Hieronymous nods his head in agreement, "Sounds good."
He moves to the rear of the group, blinking his eyes and looking round suspiciously, trying to make it look to any possible onlookers as if he can see just fine. As they walk, he switches to his Mace and Buckler, thinking they will be more appropriate in close quarters.
You continue to follow the trail in the mud and come to an intersection in the brambles. To the northeast you hear the whimper of several animals, they sound similar to dogs, but strangely different.
The trail continues to the North while a structure made of thorns and decorated with skulls lies to the south.
Garrokmal tries to identify the sounds while examining the skulls....
What is that sound...
The sound comes from goblin dogs, most likely pack mates of the one you fought at the gate in Sandpoint. From the sound you estimate there to be three of four of them.
"Hmmmm... Goblin dogs. Nasty things - the one back in town was a handful on its own. Maybe we should avoid them."
In a whisper, the gnome responds.
'If there's dogs, there's something worth guarding that way: entrance, prisoner, rubbish pile - who knows. But I agree with your assessment, Garrok. The more avoiding we do, the better. At least for the time being."
You continue to follow the trail of whatever was dragged through the thorn maze, passing what looked to be an abandoned watch post. A few yards beyond a rope bridge spans the gulf between the cliff and a roundish, flat-topped island sixty-some feet to the north. Thick patches of nettles and briars grow here and there atop the island, but its most impressive feature is a wooden one-story stockade. Two thirty-foot-tall watchtowers guard the stockade’s southern facade. The rope bridge itself is made of hairy rope and thick wooden planks; the whole thing creaks and sways in the wind above the churning surf eighty feet below.
As you stand investigating the rope bridge Nuala croaks out a 'Danger!' in her coarse raven voice. Taking a step back, you examine the bridge a little closer and see that the bridge has been rigged in some way. You're not quite sure how but it seems to be on the other side. It looks sturdy enough that one person could probably get across at least.
As they walk Hieronymous notices how foggy it is, and just as he is about to make a comment, he realizes that it's always foggy and keeps his mouth shut, shaking his head as if there were insects buzzing about.
Ithrinniel peers ahead, "This bridge, it looks sturdy enough, but there's something not right." She moves closer and pokes at the first wooden plank with her quarterstaff...and, nothing happens (except for Nuala issuing a scolding squak), "On the far end of the bridge there, I think it might be rigged, but I can't tell from this far away." Ithrinniel turns to the group with a long sigh and puts her right hand on her hip.
Hieronymous looks down the length of the bridge, wondering what the other side looks like, "Boat idea's looking a little better right about now... or maybe crossing at night, but either way would waste a lot of time. Should we just go for it, one at a time, and hope no one sees us?"
Garrokmal considers for a moment... Scrutinizes the bridge... looks around the area a bit...
"I don't like it, but that may just be because I weigh as much as the rest of you combined." He grins. "We got here pretty easily, though. We could go back and take a path that may lead us down to that beach - unless there's one there..."
He looks at the area around the bridge, wondering if there's a side path.
"Or..." his eyes falling on the diminutive bard, "We tie a rope around your waist and I can pull you back here if anything goes wrong. If the bridge is rigged to fall, though - you're going to swing back into this wall. Your delicate rosewood armor may not protect you from a giant slab of granite.."
Garrokmal takes a moment to revisit their steps.
The drag marks continue further over the bridge and into the structure beyond.
The watch post is just a small room carved into the thornwall that looks onto the path before the bridge. There's evidence that goblins have spent lots of time here over the years, hundreds of small bones and filth litter the floor.
Returning to the edge of the thorns by the bridge, Garrokmal settles down and looks at his companions. "Well, the day isn't getting any yonger..."
Securing his shield and sword for the moment, he reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out a fistful of barbarian chew. Stuffing it in his mouth and chewing eagerly, it's not long before bright red saliva is staining his teeth and running into his beard. "'utsh shee ff zhere'sh anyunn home!" he grins.
Hieronymous readies himself to follow Garrokmal wherever he goes, thinking that if he goes across the bridge he'll follow at a distance, in case the bridge can only take a small amount of weight (Garrokmal + Hieronymous <> small weight)
Zafzalurg snaps out of his daze, listening to the waves break against the stony cliffs and finally processes Garrok's plan. "Wait, wait, the rope trick ain't a bad idea. You don't have to worry about me falling. My gift for song isn't the only thing magical about me."
Ithrinniel shakes her head and chuckles, wondering what Zaf could possibly mean?
Garrokmal shakes his head at Zaf. "Ish too fu- too fa-" the barbarian chew makes it difficult to speak, so he just looks at the bridge and then back to his companions. "Wait."
With that, he steps out and rushes across the bridge as quickly as he can. He tries to keep an eye out for whatever is waiting at the end of the bridge, but it's hard with the movement of the ropes. He closes his eyes and puts all his strength into a leap for firm ground on the far side.
This is a bad idea...
Zafzalurg turns to the group, "Barbarians... like the tarrasque in a phial shop." Then to Garrok, he calls' "You okay over there?"
Garrok dashes across the rickety bridge as if it were on fire. The heavy barbarian running full stride to get to the end then closing his eyes and making a mad leap for the island beyond only to land in the dirt, the bridge rocking gently at his passing.
For a moment, his eyes are closed - he can feel the dirt kicked up from his landing swirling around his eyes... He hears only the crash of the surf below - no springs loosening, no bridge falling to pieces... then the voice of Zafzalurg in the distance over the water.
He raises his head, looking across the bridge at his companions. "Uh, fine, thanks..." his stomach turns and his gray skin takes a distinctly green shade. "I may have swallowed my chew."
Steadying himself, he stands up, knocking dirt from between the scales of his armor. He looks around at the front of the tower he's now standing immediately in front of. Acting quickly, he pulls his length of hemp rope from his backpack. Holding one end, he throws the coil as far as he can down the length of the bridge.
He waves to Zaf. "Hurry! Grab the rope as you come across. Keep tension on it!"
Checking that the coast is still clear, he makes his way across the bridge, grabbing the rope as instructed. The gnome is surprised the goblin host hasn't reacted to the mad-dashing barbarian - he also swallows against a building worry: What would so occupy the curs that we could saunter in unhurried.
Hieronymous looks around warily as Zaf makes his way across, turning his back to the bridge.
You watch as Zaf makes his way cautiously across the bridge arriving safely on the other side.
Garrokmal is relieved when Zaf makes it over without incident. "Watch the others, just in case..."
Then he waves at Ithrinniel to cross.
"You're turn milady," Hieronymous says over his shoulder, adjusting his grip on his mace.
Turning to Zaf, Garrok says "I may be hearing things through the sound of the surf, but I think he just called her "milady.""
He gently drops his face into the palm of his hand.
Ithrinniel smiles warmly at Hieronymous, takes a deep breath and moves across the bridge, grabbing the rope as she goes. Nuala follows closely behind.
Ithrinniel's anxiety only rises when she realizes that the tome and papers she is carrying in her backpack are not, in fact, waterproof, and she starts calculating how quickly she might be able to throw them to safety if anything were to happen...
The stockade before you is made of thick wood. Closer inspection reveals that most of the wood seems to have been scavenged from ships—a few nameplates remain affixed to some of the beams, while other timbers look like they might have once been masts. They are damp from the constant sea spray and many kinds of moss and lichen now grow upon them.
A set of double doors stand ajar in front of you and appear to be marred and mangled by years of goblin use.
Garrokmal puts his rope away and gets situated with his shield and longsword. "Alright, here we go... Keep an eye out behind us, my friend." he says, looking to Hieronymous.
With that, he toes open the door enough to get through and enters Thistletop.
"Yes, let's extinguish this goblin menace once and for all." The gnome draws the cold iron dagger and thrills at its icy touch.
Everyone safely on the other side of the bridge, a closer inspection of the bridge reveals that it is indeed trapped. A mechanism looks rigged to release the fort side of the bridge if too much weight is placed on it. A rope with a catch hangs close by so the bridge can be secured for heavier loads.
Turning back around for a moment, Garrokmal fastens the catch on the bridge to secure it against falling.
"In case we need to make a quick getaway."
He then turns back around, toes open the door enough to get through and enters Thistletop.
Breathing a bit heavily after jogging across the bridge, Hieronymous follows everyone else in, taking one last look around before he enters.
You enter the walls of the fort cautiously, eyes and ears on high alert for any sign of goblin.
The floor of this room is hard-packed soil, as if the builders either ran out of lumber after building the walls and roof, or as if they simply never thought about building a floor. A number of poorly
preserved horse and dog heads are mounted along the eastern wall, while along the southern wall hangs a pair of large black-feathered wings tacked to the wall with daggers. In the center where the wings meet, pinning them together, is a dagger with a pearl handle.
Hieronymous looks around the room and in a quiet voice says, "Does anyone else think it's weird that we haven't seen any goblins yet?"
He then switches to his spear, securing his mace and buckler to his belt on either side.
"Yes, yes I do, Hieronymous."
Pausing to scratch his chin, Zafzalurg considers the room before his next question.
"So, who's going to pull out that dagger?"
Hieronymous walks over to the dagger and waves his hand, mumbling a little under his breath.
Hieronymous chants the words that will resonate with the magic possibly hidden within the dagger, but after several seconds, the blade reveals no aura. It is not magic, just a finely crafted blade (mastercraft).
Hieronymous turns to the rest of the group, "No magic, just a nice blade, anyone want it?"
Not giving the puny blade a second thought, Garrokmal goes over to the double doors on the west side of the room and gently tests to see if they're unlocked.
The doors in here all seem to use very rudimentary latches with wooden pegs that turn, the door to this room is not latched.
He opens the door just a crack and pauses, listening for anything on the other side.
With no one volunteering, Hieronymous looks over the placement of the dagger to see if it is somehow rigged with a trap.
If he detects nothing, he takes the dagger, "We can sell this when we get back to town."
He secures the dagger in one of his pockets and then walks over to back up Garrokmal at the double doors.
Garrok takes a few seconds to listen intently at the door while Hieronymous inspects the dagger stuck firmly into the wall. The short man gives it a thorough investigation before putting his hand to it and with a sharp tug pulls it from the wall. To everyone's relief, nothing happens.
From behind the door, Garrok hears nothing.