Regretting his bad shot, the magus positions himself to for another try. Once more, green, thick liquid forms ooze from his fingers...
You’ve got another round of actions before the mote jumps off the skeleton into the tunnel.
Bonegrit makes to continue scrambling up the skeletal remains of the creature that constitutes his current ladder and means of ascent. So close, and yet so far away.
With a curse the magus wills a glob of acid and flings towards the mote...
Alagor fumbles for his long bow while hoping to shoot the small creature. However, with Delkaneth "turning off the light" the warrior realizes that he has just lost precious time since he can not see the mote anymore. Frustrated he joins Pyotr in trying to shove the huge skeleton and and throw the tiny creature off-balance.
Pyotr and Alagor grapple one of the dead monster’s many legs and proceed to push and heave with all their might, trying their best to the jostle the skeleton and interrupt the tomb mote’s flight. Unfortunately, their enthusiasm’s a little too much; one of the large spines adorning the creature’s vertebrae breaks loose and plummets down like an ivory blade.
And of course, the falling projectile crashes down on the unluckiest man in the Hungry Mountains, namely Delkaneth, who at least on this occasion manages to scramble aside, suffering only a fragment of bone shrapnel in his thigh .
Still, the shaking has the desired effect, for the spine is not the only thing knocked off the skeleton. As Bonegrit climbs towards it, the tomb mote tumbles past him, squealing like a ghoul on a swing, then smashing into the flagstones beneath with a loud squish. It wriggles, and scrambles to its feet before its pursuers can reach it, darting around the room with incredible speed, seeking a way past the adventurers.
Initiatives
Pyotr watches in surprised delight as the mote tumbles off of the top of the skeleton. The delight is replaced by horror as a lance of bone breaks loose and falls straight at Delkaneth. Quick reflexes, and something akin to luck - though far more sinister and capricious, in Del's case - manages to save him from the worst of it.
"I never imagined 'catching the mushroom' would be the difficult part," he curses as the mote scrambles around the room.
"Watch-out, bones are falling off!" - Alagor shouts as he jerks and dashes into what he considered was secure area.
Good, no one was hit... - was on his mind, while he was scanning the area, when his gaze come upon the unlucky Del, covered in bone shrapnels and blood slowly appearing from fresh, albeit very small cuts.
"Run over these you prick!"
Bonegrit wraps his legs around one of the protruding vertebrae to secure himself for a shot with his bow. Alagor and Pyotr's efforts prove a little more profound than the ranger anticipates, however, and Bonegrit is easily dislodged from his ascent. He comes crashing to the ground hard, a brief "Agh!" all that precedes his unexpected arrival. He impacts flat-backed with a great wheeze. He curls up in a ball trying to get his breath.
Round 2
Ordered Initiative
Tomb Mote
Pellius
Khozin
Bonegrit
Agtharda
Delkaneth
Pyotr
Alagor
The tomb mote searches for its escape from the enclosing circle of adventurers. Seeing the thing closer to him, Pellius figures third time lucky with his acid spell. A viscous glob appears in his hand and he flings it at the mote. This time he has more luck, the liquid hissing through the creature’s wretched flesh of dust, dirt, putrefied meat and fungi.
Khozin follows, a dagger appearing in his hand which he hurls at the mote, the blade slicing right through its little body without appearing to do any damage.
Bonegrit is the next to lend his action to the confusion, by plummeting from on high in comic mimicry of the tomb mote before him .
Agtharda stomps over with alacrity and tries to thump the mushroom infested mote, but the little monster dances aside and magic-user’s staff cracks on the stone beneath. Delkaneth flanks her, managing to score a glancing blow with one of his axes.
Alagor meanwhile hurls a clutch of caltrops at the fanggate, but his throwing skills are not a match for his friend Khozin, and the caltrops clatter and scatter about the room.
It’s left to Pyotr to pounce on the tomb mote before it can escape, which gives him a nasty little nip for his pains . Still the paladin manages to catch the thing, and for its wriggling, the tomb mote can’t squirm free.
Seeing that Pyotr has gotten a hold of the creature, Alagor breaths a sigh of relief: "Bravo Master Bellknight, well done. Gorum knows that if we had to chase this critter a bit more, I would dissect it to hack it and smear it to paste!"
Moving slowly to pick up the unused caltrops, Alagor addresses Khozin while passing-by: "There's the tomb-rat, now you and this little lady 'ere can pluck with your tiny hands whatever 'shrooms we need, so we can finally get the hell out of here, eh? Ya want some gloves for that?"
The tomb mote manages to survive the fall and the weapons thrown its way. In seconds, it rights itself and makes to streak away into the dark recesses of the cavern. Pyotr throws himself atop the creature, grabbing onto it with both hands. Before he can pin it fully to the ground, it manages to sink its rancid teeth into the exposed knuckle of his ungauntleted hand.
"Somebody take this thrice-damned twincap!" the half-orc shouts.
Slowly, patiently, as though he were not struggling to hold onto something akin to a wild animal made of festering detritus, Agtharda reaches down and plucks the twincap(s?) off of the creature.
"Although....... maybe a little more exploring might find us a better exit than walking back through Bone Alley back there? And who knows what other wonders this place is hiding?"
Pyotr glances around the room. The intimidating specter of the skeletal dragon, much of it lost to sight, even with his racial ability to see in the dark, looms large in his thoughts. As he cradles his torn knuckle, though, he cannot help but see the image of the swordmark on his palm.
Chaplain Orradin will contact me in a few days' time. An entire garrison of undead soldiers... leaderless and unmoving... The Warpriests of Vigil, channeling the Lady's light through this cavern would make short work of Arith-Zind's fabled garrison. But, I cannot send them in here blindly...
"I agree. Dierik's condition will not deteriorate over the next few hours. Let us see what other secrets the wight had hidden away in this place. However..." Pyotr looks up towards the cavern openings far overhead. "... nothing too high up, if you please."
Wrapped firmly in Pyotr’s iron grasp, the tomb mote thrashes about, jabbering and slavering incomprehensible animal noises in frustration at its capture.
"now you and this little lady 'ere"
Agtharda gives Alagor a withering stare at being termed “little lady”, and given the ugliness of her features, it’s quite an intimidating look. Even so, she strides forwards and plucks the rotcrowns off the tomb mote’s body, eliciting indignant mewls of outrage from the undead thing as she does so. Putting the mushrooms (three in all) carefully into her pouch, Agtharda then extracts several blank sheets of vellum from her scroll tube.
With quill in hand, she begins carefully copying the arcane symbols inscribed upon the massive skeleton.
Seeing the tomb mote can offer nothing more valuable than filth, Pyotr releases the it. It immediately launches itself at him, but this time Pyotr is ready, and its gnashing teeth find only plate armour. Then it flees towards the arcade of undead soldiery.
Bonegrit remains on the ground sucking in air and wheezing for several moments. His lungs are too robbed of oxygen for him to offer any exasperation or reprimand at the thought of not dashing back to Dierik's side immediately.
Pyotr releases his hold on the tomb mote, stepping away to allow the creature its escape. Instead of fleeing, the vicious fey lunges at him. Without thinking he swings his gauntleted fist into the creature.
"I'm really not so keen on going deeper into the garrison, but if you feel so, fine by me. I don't want no one saying I did not earn my money fair and square. Have in mind that our ropes are hanging back on both accesses to this place, so climbing this monstrosity may be an issue" - as usual Alagor adds his opinion, although no one really asked him. He approaches Bonegrit and helps him of the ground. "Quite a fall there. A lesser man...or orc might be seriously hurt, maybe even killed. Yet you seem to need just to catch a few breaths, and you'll be fine. Ya want Khozin to look at your bruises perhaps?"
Speaking to Bonegrit and not really taking too much attention to what is happening with the mote, Alagor simply notices that the critter has launched another vicious attack against Pyotr and then tried to run. He is quick to act and Tanladvir is in his hand and striking towards the running mote before he is even aware of his reflex. [b["Oh no you won't! Not again!"[/b]
Without thinking, Pyotr swings his gauntleted fist at the tomb mote as it lunges at him. The blow doesn’t connect, but neither does the creature succeed in biting him. It dashes away, leaping right over Bonegrit as he lays gasping on the ground. Alagor is swift to react, but his sense of distance fails him, and his greatsword swing falls short. Cackling, the tomb mote scampers down the arcade of the undead soldiers and into the darkness.
Happy that the mote was caught and the mushrooms are 'in the bag', the magus is not quite comfortable not getting back to camp.
"If we do explore, let's not spend too much time here. Dierik is waiting on us."
Pyotr shrugs. "I am not one for climbing or crawling through cramped caverns. That creature will do us ill if it has half a chance," he waves towards the direction the mote vanished into, "and he can move more freely through here than we can."
"Besides, we had best get back and see what mischief Commor has gotten into... By now, even Torshen's Hammer might be at the end of his patience with that one."
Alagor watches impassively as both Khozin and Delkaneth go around casting spells, lightly tapping on walls, chasing patterns in shadows and what not. Finally, after several minutes, large warrior's patience is exhausted as he proclaims: "If the two of you have finished chasing your tails around, we can finally go, eh?"
Still remembering the icy-cold stare Athgarda gave him last time he addressed her as "lady", Alagor changes his tactics this time: "Well orc-witch, can you confirm that these are what we came for? Those 'shrooms, they'll heal their Captain, right?"
Making sure that all of the caltrops are accounted for, and that his equipment is tightened properly, swordsman moves back slowly but purposefully (towards the room with the skeletons), all the while mumbling: "Bards and their antics, just like small children..."
Pyotr winces slightly at the term "Orc-witch", but does not respond. After several minutes of searching, he can sympathize with Alagor's impatience. "I too, am more than ready to quit this place," he says as he stoops under the fanggate. "We should collect the arms and armor from the wight and be gone. Dierik and the rest await us."
Bonegrit rises to a sitting position for a moment before continuing to his feet. He's thankful that nothing appears to be broken. With a bit of luck, maybe their horses hadn't been eaten by some mountain stalking monstrosity and they could return to the caravan unmolested.
"I think I've had enough of this stink-hole. Let's get back while the gettin' is good." Bonegrit begins making his way towards the bridge that brought them here.
Once Pyotr makes his way back through the arcade and into the throne room, he begins bundling the weapons and armor to be lowered out of the cave mouth.
He looks up as Khozin enters the chamber. "Is there a way to close the fanggates behind us? I would not mind sealing this evil in, if possible."
Nodding and glad his companions agree, the magus makes sure his gear and weapons are in place for the trip back. It will feel good to sit atop his horse.
He turns to Khozin, "Well, is there a way to lock these things down? Do you need more blood?"
"Well orc-witch, can you confirm that these are what we came for? Those 'shrooms, they'll heal their Captain, right?"
Agtharda completely ignores the crude address of the Ustalavic swordsman, instead keeping her attention on continuing to copy the symbols adorning the skeletal monster.
"Me carry big stick. Me hit stuff good."
Khozin sniggers and rolls his eyes, clearly sympathizing with Delkaneth’s parody.
With the adventurers all in agreement, they leave the chamber and its monstrous, silent denizen to return through the main garrison of Arith-Zind’s army. Delkaneth doesn’t quite bring up the rear, that honour goes to Agtharda, who lingers briefly to finish her scrivening before carefully rolling up the parchments, placing them in her scroll case and scrambling after the party.
The flanking undead remain as static as before, and the adventurers return to Arith-Zind’s throne room. In one corner crouches the tomb mote. It’s torn Arith-Zind’s skull from his desiccated (and bisected)torso and toys with it, muttering gibberish to itself. It seems to think that given enough manhandling, Arith-Zind’s head might wish to converse.
"Well, is there a way to lock these things down? Do you need more blood?"
Khozin shrugs. “My forte is more the opening of doors than the closing of them. More blood might do. Be my guest to experiment a little.”
Pyotr half-drags, half-carries two of the bundled suits of half-plate through the first fanggate to drop them at the base of the tunnel wall. "It should not be difficult to haul these up and lower them down, with the ropes in place. Hammer will not be overly pleased with the additional burden..."
As he re-enters the throne room, he catches sight of the tomb mote. "What a vile creature. I hope I do not come to regret letting it live. It has done me no ill, save a nasty bite. But, I dislike everything about that creature... right down to its skin."
Delkaneth investigates the fanggate, looking for some method to lower it. However, there is no clue as to its operation that he can find – indeed, its workings seem more magical than mechanical, no machinery for its lowering or raising can be seen, the portcullis simply retracts into the slit in the ceiling above it.
Pyotr inspects Arith-Zind’s ancient, broken armour. He cannot be sure, but he thinks the chain mail is too old, rusted and riven to fetch much of a price.
The magus is ready to leave. Having fought a wight and its undead minions was enough for him. The fact that he had seen a dragon skeleton and an undead army was just extra awesomeness.
He nods at the paladin, "Aye, time to go while we still can. All in all, this has been good. Let's make sure Dierik survives as well."
Pyotr secures one of the bundled suits of armor to the bottom of the hanging rope, before carefully scaling the short climb to the tunnel entrance. After he reaches the top, he pulls the first of the suits of armor up behind him, and drops the rope end back behind him.
"I am going to check on Commor and the horses," he calls to the others.
Taking their time, the adventurers climb out and down from the cave entrance to the Garrison formerly of Arith-Zind. Armour taken from the wight’s undead guard is hauled out and lowered down to where Commor and the horses are waiting for them. Rather surprisingly, he has not fled, though he almost weeps with relief of the reappearance of the band.
“I stayed like you told me to, Ser Pyotr your Knightliness. Even when I was sure the mountains had eaten you I stayed. Does that make me a knight now?” asks Commor.
It’s still raining with a persistent despondence, but not as heavily as when they first arrived at the foot of Taxathar’s Bane. If it’s any consolation, at least the steel grey clouds hide any further unnerving views of Gallowspire.
With great ease and care, Pyotr lowers the bundled suits of armor from the cave mouth, to leave them resting on the ground. He follows shortly after, sliding uncomfortably down the rope.
“I stayed like you told me to, Ser Pyotr your Knightliness. Even when I was sure the mountains had eaten you I stayed. Does that make me a knight now?” asks Commor.
"No," Pyotr smiles. "But, it does mean your captivity is nearly at an end. There is little more training I can offer. I do not know if I am truly the best to teach you the ways of knighthood. I am still learning, myself."
"I hope the little I have shown you will help you grow as a squire. But, soon you must return to Yevender."
"Can we make up some ground before nightfall? The sooner we're away from this place the better if you ask me."
"I agree," Pyotr nods as he begins breaking down the camp, and re-saddling the horses. He loads one of the half-plate suits on each of his and Commor's steeds. "I would prefer not to be surrounded by these dark peaks when the sun sets in full."
Very shortly, Pyotr and Commor are remounted, the horses stumbling slightly on the downslope with the extra weight of men and armor.
"Like it or not, I don't figger on us makin' our way out of here entirely before night's nippin' at our heels. Ridin' or leadin' in the dark ain't a gamble I'm about to settle on Amiro's broad shoulders." Bonegrit looks down the same trails that delivered them here. He had hoped to make it out of the mountains before nightfall as well, but he won't lose any of their number, horses included, on overreaching.
"It starts gettin' too dark, I'll range ahead an' find us some shelter from the rain. In the meantime, let's get to movin'. An' we'd best make nice with the fact we might be sleepin' in The Hungries tonight."
"Like it or not, I don't figger on us makin' our way out of here entirely before night's nippin' at our heels. We'd best make nice with the fact we might be sleepin' in The Hungries tonight."
"I begin to fear that you are right." Pyotr looks around at the wounded and bloodied companions, Khozin, Agtharda, and Commor among them. "Four watches, tonight, with two men for each watch?" he asks. Pyotr inclines his head towards Agtharda in apology for referring to her as one of the 'men'.
"Bonegrit, Agtharda, and I can see the best in the dark. We should divide the last three watches among us."
The magus breathes easier as he exits the cursed mountain. He examines the swords once more hoping they would fetch a good price in Freedom Town.
When the divvy up the watch turns, he calmly states, "I rather take either the first or last watch so I can rest my wits for a bit. I'll need to see what magic is best for tomorrow."
Weighed down by wounds and loot, the adventurers make slow going on their retreat from the Hungry Mountains. The rain follows them through the foothills, but by nightfall the thunderous grumblings are far in the distance, and the precipitation has diminished to no more than a light drizzle.
Though the visibility is poor due to the rain, on a couple of occasions through the afternoon, a far-off glimpse of the Belkzen puma is spotted, trailing the party at the distance of at least a mile.
The adventurers make camp, not beyond the shadow the Hungries, but at least a little removed. As they debate who is take first watch and proper darkness falls about them, they notice a campfire spring to life on a hillside facing them. The light is not far away, maybe about a mile or so.
I'll need to see what magic is best for tomorrow
At the magus’ mention of magic, Agtharda’s eyes glitter with expectation in the depths of her cowl. She shuffles over, her gaze fixed on his spellbook.
As the group works to set up camp, Pyotr's low voice carries as he converses with Commor. "You need not return to Yevender. But, I cannot take you as a squire. Firstly, you are sworn in the service of another. As objectionable as you may find that... a knight cannot forsake his vows. As Yevender lives, he is your master and you are his squire."
The conversation carries on in that vein for a while until the darkness falls in full. Suddenly, in the distance, another watchfire appears...
Pyotr approaches Bonegrit. "Not more than a mile, I would think. As we see them, no doubt they can see us."
Unable to shake his pangs of curiosity, Bonegrit begins to nod slowly to acknowledge Pyotr's appraisal. He couldn't speak for the others, but the thought of trying to sleep with some unknowns so close didn't strike him as a good idea. More likely than not, whoever broke camp on that hillside felt the same way about their own presence.
Bonegrit spares a look to Pyotr, then the rest of their entourage. He says, "Probably better to go say hello than stand here scratchin' our noggins an' hoping fer the best. If someone means us harm, I'd rather face em while some of us ain't asleep. If not? A friendly greeting couldn't hurt."