor and best efforts to dodge, he still took as much damage as Algric. More, even, given the size of masonry falling around him.
Fyrtor keeps pace with the slowest members of the group dodging the falling rocks as best he can. He does well at first, but when Nelly gets stuck he is distracted long enough that he takes a particularly bad blow.
The crates secured, Mel heads for the exit. She clicks her heels together and feels a familiar jolt of speed.
He's clipped by some falling rubble, but between his false life, the shield over his head, and the adrenaline, if he's hurt he doesn't know it yet.
Seeing the elves pull in front of him and Algric falling behind, he does some math in his head while he runs. There's no way that Algric makes it out of here in time.
"Turion! I'm out of magic! If you have another haste, cast it now before we're further out of range!"
Túrion had some time to mentally review how far the closest exit would be according to the maps Kazador had drawn. As the Runewarden helps Nelly, Túrion realises Algric is likely to fall behind.
With his attention on others, and divided, a large chunk of rock hits him, pressing the air from his lungs.
Still doesn't feel right. Guess it takes a while until everything is really back in place...
Hearing Brolin shout, his attention snaps back to the Dwarf.
He holds a moment to cast another Haste, renewing the spell on himself, and including Algric, Fyrtor and whoever else stayed behind.
The large wolf races forward, always waiting and looking back at corners to make sure Túrion was still behind her. The other elf that seemed trustworthy had left a scent-trail for her to follow.
Suddenly, the crates behind her get stuck...but luckily, one of the hairy barrelman helps out. Onward.
Mel keeps a sharp eye out for obstacles and complications.
The heroes continue rushing forward, having drawn much nearer the exit. Up ahead, Mel notices a cave-in blocking the tunnel ahead! She is unsure whether there is another way around or if the way can be cleared! But the sound of crumbling stone roaring like an inevitable dragon bids her hurry!
Kelian jogs after the party as quickly as he can -- not terribly fast even with Túrion's magical aid. Rocks clatter off his plate mail, causing even more racket than he usually makes, but even their hard metal cannot save him from every chunk of falling rock.
A rock spangs off his armor as he comes to the barrier, and he takes a moment to press a hand to his chest.
Mel reaches the barrier and searches for a way around, blessing Fyrtor for having given them all the capacity to see in the dark.
A rock bashes her shoulder as she searches, and she winces.
Algric ran as fast as his hasted legs could carry him. A large piece of the ceiling fans dangerously close to crushing him, but he dodged out of the way at the last second.
Kazador, meanwhile, took the full brunt of the rocks which came down. Luckily, his thick armor meant that he suffered bruises, rather than broken bones.
Fyrtor keeping pace with the slower Kelian and Algric was struck by several chunks of rock. When he arrives at the blocked passage he searches for an alternate route.
Túrion rushes forward, hoping to help clear the way, only to find it blocked.
As he frantically searches for a way out, another large rock from the ceiling strikes him, causing the elf to temporarily see stars.
Is this how it all ends? Buried underground?