GM Rat King's Wrath of the Righteous

Game Master LAB Rat

"Hey, I think that some of us want to go deliver some steel to the bellies of those cultists anyway, so....not like it'll be out of our way."

"Well, the only thing the Ivory Labyrinth does right is dying," Gwyneth answers matter-of-factly, speaking as if she were being scolded for her...enthusiasm? Sure. That.

Confirmation that they'll need to burrow through a horde of traitors doesn't bother her much in the practical sense, and it shows. By this point, the paladin's quite convinced that this is all just Iomedae's way of saying 'if you want to root out a heretical organization dedicated to corruption and sin...do it your goddamn self.' ...though she does briefly question The Inheritor's sense of irony, and prays this lot of wasted life is properly deserving of her sword.

Once Chief Sull returns with his cache, Gwyneth stands beside the mongrelman, plucking a bottle from the collection and giving it an ignorant once-over before sliding it across to Naali with a shrug. Not that she's ungrateful, but the Tiefling's shown her way around a tincture more than once already. A second opinion can't hurt, right?

The rest of the chief's words slide over Gwyneth's ears like rainwater; she'd head off alone if she thought it'd do any genuine good...but getting herself killed now wouldn't help anything. Instead, she gives one long glance over the table, scratching her neck, before turning to Chief Sull with an open hand.

"We'll handle it," she says confidently, hoping to shake on it, though frowns a bit before adding, "And I apologize for anything our noncombatant might have managed to do with himself over the course of this discussion."

The important details more or less covered--or at least, nothing she feels she can't ask later--Gwyneth promptly fishes a hand into her belt pouch, feeling for a coin with want of a whetstone and Horgus's location fresh in mind. The object she finds feels too light between her fingers, and the paladin almost laughs aloud on finding the copper and amethyst brooch sitting in her palm.

"How the hell'd you get in there..?" she mutters to the piece of jewellery, holding the token up as she turns sheepish, clearing her throat. "Erm...right. Don't suppose you folks take pins?"

I think that fixes that? :P If it means anything to anyone, Gwyn'll happily hand it over and explain where they found it and so on, unless someone's fit to stop her. Otherwise, INTO THE MELTING POT OF FUNDS! Muahahaha!

Naali's orange eyes scan over the box of potion, pausing only briefly on them - she wouldn't want to appear ungrateful or suspicious of their hosts, after all. They seem like very nice people to her. Later in the night she would inspect them more closely to figure out which was which.

"Thank you, that's very gracious of you, Chief. I hope we aren't robbing you of all of your healing supplies, though. It could still be dangerous for your soldiers with the cultists closeby."

She nods in agreement with Therrik, both on the fact of needing a night's rest and of him needing a bath. "Agreed, I need to fix up some more extracts if we're planning to travel through dangerous territory. Where will we stay?"

"Ahhh..." sighs Sadron, "A bath sounds mighty fine right now. I think I still have webbing clumped in my socks."

He turns towards the Chieftain. "Thank you for your gifts and your hospitality. Once we are rested..." he turns to glance over at the paladin, "some of us will be more than glad to help clear out your heretical neighbors. And if we can learn anything more in doing so, the better off both cities shall be."

Chief Sull chuckles and shakes his head in reply to Naali. "No, no. We have enough to spare; I suspect you will need it far more than we will..." he trails off as he glances over to Gwyn and the brooch that she holds out.

For a moment, he stays silent though his eyes seem to grow a touch misty. Or rather, his one good, non-milky eye does.He reaches out to gently take the pin from her, if she will allow him to do so, cradling it in his hand as though it were the most precious thing in the world. "This was my son's; a gift from his mother," he begins before breaking off to clear his throat carefully when his voice begins to waver, "We had an argument, he and I, and he left Neathholm not so very long ago. Nearly a month now. When he did not return, I thought him dead, but I suppose this confirms my fears."

Falling silent again for a brief moment to reconcile the death with his mind and his conscience before he starts again. "Thank you for this. For returning my son's brooch to me and for bringing me a bit of closure in such a trying time." He draws a hand back to his belt and plucks up a startlingly well-made morningstar, offering it out to Gwyn. "Please, take this in trade. And promise me one more thing, if you would? That you will split at least one traitor's skull before you ascend to the surface."

Abrielle wholeheartedly agreed with Sadron's sentiments about baths. She was sure she had a bit of rubble rattling in her ears from the initial tumble.

"Thank you for your gifts and hospitality, and sorry for your loss. I assure you, we will do what damage we can on our way. At the very least, I can assure you that Gwyn here won't let us leave without eradicating the cultists if we let her have her way. Of course, I imagine we could all use a rest for today, but tomorrow I'm sure we will all be eager to continue."

Gwyneth gladly lets the chief pluck the pin from her fingers, more curious than anything else, but her lips tighten as he speaks, leaving the paladin obviously unsure of how to respond, save for a quiet "Well...Damn."

At his thanks, Gwyneth gives her own for his time, but comes to an abrupt pause as Sull offers up his weapon in kind. Truth be told, her first instinct is to courteously turn it down--Gwyneth's fist is, in her opinion, only fit for a longsword...but once in hand, she notes the weapon to be far more robust than anything she's personally handled, and the weight strangely well balanced for what Gwyn would normally consider a glorified mace. That the chief wants it embedded in a traitor's skull just makes it all the better, and Abrielle's notion that Gwyn won't let anyone leave without committing to mass extermination gets an almost comical set of enthusiastic nods in reply. The delay less so...but the paladin's only impatient, not incompetent, and does at least retrieve an uneasy smile, glad of knowing there's a way to the surface nearby.

"If we're sticking around, I'd rather not be in the way, y'know? Don't suppose there's somewhere we can occupy for the time being? Maybe near the water?" she asks, adding wryly, "Tired or not, I'm still up for tossing Therrik in the lake."

"....sorry for your loss," Therrik mumbles at the revelation of whom the brooch had belonged to. "Uh..."

Yeah, that's awkward. Come into town and bring the news his son's dead, great. (Therrik tries not to wonder if the son was as rat-looking as his father.) But Sull still is more than civil, and the half-orc rubs at his head.

"Yeah, I think cultists won't be an issue. It's-- it's the least we can do. Our word on it," he adds gruffly.

Gwyn's words earn a faint smile from him. "Anytime you think you're ready to get dragged in too," he answers.

"Good. Good," Chief Sull says wearily as he moves to sit back down into his chair, clutching the brooch to his chest. "And thank you, again, for lending us all the aid you have."

Lann clears his throat quietly to get all of your attention once the chief finishes, offering a nod of thanks as well. "You may stay with my family, of course. Whatever you require, we can provide for you, be it beds, food, clothing..." He trails off, glancing Therrik over with a wry smirk and finishes, "Or a proper bath."

Your mongrelman guide ushers you out of the room quietly as a woman comes into the room to comfort the chieftan just as the door closes behind you. Lann leads you further down into the village to an equally cozy little house where he introduces you to his sister and father. Both look equally as grotesque as the rest of the denizens, but are just as welcoming as anyone else you have met thus far. At least, of those who have not drawn weapons on you, of course. They provide you with everything you ask for and, while it is far from the highest quality, it seems they would give you the shirt off of their back if you wished it.

You have free reign to stay here as long as you like and do whatever you deem necessary while here. Anything in particular you guys would like to do? Or are we good to scoot on over to the next morning? I think there was some selling of gear going on.

"Aye to that bath idea!" Therrik says, eager to be on less emotionally fraught conversational ground. He thanks Sull again, and suffers to be led on to the house. He strips his armor with relief. Bath, hot food, bed-- in that order. Maybe some tea in there somewhere...

Therrik mostly wants to relax and have that important Bath! but I'm okay with a jump to the next morning, selling gear, etc.

Abrielle follows along with Lann, realizing for the first time just how tired her feet are and how nice it will be to rest without fear of giant spiders or crazed dwarves for a night. It seemed likely their little band wouldn't linger longer than the night; Gywneth and Horgus probably wouldn't hear of it.

"Thank you for the hospitality," she offers as a greeting to Lann's family. "I assure you we will want for little and avoid disrupting your household."

She allows herself to be led around, dropping her bags wherever is appropriate before taking off her armor. She felt 20 pounds lighter--- oh wait.

"We ought to sell and trade what we can down here for any supplies we might be lacking. They might have some supplies to aid us with what I can only assume is going to be at least a bit of a climb upwards."

I'm good with selling things.

Depending on the others' plans, Abrielle offers to go with anyone looking to sell and trade, partly to ensure they get a good deal and partly to see the town a little more.

"A bath indeed!. While I wait for my turn, however, I think I might go look around and see what's to be seen, so to speak."

I'd like for Sadron to spend his time waiting for a warm bath by chit-chatting with the locals and getting to know more about the area. If it's fitting for the DM, a Diplomacy for a "Gather Information" check seems in order? Diplomacy(Gather Information): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21

Sadron returns later to the comfort of a warm bath, and lounges in a borrowed bathrobe, letting the knots of web-contorted discomfort soothe themselves out. Pulling out one of his cymbals, he begins to tap it along various points, playing a quiet metallic beat to while away the evening before everyone goes to sleep.

Having bidding Sull her best regards, Gwyneth follows suit, offering Lann's kin a mountain of gratitude on entry, not daring to consider fatigue until her armor and tools lay a neat and orderly heap. With the layers off, the paladin's white garb looks like a patchwork where the blood of her earlier wound seeped into the cloth, and she tuts at the torn fabric at her side, poking a finger through to the fresh pink scars beneath.

Great. She heaves a sigh, shoulders drooping under their own weight. Better than a punctured lung, I guess.

Waving Sadron off, Gwyneth turns to wondering what to do with herself, deciding that throwing Therrik into the lake isn't liable to be anywhere near as engaging a task without the orc actually being there. Eventually she settles on the very same notion as their blue-haired comrade, and nods as the aasimar makes the suggestion.

"Right," she answers Abrielle, taking a moment to stretch herself straight before eyeing their collective haul. "I think we ought to be able to trade a good bit of this off in kind, but this..." she hefts the chief's morningstar from beside her longbow amid the pile. "What was it...something about 'weighted momentum'?" She gives a faint smile, having remembered the spat back at Defender's Heart. "Honestly, I haven't wielded a 'star since I took up the oath. No intention of starting either; but I figure it'd be a crying shame if it went unused so..."

She holds out the well-crafted weapon to Abrielle, ever so slightly bouncing on her heels, as if she might suddenly drop dead if she were to stop moving. "Yours, if you want it. The rest of this," she notes to a particular collection of items, some already partitioned out into a spare backpack, "Should be good to go. As am I, if you'll suffer the assistance."

Shopping, glorious shopping, and amiable wandering because mindless chores > sleep for our paladin. Besides; the bath's spoken for :P

"I imagine we can barter off this old one then," Abrielle says drawing her old morning star out to replace it with the one gifted from Sull.

"Did Horgus follow in with us? Probably better to take him along as well, lest he accidentally offend our hosts..."

"Thank you so much! Just point me towards a table I can spread all of my things around on, and I will be fine."

The contents of Naali's bags are soon spread across the table. Her alchemy ingredients and tools are as pristine and well organized as ever, but the remainder of her belongings have gotten a bit... squished in all of the clutter.

Alchemy identify: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11
She takes a look at the potions the chief supplied, but they are much different than anything else she has seen. Surely a result of all of their ingredients coming from underground - she would have to ask about it, perhaps there was something to learn from Neatholm. If it weren't for the whole 'destruction of the last bastion against demonkind' and 'hundreds dying', the travel underground and rediscovery of Neatholm and its people would have been a delightful time.

After her own very speedy bath the very thankful and refreshed tiefling changes into the colorful clothes she bought during the festival - they didn't have as many pockets and weren't quite as practical, but the weight of carrying both sets was a bit too much for her. Hopefully Lann could find someone in the village that shared her slender build and could do with a warm set of clothes. It's probably hard to get well made clothes down here, hmm. Kenabres could use the manpower, and I'm sure Neatholm would benefit from having actual trade with its sister city.

Donating the traveler's clothes to Neatholm, switching to nicer clothes that will count towards my 'Extremely Fashionable' trait. Naali is now officially wearing her signature clothes!

"Well we wouldn't want to sell the chief's morningstar anyway, right? Like he said, bash a few cultists with it while we try to get to Kenabres."

"I can go find him, you all start getting your rest." With an organized bag and her extracts stewing until morning, there wasn't much else to do but set out into the village to explore and see if she could find the grumpy merchant.

...

"Come on Horgus, Lann is letting us stay in his home for the night. We saved you some stew, and it's a lot nicer than staying out here, right?"
She was aware that 'nice' was a relative term, but perhaps the man could do to lower his standards a bit - he might end up being friends with a lot more people.

"Well we wouldn't want to sell the chief's morningstar anyway, right? Like he said, bash a few cultists with it while we try to get to Kenabres."

"Better than offering back massages and teacakes with it," Gwyneth deadpans, adding Abrielle's morningstar to her list and hauling the pack onto a shoulder. "I suppose that covers Horgus but...Actually, gimme a minute..."

Just before they go, Gwyn would double check if anyone wants anything grabbing while they're out, including Lann's folks ("You're sure you don't want me to grab some tea or something?"), Anevia ("Ms. Tirabade, you alright on supplies? Arrows? Actually, you can take half of mine if you want; my aim's abysmal.") and Aravashnial ("Anything I can get you, Master Riftwarden? Other than a new set of eyes. We'll...figure that one out soon...Probably.") That includes asking Therrik for his order; probably by blatantly intruding on his bath if he's lounging it out. Girl's got zero shame.

She also leaves a note on the apparently 'priceless' statue and the knotted ring of gold and asks that someone point Horgus in its general direction on arrival. With luck, it'll keep him distracted for a minute or two. Heaven knows he probably needs it.

That done, Gwyneth's happy to crack on with their spree, though her stride misses most its usual rigidity without the weight of her armor to weigh her down. Her left arm remains on the pommel of her sword throughout; an act borne more of habit than any real paranoia.

"Been here since the First Crusade, eh? Just...waiting under Kenabres?" She gives a weary sigh. "Honestly Cerulean, I'm beginning to wonder what the hell our intel's been doing the last eighty years."

Abysmal aim? Don't you mean Abyssal aim

Remember at level 2 I can hand out healing extracts, they will be more powerful than CLW and obviously cheaper. I won't be able to craft potions until after we're mythic though. But then I'll be able to craft anything. We have a good stock of healing (probably) with the potions we have as well.

You're terrible.

Well yeah. At level 2 we get both your extracts and my LoHs added to the party positive-energy fund, so we should be much more durable. It's just a matter of getting there! :P

*cough* Also you have a heal monkey.

I'm good with the sell list

"I like to think that it isn't the scouts and spies on our side who are doing a poor job, so much as these new allies are just that skilled. Glass half full, you know?"

Well I was trying to be diplomatic about it, but since you put it that way: we do, in fact, have a holy geyser to hand. Very true!

Pretty sure we're all agreed on the sell list, so I've scrubbed up the Loot Tracker a bit. Please feel free to jot down what's yours on your character sheets and delete as appropriate.

"So either our scouts are slack, or these folks are nimble enough to evade an entire city of twitchy, witch-hunting crusaders...but not the Cult of Baphomet?" Gwyneth gives a laugh, mouthing 'Iomedae have mercy' as she shakes her head. "New allies aside, my hope's all spent on there still being old ones up there. I think it's safe to say the cathedral's lost, at least; but if the Order's fallen with it..."

She drifts off to an uncomfortable shudder, the thought of being reassigned clearly more terrifying to her than the army of demons and cultists combined. Gwyn soon shakes it off. "How about you, Ms. Freelance? Anyone waiting for you up there?"

"Besides the fanclub," she jests.

"Can't wipe us out that easy. There'll be a fight up top," Abrielle assured Gwyn, though she wasn't sure how truthful her words really were. Doubt wasn't a luxury they could afford at the moment.

"Anyone waiting for me? No, no. Not anyone specific. Parents retired to Mendev years ago. Wonder if news of this has gotten out yet..."

Just before they go, Gwyn would double check if anyone wants anything grabbing while they're out... That includes asking Therrik for his order; probably by blatantly intruding on his bath if he's lounging it out. Girl's got zero shame.

She will get an eyeful of a large, muscular half-orc all-but-submerged into a bubble bath, so there.

"Hey," grumbles Therrik half-heartedly when Gwyn's voice cuts across his communion with the suds of nature. "Knock first, gah."

As for the question: Therrik sits upright in the big copper tub belonging to their generous hosts and rubs suds off his face. "Oh. Yeah. If they've got any of those little bottles of fire that go fwoosh when they land?"

(Assuming alchemists' fire is purchasable in Neathholm, I'll mark that 20 GP out from my share of ye olde profits.)

Therrik's voice follows Gwyneth when she eventually leaves: "Oh, and some of their soap! This stuff's great! Wonder what they put in it..."

"We'll be up there before you know it to help out all the survivors!"

...@Gwyn's shopping
"I think I have everything I need! Well I mean, I don't," Naali responds to the determined paladin - apparently a feature that extends even into mundane tasks like shopping. "But I don't think Neatholm has a portable alchemist lab, and even if it did... it's a little heavy. Also, I can't afford one, they're very expensive. You know what, just forget I said anything."

And back to roaming the village~

"You're probably right." Gwyn nods, not exactly convinced but more than happy to hear it. "We'll know soon enough. Never let Templars stop me before. Far be it from me to break that tradition."

To talk of Mendev proper, the paladin cracks her jaw. "If I were the gambling sort, I'd wager that if Nerosyan hasn't heard by now, either every senior cleric of every church is dead, or someone isn't doing their job," she says flatly, wondering who she's got to ask get a flask of fire and scented soap. "I hear wardstones are quite expensive. Queen Galfrey must be losing her shit."

After his bath (oh gods, to be clean again!!) Therrik realizes his clothes are not worth putting back on again, hell no. At least not without like three or four scrubbings. Towel wrapped around him, he sticks his head out from the room where the copper tub had so beautifully sat, and looks around for one of his traveling companions plaintively.

"Anybody here, or did you all go to shop already?"

Y'all saw that (1 new) and rushed, didn't you? FAKEDYA

Time travel post, to keep things rolling. My internet was shoddy and then down for a bit.

"Just about to leave to find Horgus, did you need something?"

Your shopping and rest are uneventful, even with the addition of a search for the corpulent nobleman. Curiously, he can be found speaking with a few of the less vile-looking mongrelmen about all manner of things from worship to proper business practices. Upon your appearance, he gladly excuses himself and follows you back to Lann's family home to rest.

The next morning, Lann makes certain that all of you eat a light breakfast of blind cave fish and root tubers, all seasoned deliciously. Afterward, his family thanks you for your help in the tunnels again and wishes you well on your journey. Your guide leads you out of Neathholm, without the help of Crel and Dyra this time, down yet another tunnel of identical stone. How his people know their way around this subterranean labyrinth, you have no idea, but you are glad to have the help.

For nearly a half hour, you travel southeast until the passageway narrows to a mere five feet wide. From the look of things, it has been carved out with the use of chisels and picks. Lann pauses at this point and offers an apologetic smile as he says, "I fear this is as far as I am able to go. The path ahead is yours to trek alone, friends. Fear not though, for we shall see one another again if you are able to deliver your message to the city above. I will be one of the first to come join you there when the time is right. Simply follow this tunnel forward and you will find yourselves at the entrance to the traitors' settlement. May luck be with you, this day." He exchanges a few brief words with each of you and a hug or two, before heading back the way you came.

As you continue down the passage, those of you that have darkvision can soon make out barricades made of heaped loose rocks and wooden boards. They bisect the cavern that the tunnel opens up into, but beyond the barricades little can be seen past a wooden screen. Two mongrelmen, looking even more grotesque as the last you have seen if that is at all possible, stand with weapons drawn before the barricade.

Feel free to leap into initiative or try to chat with them as you like! The map is updated and you can move yourselves as appropriate for your marching order prior to combat starting.

Did they see us, or are we still far enough out?

In addition to Naali's question, did we get directions on how to get to the surface from the traitor's settlement, or is it implied that we'll have to figure it out from there?

Ah, knew I forgot something. You were told that you have to go through the traitors' settlement to get to the surface. They have not seen you yet.

"So what's the plan? They're probably not going to let us pass, if they're working with the cultists..." Naali whispers to the others as she peeks around the corner. "I could sneak up a bit closer."

(Back the night before) "Uh, well." Therrik blushes, which is a weird look on a half-orc. "Could you maybe pick up another set of clothes for me? I'll pay you back! It's just that my old ones..." are ingrained with maggot fluids. "You know, just a tunic and trous."

***

Now, squinting ahead at the mongrelfolk, Therrik grunts to himself. "...well, some of us are damn persuasive," he points out. "And by persuasive I kinda mean 'scary'." Tiny head jerk in the direction of Abrielle and Gwyn.

"Still, sneakin' might get us more details."

"Alright, I'll be right back. Hopefully. If I'm not, you know, come get me, please."

Stealth to get closer: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27

For her part, Gwyneth keeps quiet, the dark circles at her eyes a little more pronounced than before, though that simply might be due to her squint; a lack of darkvision made apparent by her face. Her morning prayers were thick with pleads for more than just Iomedae's light; for the Yeoman does so miss the sun, and a few traitorous heathens are not going to keep her--nor any of them--from walking again under a Mendevian sky.

That aside, she refrains from too much talking, giving only a shrug to Therrik's suggestion of subterfuge (chuckling low as she's considered 'scary' by the 6ft-something Orc with a guillotine for an arm) and a good-luck sign to their apparent Tiefling scout as she leaves Gwyn's field of vision, visibly swallowing her urge to march.

"We aren't that bad," she says, distracted by her own eagerness, sword rolling with her wrist. A second of thought has her looking between Therrik and Abrielle for confirmation. "...are we?"

"Let's just say you both got a certain way about you," Therrik responds with a little snort.

Sadron watches as the tiefling sidles out of view.

I wonder if all of this village is as villainous as our friends believe.

Naali is able to sneak closer and make out a few details that could not be seen at a distance. Namely that there appears to be no lock on the door through the barricades walling off this tunnel. It seems the pair of guards are the only actual defenses here. The guards appear to be bearing a club each that is little more than a length of broken, twisted wood. For the time being, they seem to simply be chatting about this and that to pass the time.

"He took his suitcase? Stol, babe, I don't think he's comin' back." The pair continue to ramble on about relationship troubles and whatnot, offering nothing of real value.

After a moment or two of watching carefully, the door between the pair opens and another mongrelman sticks his head out to offer both a haunch of some sort of meat. From the smell, it might be ham. But then again, from what you have heard of this tribe, it could very well be human.

Naali tries to see if any of the mongrelmen are wearing pendants or anything else that might link them to the cultists of Baphomet, and then returns back to the others.

Stealth awaayyyyy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (1) + 9 = 10

Oh god no

I love it when a plan comes together.

"Hey! INTRUDER!" Howls the mongrelman that had stuck his head out the door when he spots Naali after she has tripped overly a poorly placed, unattended drum set. Must have been one of the many things that fell through the chasms down to these tunnels. The roars of the mongrelmen and the oddly timed rimshot echo into the larger cavern, as well as back up the tunnel. At least now everyone knows what has happened.

Time for initiative! Since Naali just fell on her butt, there is no surprise round. Everyone is equally surprised.

You folks back down the hallway waiting for Naali heard the yells. And the drums. Act as you will.

Naali, you're prone at the start of your turn because you rolled a 1.

Round 1 Turn Order:
Gwyneth - UP
Therrik - UP
Sadron - UP
Naali - UP
Blue Mongrelman
Red Mongrelman
Yellow Mongrelman
Abrielle

"Where the hell'd that drumset come from?" Therrik says, bewildered, running forward and unslinging his new warhammer as he goes. "Hang on, Naali--!"

Is the map accurate? I mentally assumed we'd probably be further down the tunnel to let Naali scout, but, assuming it's up-to-date:

Therrik dashes up and takes a swing at the north mongrelman. If they gotta fight their way in, so be it. It's just like boarding an enemy ship, he thinks.

Masterwork warhammer, wielding both-handed: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
Damage: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Seconded. Assuming the map is accurate...

"Hey! INTRUDER!"

"So...I take it that's Naali drumming up an interest?" Gwyneth suggests, white teeth flashing as her greaves push against rock and dirt, sharply following Therrik in tow.

Finding the two mongrelman guards ahead, she resolves to divide and conquer, setting her sword upon southernmost mongrelman.

Cold Iron Longsword (Two-Handed, Power Attack): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23 Oh. Ok.
Critical Confirm: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 really don't believe that'll confirm.
Damage: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

"Stand down or fall down," marks the Paladin, voice purposely clipped. "Your choice."

"A silly pun, Koschei..." the elf says with a smile as the paladin runs off to engage the mongrel men. ...but I suppose one good clang deserves another.

Sadron produces his own percussion instruments, and attempts to soothe the banging assault on everyone's ears with his own metered metallic ringing.

Move: Retrieve cymbals
Standard: Bardic Performance - +1 att/dam, +1 vs charm/fear

A yelped "Waugh!" echoes through the caverns as Naali tumbles over the, wholly unexpected, drum set. She scrambles up as Therrik and Gwyneth rush past her.

Hoping they'll heed Gwyneth's warning, but knowing it is unlikely, Naali prepares to throw a bomb.

Move: To get up from Prone
Bomb Throw (Touch): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15 Towards yellow, if they do not stand down.

I'm gonna assume that's a readied action, Naali. In which case, the readied action would go off and will touch. No sense in wasting time, because these Mongrelmen are really not standing down. Roll damage and tell me which square the blast is centered on, please!

Sounds good!
Fire Bomb: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9 with splash of 3 damage.
At yellow/their square

Round 1 Turn Order:

Gwyneth - UP
Therrik - UP
Sadron - UP
Naali - UP
Blue Mongrelman
Red Mongrelman
Yellow Mongrelman
Abrielle - UP

Twin yelps of agony slip from the mongrelmen as the two original guards fall twitching to the stone floor. The third simply bellows his pain and rage as he lunges forward to try to beat at Gwyn with his bare fists.

Punch: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Punch Confirm: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11
Damage: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

Therrik glances over as the third mongrelman lands a solid blow on Gwyneth. "Alright there?"

Sadron's cymbal performance makes Therrik's brows dance a little. "--huh-- that's pretty catchy..."

Hammer to the spine! Vs Yellow: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 6 + 1 = 18
Damage (2H): 1d8 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 6 + 1 = 9

(Judging by description, blue's dropped, but he's still on the map; I'd take a 5-ft step into his square preferably. Of course if he's still up I'd attack him.)

Sounds like they're both down to me? If Yellow's still standing, she'd do the same to bring that up to flanking.

Gwyneth feels the fist connect square with her jaw, and she takes a moment to spit out the blood collecting on her gums.

"Been better," she admits, letting herself fall into the rhythm of Sadron's percussion as she brings her sword in an arc towards the offending Mongrelman.

...Assuming he isn't downed from Therrik's smack to the spine, anyway. If he is, she'll advance to the square directly south of the door and ready an action to swing at whatever comes through (if anything). In either case:

Cold Iron Longsword (Two-Handed, Power Attack, Inspire Courage): 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 3 + 1 = 19
Damage: 1d8 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 7 + 1 = 11 (forgot to 2-hand calculate PA last time >_>)

Round 2 Turn Order:

Gwyneth
Therrik
Sadron - UP
Naali - UP
Blue Mongrelman
Red Mongrelman
Yellow Mongrelman
Abrielle - UP

Therrik's hammer sends his foe crumpling into a lifeless heap like a sack of bricks. When there are no further immediate threats, the sound of scrambling past the barricade is clearly audible. So, naturally, Gwyn goes to investigate.

Gwyneth gets her wish when yet another mongrelman bursts through the slightly ajar door she has elected to stand beside. Her sword swings true, nearly cleaving the poor man's arm clean off to the tune of snarls of pain.

As each blow lands, a triumphant clang rings out from the silver discs in the elf's hands. Victorious for the moment, the music stops until the door opens. The sound of the paladin's sword moving through the air is accompanied by a sonorous hum.

Free: Maintain Performance
Move: move
Standard: Ready to move away on the chance an enemy moves to threaten.

Move: Next to Sadron
Standard: Glaive vs Mongrelman next to Gwyneth
Attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9
Damage: 1d10 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

Naali shifts up towards the new mongrelman, careful to not step on the now lightly charred and thoroughly stabbed, slashed and hacked corpse below her. She swings her glaive at the mongrelman, but it only meets the air above them.