Grok picks up his longbow and tests it, finding the familiar draw weight comforting. He places the wood across his neck, arms outstretched and resting at either end. He blinks heavily for a moment, looking down at his now scratched armor and notched sword. Need to sharpen that soon, can't let it stay damaged. So much to do first...
Depends how many there are, and if they brought more trolls. No way that they kill the whole town, worst case there are quite a few survivors hiding in the innermost houses, and I assume there's some escape plan for a situation like this. Grok's words are fairly monotonous, and he says them without looking up from the fresh corpses. So much death...if only they were afraid. If we can find more allies, get a bigger group, then we'll have a much higher chance of surviving. Especially since we have a healer. As it stands now... Grok pauses for a moment, looking at his feet. It's too easy for them to ambush us, if a big group attacks and we don't get a chance to run or take a good position, we will die. Grok's voice gets quiet towards the end of this sentence, and he has a hard time getting the words out. He looks up at Cromwin for a moment, then back at the ground, his bow now bending somewhat under his hands.
Suddenly he shakes his head and takes a step towards the inner door, looking for survivors. Anyone alive in there? Grok calls out, hand on the door. His head turns slightly, lips pursed in hopeful expectation. He lifts his bow off his head and holds it with both hands, not quite ready to push through the doorway.
Davian grins a wide, unusually large smile from ear to ear as he flicks the Orc's blood off of his mace "Ihys- you are covered in blood once more. Prince- thank you for your blessings. With each day you increase your powers in me, as I increase my powers for yourself."
Davian continues to murmur a prayer as he goes to heal himself with the wand. After doing so he gives a respectful nod to Grok "As I said... it was my turn to finally bear the brunt of these invaders force. I am a man of my word."
He then turns to the man who had said "skald" with a curious look "You... You followed me when I followed Grok- but I do not know you. Not like how I know them now." Davian waves a pentagram wrapped hand to Zove, Cromwin, and Grok "What is causing you to act so... curiously?"
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Grok looks around the inner room that is in total darkness, a body is mutilated and left in a heap on the floor by the far wall, the insignia of Trunau's militia on his destroyed armour. No sign of his weapons anywhere, the room utterly trashed by the orcs that were looting.
Outside the muffled sounds of orcs shouting is heard, sounding nearer than the muffled drums.
Cromwin touches his side and winces again, then sighs. "I could use the help, Davian. I think Maurie needs it first though."
Cromwin moves to take up a position by the door. "I don't think there is a real evacuation plan for the town. We're up on a hill, which might get us through this...but if the defenses can't hold...." He peers out the door, keeping an eye out for approaching orcs.
A man of your word indeed, but it seems that you shall have to fight again. Grok turns away from the inner room, then suddenly walks forward and kneels by the corpse, checking to make sure it's not just a badly wounded soldier. It's okay. You got knocked down but you're still alive, just hurt. Just hurt.
Let's hope we don't end up cut down like this one, then, Grok says, walking rather abruptly back to Cromwin. I don't think anyone is coming to save us, so if we fall, so does the town. Grok peers out the door, trying not to let anyone outside see him. Suddenly, he smiles grimly.
No way out, means we've just gotta push them straight back.
Maurie's ravings become more incoherent as the vial is taken from her grasp, but beyond that no outward change occurs.
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Looking into the dark, outside the entrance to the house doesn't reveal the location of the orc's shouting, but it appears to be coming from the same direction as the watch tower, from which the drumming sounds.
The halfling Maurie shudders in the half-light where she fell, could this be the start of the end for her, how close is she to her her final few breathes?
Davian moves swiftly after comparing Maurie's state and ramblings to the potion that had been passed to Zove "I apologize, but, I believe...."
Davian opens the halfling's mouth, and begins to pour it for Maurie. He tilts her head at an angle ensuring it makes its way down "This small one needs this drink, I believe. This is quite interesting- I wonder if its properties are similar to my wand's....... You called her "Maurie", Cromwin?"
Davian pours until he begins to see Maurie, hopefully, awaken and become coherent. At his he brushes a hand over her forehead with a smile "Rise, Maurie. It is a new day for you, like so many others out here on the battle field. The Prince is asking for your hand- take it, if you'd be so kind."
Her name is Maurie, she's a strange woman who follows authority, but I think she's mostly trying to do what's best. Grok's voice is low and quiet, and he closes the door to ensure that no one will hear them.
Well, we've got drums in the watchtower to the east, going to be more than a few of them in there. If we take a good position we can cut them down as they come, hopefully not let them break out and surround us. Grok sits down for a moment, still breathing heavily from the combat and flight earlier. He adjusts his sword and leans against the wall, looking around at the group, sizing everyone up. We've all fought together now, killed orcs and other, worse things. This can't be the end of things, not if we prepare properly. If we get overwhelmed, we can fall back to this house, close the door, give ourselves a moment to heal.
Grok looks down at his hands for a moment, his armor, shiny this morning, now stained with blood. Orc blood. My blood. But I am not one of them, I am not one of you. Grok draws his sword and holds it on his lap, running one finger down the length of it. I am only the instrument of your death. Many more must fall this night. Grok stands once again, ready now but still waiting for the others, he holds his sword up on one shoulder, tense and ready to fight.
Only way this goes badly for us is if they have prisoners, and we need to attack them. We'd do best to take a look and see what we can see before we make our presence known, if we can. Maurie might be able to manage that, can you? Grok asks, not a safe thing to do, not if they spot her. Would escape out the only entrance if they did. Maybe I can stand outside the door, but my armor will make noise... maybe I can follow at some distance under the drums, try to keep them from opening the door too easily.
Grok lifts his sword off his shoulder and looks down the length of it before sheathing it. What happens if there are a dozen of them and they have prisoners? Only way we can fight a dozen is with good tactics and mobility, plus luck. Grok shakes his head and looks around, I can't figure it out. What could we do? He repeats, looking momentarily hopeless.
The Halfling woman initially seems unresponsive as the last of the brownish liquid vanishes down her throat. Without warning her eyes open, shining with a golden radiance. The sound of millions of coins and keys falling on the floor can be distinctly heard by everyone in the room, however the direction of the sound is indeterminable.
"It is so judged. These defilers of community and law shall be repelled." The words are coming from Maurie's mouth, yet it is not quite her voice speaking them. Gold light shines from her wounds as they close, and the lock and key around her neck glow as if molten. Suddenly the noise stops and Maurie appears as normal, fully healed. Her eyes are fixed on Davian.
"The 'Prince'... rare to find one of his followers this far removed from Cheliax..."
"I find it best to read the fine print of any bargain struck with your master or his devout before shaking or accepting hands... and then examining that contract for hidden or obscured text. Still, you have my thanks for rousing me." Maurie inclines her head downward in a gesture of thanks, then smiles as she hears Grok.
"I thought that was you I was hearing, Grok. Glad to see that you all have fared better than I have." She listens to his description of the situation and their options. "I could try scouting for hostages as we get closer. Even under ideal circumstances we small folk often go unnoticed by you 'normal' sized ones. That said, the orcs I encountered here did not seem that keen on taking captives." A look of concern passes over her face. "Did the Sergeant survive?"
Davian grins wide at the halflings response, "There is no need to read a contract when you are the one who writes it. It all is a matter of graces, and what our Lords think of us, that determines the power and prize given... don't you think?"
I haven't exactly fared the best, I would say. Grok says, looking down again at his torso, got knocked down, bleeding out and unable to wield my weapons, nearly died. Would've died if I'd not been saved. Grok nods at Davian, that fellow there knows some magic, and he's a healer.
Grok nods along, no hostages indeed, ya. Grok pauses for a moment, if only they did, we'd be more now, and there'd be fewer dead. If they've got a strongpoint set up in the tower, though, maybe that's where they've been gathering them. Grok sighs, one hand coming to rest on his sword.
What sergeant? You mean that fellow in there? Grok gestures at the doorway leading to the other room. He's very dead...if you mean Kurst, though, he went charging off with some brave lads to join the main battle. Didn't have time to stop and go house to house like we do. Might be dead, but if he made it and he's got plenty of living allies nearby, I imagine they'll do their best to keep him alive as long as possible.
"What matters is civilization and the laws that govern it. Just laws well written benefit all of us, much as well written contracts benefit both parties signing them. Write poorly in either field... or too broadly... or too narrowly... and at best one party benefits to the exclusion of all others. At worst, all parties suffer." Maurie shakes her head. "So there is every need to read a self written contract, if only to ensure that what you intend is properly reflected in what is written, lest you find yourself betrayed by minor loopholes, or bound by too tightly phrased clauses." A hint of a smile plays on the halfling's mouth. "It figures that I would have to run into a follower of the Dark Prince this far north to get a decent discussion on laws and contracts."
The smile fades as Grok indicates' the Sergeant's fate. "Yes, that was whom I was asking about. A shame, he was only trying to get his sword and helm before heading to join the defense. Neither of us expected the orcs to reach here so quickly."
Davian gives a nodding smile to Maurie's commentary, and gives a silent respectful pause at the mention of the death of the Sergeant. Wrapping his pentagram around his mace's handle back and forth, unwinding and winding again, Davian looks back to Maurie "Civilizations are at the whim of the gods, with my Prince over all other gods. It does not matter the writing of a contract so much as it matters what you want, and earn it rightfully from the will of Asmodeus. Ihys-" Davian raises his mace as he says the name "Believed in people. But they are now under his rival and brother's control.
I do not take contracts lightly, my dear and lawful Maurie- but I believe no contract matters more than what a deity has determined I have earned. They will move us and control as they see fit, and we will do what we can to gain from their favor.
We were betrayed by a loophole the moment of the First Betrayal by my Prince. Robbed of one Father, replaced with Another."
Through his narrative Davian carries a soft smile with his towering figure, his eyes never truly coming away from his mace and pentagram in his right hand.
Indeed, I certainly can't say that I expected them to move so far into the wall so quickly, must be some mischief to it. Maybe there's a breach in the wall somewhere, or a traitor with a rope ladder in the right spot. Grok pauses for a moment, pacing back and forth next to the door, then falls silent as the conversation turns to matters of laws and religion.
If you've got a contract and it turns out to not work the way you anticipated, why not just abandon it? Seems there's no need to try to predict the future whenever you write an agreement. Grok looks back and forth between Maurie and Davian, not sure what to expect.
Davian looks to Grok with a slightly tilted head and laughs "I'm afraid a deal with a deity cannot be so easily ignored or abandoned. This is what I love about my god, My Prince. You see, he values souls. That is why before I can even make a deal I must become powerful. I must become worthy. I must garner his attention.
Then I make a simple deal when I have found one of his own. I discover just how much my soul is worth when I offer it in place of a worldly reward. It is... It is a wonderful feeling to truly know what your worth to your god is.
But no, Grok- you cannot back from a contract once it is signed. Not with the Prince of Laws."
Interesting...not sure offering your soul in return for immediate rewards is a great idea, even if you don't plan to actually make the trade. Grok looks at Davian, eyeing his mace and the strange way he handles it. But, well, I don't know what it means to sell your soul. Not really even sure what a soul is, to be honest, other than something that lives after your physical body dies.
In any case, it doesn't matter what you do with your soul. Grok looks back towards the door for a moment, then turns again, but, Grok looks at Davian, keeping his eyes empty, why not just make an agreement without a signature?
"Those are called 'verbal contracts,' Grok, and yes they tend to be more flexible than written contracts. That said, they are more flexible both ways, especially in a court of law. Without witnesses such contracts can be broken with little legal recourse. And as our friend said, abandoning a written contract is risky even with mortals. With Gods and other powerful beings, it is downright foolhardy." Maurie shakes her head, almost shuddering, and turns to Davian. "Your Prince may be lord of much, but law has never been his forte. Contracts, bargains, souls... never law as such, despite his reliance on its existence. I offer this advice to you: remember that your master is a shrewd negotiator. He likes to buy, but only cheaply. If he does offer you a... value... for your eternal being, I would turn it down. Force him to raise his bid." Maurie's smile is both pitying and sympathetic. "Poor fool. Bidding eternal service in exchange for baubles and trinkets of this world that he will barely have the chance to experience. Even should he live to be old by Elven standards it will still be but the blink of an eye..."
Maurie begins cleaning the gore off of her three sectioned staff. "After we drive them from the tower, what is the next step? Are we to rally with the militia or try to hold the tower from further advance?"
If you're dealing with gods, I should think there's some way to prevent lying... it's not important. You're not making contracts with anyone. I suppose just making agreements with people you trust is the safest way to do things.
Once they're all dead, we search the tower for survivors and push forward. Grok eyes the others, we've been attacked a few times, no way to avoid fighting all of them, and no new allies yet. Grok grimaces slightly, spread too thin to use numbers. And everything's too chaotic, we didn't have time to prepare. We were just at the funeral, we were just at the funeral... Grok looks down as he repeats himself, looking slightly scared.
Well, no use worrying about a situation when we're already trying to fix it. We've got to set some large bonfires, beacons in the night, so that the folk can see and rally together. Still haven't got the full measure of things, might just be that a few slipped past somehow, got to this inner quarter. Might be they killed our friends as they arrived, one by one, and not many are left. Maybe when we take the tower we'll get a better view of things, see what to do after we light the beacons. Grok looks almost hopeful with his last words, ready to turn into the night.
Davian thinks for quite some time on what Grok and Maurie had said as he moves into proper position, ensuring everyone is well healed for the no doubt massive wave of invaders "I believe they were only a taste of what is to come from these.... savages...."
He looks to Maurie first "I would settle for nothing less.... Than becoming a Devil myself....." As he lets this sit, he stows away his mace in place of the wand of healing for the time being while looking to Grok "My new ally, allow the dead to rest away from your mind.... As far as the beacons- we should light them immediately. I have a feeling those orcs were only meant for a distraction, to keep us unorganized.... After all, why else would an invading force hide inside and away in homes with varied hostages?"
After he finishes patching everyone up he nods while bracing the mace once more "I believe we are ready, then.... All that remains is the town.... Though to say that like an easy task is.... Incorrect."
Maurie laughs softly to herself. "The forces of chaos and lawlessness stand no chance before our combined might. We shall drive them forth from these lands." Maurie finishes cleaning the weapon and replaces it on her belt. After a moment's reflection, she instead draws the temple sword from her back, it's keys and coins jangling musically as she gives the blade a few test swings.
"I haven't had the time to explore the town the way I would normally like, what is the quickest way to the beacons from here...." she trails off as a though occurs to her. "Further, did we ever determine if the half orc graffiti was related to these events? I ask as... well, given it was not coming off with washing... and was very prominently visible... it could be how even an unorganized force would know what places to attack." Maurie's face is grim as she reasons out her chain of thought.
Becoming a devil yourself... Grok trails off, looking away. Devils kill and burn, so far as I know. Hmm...not good. I kill and burn. Maybe...no. He's like an orc, but more stupid. He'll die before he does any harm. Grok turns back, looking at Maurie.
I don't know the fastest way, but it's by the water. We have to cross town, we'll pass into the lower quarter via the gateway to the west. Grok leans against the wall and crosses his arms, looking down at the halfling. There was the troll in the Plague House, and there might be more attacking. There was some mention of a large creature throwing rocks, if I remember, though I could be wrong. Grok looks up at the ceiling hopefully, then back down. Maybe you're right. Maybe things are in decent shape down in the lower quarter, the orcs up here just snuck in somehow with inside help. If that's the case we should locate the breach and put a stop to their entry.
Brin slows as he approaches the buildings Davian ran towards. He can barely hear anything over the pounding of his heart and his heavy breathing, but he spies Grok moving past the doorway to his right. He jogs after him, and after announcing himself finds his group preparing for battle.
Grok, Maurie...I'm here. Davian, Crom...okay good...let me breathe. Brin puts up a finger as he turns away and catches his breath.
I got those two women back to what was left of the aid station. They're hiding under a turned over cart. How in the Wound did all this happen so quickly?
That's good, under a cart. Grok waits a moment, letting Brin breathe.
We think they might have had inside help, might be a few of them that were hiding inside before the assault started, or let down a ladder when things broke out. I have trouble believing that Trunau's defences broke so quickly, so it seems likely enough, and we already know that there were some odd folk inside the town, including the murderer of Rodrik.
What do you mean, what was left of the aid station? Grok looks ready to run outside with his sword held high, but checks himself. Is it being overrun?
"If it is we will just have to cut off their forces. If we can rally the defenders and stop the flow of orcs, survivors within the walls will either have to surrender or die. Well... assuming there aren't too many of them and they aren't well organized." Maurie shudders then adds. "And also assuming they don't have trolls..." Her hand goes reflexively to where the troll from the plaguehouse nearly ended her life. "Not even two days ago now... I knew that life this far from proper civilization was tough, but not like this..."
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Outside you hear the sounds of battle in various parts of the Trunau, even the sounds of drunken singing are heard, though singing may not be the right word for the notes carried on the breeze. Dogs howl to one another as though they carry the news of the battle. Drums beat in time with the blows being dealt and the blood drawn.
In the gloom of the house our brave heroes gather their strength for the next fight. Outside dark shadows pass the door towards the eastern watch tower.
From the state of the room from which the orcs appeared, it looks like the room was being ransacked by the orcs.
Maurie finally seems to hear the sounds of the ongoing war outside the late Sergeant's house. Sheathing the temple sword once more and unwrapping the rope dart from her waist, she nods to Grok.
"Come. Too many bleed and die while we tarry here. I will follow your lead."
Brin composes himself and looks at Maurie and then to Grok.
She's right. We can't waste time or the ink on this page becomes dry. Grok...Crom, my voice and I are right behind you.
Brin readjusts his shield arm with a swing of his shoulder. His masterwork longsword glistens in the firelight sneaking through the doorway and rubble.
Grok draws his sword again, holding the long, thick blade in both hands, his shield strapped to his arm and back, his bow resting in its sheath. Well, Maurie, I think you should go first, see what you can see about the tower. Just take a look around, see if there are windows, see if you can hear anyone screaming in pain, if there are sentries and what kind of spots there are for archers. Grok grimaces as he says this and turns away briefly. If you get into trouble or we see the doors open, we'll back you up. Grok looks at Cromwin as he says this, then towards Brin. How long can you use that voice of yours? It's going to be a long night...
With that, Grok nods at Maurie, pushing the door slowly open with his sword, and standing just inside the doorway.
Quite some time if I don't go hoarse stuck in a bear trap.
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Maurie sneaks out the door into the dim light of the town street, crouching and watching two orcs talking at the doorway of the watch tower. One of the orcs goes inside into the darkness. The other orc stands guard at the door, looking out from time to time, a javelin in his hand. He looks over his shoulder and speaks unintelligible words into the darkness. There look to be no light sources in the tower.
The watchtower is over 30ft high, with a crenellated battlement at the top, from which the sounds of the violent beating of a drum is heard. The walls are like all the other watchtowers, made of huge roughly shaped stones.
Behind Maurie, the flames from the burning trees provide the only light source, a flickering sickly green and weak unnatural light. The plumes of green smoke rise into the night sky, blotting out any moonlight that tries to break though. The sounds of battle come from further down in lower Trunau, as the bombardment continues as huge stones fly past at Trunau's homes. The shouts of the Trunau militia are heard as they take on the hoard outside the city walls.
@Maurie - I rolled stealth for you (+12), but if you want to make your own roll, then you can do that. I have also moved you out onto the street on the battle map.
Most of the watchtowers are built of solid stone, with strong wooden doors leading to each of the floors. The spiral stairs between floors are made of stone and attached to the inside wall of the watchtower. Between the floors are heavy wooden trapdoors.
The walls are difficult to scale, because on the exterior they are smooth, with little or no hand holds.
Maurie quickly attempts to gather what information she can before returning to the others.
"Two orcs, one on guard. Dark enough that I might be able to catch him off guard, though this burning tree might make it harder for the others to have a similar advantage. I might be able to climb that tower, but it is a rather tall structure. I will have to ask Cromwin if he remembers there being entrances toward the top or not."
Brin peaks out, his eyes taking time to adjust to the flickering moon and fire. the tower looms ominously in the night, a overseer amongst the chaos.
Brin whispers to the others once Maurie returns finishes her quick report.The militiamen had a love hate relationship with these towers. They're relatively safe and strong within the stone, but dull and lifeless inside. There's heavy trap doors they hated dealing with each time they passed the watch.
"You are the scout in this case. I will follow your advice. Do you require any sort of distraction? A second party? I should tell you now... Aside from my smoke I am no good at stealth."
Davian shifts his mace side to side as he is unsure of which action to take next without the Abadar worshipper's counsel.
Cromwin broods silently in the corner as Maurie and Davian discuss religion, his voice silenced by the worries for his town and family, although he gives Maurie a warm smile and a nod when she recovers. What is this man? Who would want to become a devil? But he's helping us defend Trunau, and we would never have gotten this far without his healing. I just hope he knows what he is doing, for all our sakes.
As the others gather to move out and Maurie returns
Cromwin touches his side and winces. The cut was deep, and still hurts despite having scabbed over. "Davian, before we move out, could you heal me? The cut I took before has scabbed, but I am afraid it might reopen if we continue to fight. As for the tower, I have no chance of sneaking anywhere, and if the drumbeat is coming from up there..." Cromwin thinks back to the design of the town's defenses, and the spacing in town. He doesn't remember much, but Brin's observation sparks an idea. "We need to take the lower parts of the tower. They might be too entrenched up top for us to follow up through the trap doors, but I have some ideas that might help with that. I think we need to get a torch or some light in there; Zove or Brin, can you handle that? I'll hold the doorway while Grok and Maurie hug the edges and use it for cover while they shoot at anyone inside. If we have the advantage of numbers, we can all run in and surround them, but even if we're outnumbered, we have a good chance to hold them at the door. Also, watch out for attacks from above; if they've got a force up there that starts throwing things down at us, we're going to need to retreat in or out quickly."
I think I can speak a light into that bottom chamber. It shouldn't be hard.
You are Skald...
There it was again, the voice with no source. Brin quickly looks to the faces of his group, but they seem not to notice.
I propose we stand and fight to earn that bottom floor. Out here, we're just targets, anywhere we go. I'll use my magic to strengthen our arms in the thick of it.
Right, Cromwin's plan seems good. If there are several archers and we're outnumbered we can fall back to this house, it seems to have just the one door, so it will be easy to hold. Grok shifts his sword slightly, looking at Brin as he says this. But I agree. If we fall back we immobilize ourselves and there might be more foes nearby, we don't want them to have reinforcements.
Let's go as soon as Cromwin is healed. Grok says, looking to the man in his shining armor, he could be a leader.
Davian nods to Cromwin and puts his hands on the man immediately "Of course. That I can do very well." After perusing Cromwin's injuries he takes out the wand and begins to cast over him.
"If they throw anything at us from above I can hide us in my red mists once more. Now... Does anyone need armor before we begin?"
Keeping her voice low, Maurie speaks quickly.
"I didn't see archers, or even evidence of them. Or hostages for that matter. If we move quick enough while the watching orc is on one of its times away from the door we should be able to take the fight to the tower itself."
Maurie replaces her rope dart on her belt and draws her three sectioned staff again.
"The battle still rages elsewhere, perhaps reinforcements for them will be as unlikely as they are for us. I will keep an eye on the door. When the orc goes back inside again I will signal for you all to make your approach. At that point we will be committed I think, so please be ready."
Cromwin sighs as his wounds close over, rubbing his newly healed chest. "Thank you once more, Davian." He readies his warhammer and shield. "I'm ready at your signal, Maurie. Let's do this."
Agreed, and it's not as though the sounds of fighting are out of place. Grok bends his knees slightly, ready to spring forward.
Ready on your signal.
Maurie nods, and shows them the signal she will give with her arms once the guard goes back inside. "Make all possible haste once I signal, he will likely hear your approach even if he isn't watching for it. I will hopefully be out of his sight, so even if he leaves the tower I should be able to get a good attack in from behind him."
Looking perhaps a bit too quickly before she leaves to see if the guard is back, the Halfling woman maneuvers herself into a position slightly to the left of the door, where she can still see when the guard is back, but hopefully where the angle would leave it unlikely for him to see her in return.
Brin moves up behind Cromwin with his shield and sword at the ready. Once Maurie's signal occurs or an orc appears Brin casts light into the tower's lower level.
Brin murmurs into the night, Light by my voice.
Grok follows close behind Cromwin, his sword before him as he moves. As they near the door Grok flicks his left arm, drawing his shield and holding it ready before him, his sword point down. His knees barely bent, Grok looks ready to slip or block any assaults, his eyes going up to the top of the tower.
We don't move any further from the door than we have to, and hold our positions as long as possible. Grok is calm and his words measured, not loud enough to carry far but not particularly quiet either.
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As Cromwin reaches the door, angry Orc voices are heard within and two javelins fly at the armoured warrior. Just as Brin's magical light illuminates the inside of the watchtower. Cromwin sees the ugly faces of three orcs, their eyes full of hatred for the paleskins. They lear menacingly as they ready their fearsome weapons for the bloody fight ahead. Maurie notices another trying to hide in the shadows to the right of the door, as Cromwin would enter.
Cromwin, is taken aback, as one of the javelins was thrown with such force, it rips into his shoulder almost severing the tendons to his arm. The other javelin smashed into the stonework and clatters to the floor. As Crowin winces in pain at the javelin that pins his shoulder, he is suddenly enveloped in a thick tar-like substance that clings to him, making his movement difficult or neigh impossible as the black liquid starts to solidify.
A tanglefoot bag is a small sack filled with tar, resin, and other sticky substances. When you throw a tanglefoot bag at a creature (as a ranged touch attack with a range increment of 10 feet), the bag comes apart and goo bursts out, entangling the target and then becoming tough and resilient upon exposure to air. An entangled creature takes a –2 penalty on attack rolls and a –4 penalty to Dexterity and must make a DC 15 Reflex save or be glued to the floor, unable to move. Even on a successful save, it can move only at half speed. Huge or larger creatures are unaffected by a tanglefoot bag. A flying creature is not stuck to the floor, but it must make a DC 15 Reflex save or be unable to fly (assuming it uses its wings to fly) and fall to the ground. A tanglefoot bag does not function underwater.
A creature that is glued to the floor (or unable to fly) can break free by making a DC 17 Strength check or by dealing 15 points of damage to the goo with a slashing weapon. A creature trying to scrape goo off itself, or another creature assisting, does not need to make an attack roll; hitting the goo is automatic, after which the creature that hit makes a damage roll to see how much of the goo was scraped off. Once free, the creature can move (including flying) at half speed. If the entangled creature attempts to cast a spell, it must make a concentration check with a DC of 15 + the spell's level or be unable to cast the spell. The goo becomes brittle and fragile after 2d4 rounds, cracking apart and losing its effectiveness. An application of universal solvent to a stuck creature dissolves the alchemical goo immediately. Crafting this item is a DC 25 Craft (alchemy) check.
O1 0 javelin damage
O2 0 javelin damage
O3 0 tanglefoot bag for rounds
O4 0
O1 0 javelin confirm damage