Aramis: 23
Garrivek: 19
Isabella: 16
Arryn: 21
Dregg: 5
Antagonist and Cirieo: 25
Aramis and Garrivek heal Isabella again, keeping her on her feet as she and Arryn battle the redcap over Dregg's body. The half-elf's blades cut deep -- though the longsword seems to do far less harm than it should considering Isabella stabs it through the chest. She steps back, and Arryn blasts it away, though he's unable to push the fey back.
She closes again with Isabella, scythe flashing, but the shove knocked he off balance and the half-elf easily dodges.
Red: 53
”Again,” Arryn says, and repeats the tactic, backing up a bit himself.
Alas, he stumbles himself as he backs up, and goblet number 3 goes very wide.
"" Isabella screams, practically foaming at the mouth and a disturbing gleam in her eyes.
On some level, dim and half-buried behind seething bloodlust, Isabella realizes the need for more cold iron... but this is all she has.
And the blades flash and whirl, stab and tear, only for the half-elf to take a grudging step back after attacking.
No wanting to get in the way of Isabella and Arryn's rhythm, Garrivek reaches out to heal Dregg again.
Aramis backs up a bit and casts her arms out at the redcap. The veins under her skin writhe and throb as a trio of green magical bolts fly from her fingers and slam into the redcap.
Aramis: 23
Garrivek: 19
Isabella: 16
Arryn: 21
Dregg: 5
Antagonist and Cirieo: 25
Aramis hits the redcap with her longsword, but it doesn't seem to break the skin and she gives the half-elf a bloody smile as she closes back in, dodging the blast from Arryn. Aramis' magic missiles hit, but seem to dissipate on they fey's skin. She slashes and kicks again at Isabella, who barely manages to duck away from the scythe's deadly blade.
Garrivek tries to heal Dregg, but he realizes there's no response to his spell. It's almost as if it didn't have a valid target.
[dice]1d4 + 6[dice]
Red: 53
Abruptly, Isabella shifts her rhythm. Instead of leading with the longsword, she switches with the short; cold iron cleaves a dark path for steel to follow, and the half-elf shifts position again.
Seeing Dregg not respond to the healing, Arryn's mind begins to panic and rage begins to build. Purplish lightning crackles around his body as the elemental overflow intensifies with his anger. He pulls a vial of alchemist's fire from his pouch and it flies at the redcap.
x 1.5 = 39 + fire
The sudden change in tactics seems to surprise the redcap, and Isabella and Arryn are able to cut it down, her body slamming into the far wall.
As you rush to Dregg's side, you realize he's not breathing, a boot-shaped impression remaining in the caved-in side of his chest along with all the blood.
"Damn it!" Isabella hisses as she sinks to her knees, panting and sweating like an overburdened oxen on the field. "Damn it!"
Arryn drops to his knees, force and lightning still cascading along his body. He tenderly brushes hair from Dregg's eyes as the redcap's burning body slowly rises from the bloody floor. He adjusts Dregg's coat free of the wounds as the redcap's equipment falls to the ground. He gently closes Dregg's eyes as the redcap's naked, burning body floats towards one of the arrow slits. He picks up Dregg's axe and places it in his hands as there's a sickening crunching sound as the redcap's body is forced THROUGH the arrow slit and once outside, there's a squelching sound as the pulverized remains explode in a fine mist.
Are any of the redcap's possessions alcoholic?
The redcap has a couple vials on her; they're likely potions, but you never know.
Garrivek looks at his hand, then looks at Dregg. "I can't fix this."
As Isabella sinks to her knees, he pats her once on the shoulder.
As Arryn brutalizes the redcap corpse, Garrivek raises an eyebrow. Then he takes a step away.
Aramis stares down at Dregg, disbelieving.
She gives him a shake. Then a second...
"No, I..." Aramis' voice cracks, and she raises a hand to cover her mouth. Her face contorts in a look of anguish.
She sinks to her knees, and does something she hasn't let herself do since her home burned.
She cries.
As you collect yourselves after Dregg's death, you realize there are a number of valuables in the room: In addition to Dearga’s scythe -- which Aramis realizes is magical -- she has a whip feather token, a potion of cure moderate wounds, a potion of fly and leather armor. In addition, a small chest hidden in what you would guess was the dog’s bedding contains 22 gp, 476 sp, a bracelet made from black jet (worth 200 gp), 13 chess pieces carved from soapstone (worth 5 gp each), a stylish cap made from albino beaver fur that you're sure Dregg would have loved (worth 300 gp), and a strange sandalwood statuette of a bear eating a lion whole (worth 150 gp).
The trap door to the roof remains barred.
Garrivek collects the treasures while the others mourn their friend.
”Let’s finish this place,” Arryn growls and directs some debris at the trap door itself.
x 1.5 = 36 damage to the trap door.
Arryn smashes the trap door, giving you access to the roof of the tower, where you find a man bound and gagged, a chest just out of his reach as if too taunt him. The fey's cruelty is evident as the binding is a noose around the man's neck, clearly giving him an option to escape if he chooses to take it -- though an escape that would only come through his death, an option he's not yet taken.
"Damn! Hang on!" Arryn calls up, not realizing his horrible pun until its too late.
He checks for traps then scrambles up the ladder. Once he's assured that there aren't anymore booby traps, he reaches out his hand and unknots the rope around the man's neck and other bindings. He then examines him for wounds and injuries.
Isabella abandons Dregg's body to follow Arryn into the attic.
She glances from the stranger to the chest and back again, her eyes narrowing... but she doesn't say a word.
The man coughs harshly as the gag is removed from his mouth. "Ah, thank you ever so kindly." He rises, brushing off his knees as he does so before stretching with a pleased grunt. "Ah, but excuse me, it's poor manners not to introduce one's self to one's rescuers." With a sharp intake of breath, he spins to face the group and drops into a deep bow then offers, "Before you, veering from the very verge of vanquishment, a virtuous soul beneath a villainous veneer. Recently: a vulnerable victim chained by vicious and vulturous vermillion hatted vermin. Now: standing instead; vivified! In gratitude, a votive made of voluntary vassaldom, if you might have me. Verily, let us in unison voice our valediction to villenage and vacate this vile venue. There is little vantage left in this vicinity, the valiant vanguard of the past keep their vigil and vie for this vestibule no longer. Yet, my vim and vigor have veiled my meaning in verbiage most verbose. Forgive me, and let me simply add that it is my very great relief and honor to meet you all and I, Vexras Voltagian, am and do remain humbly, ever at your service."
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Arryn pauses at the onslaught, then replies, "Ummmm, you're velcome, I mean, welcome."
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"How Vaudevillian," Isabella says (or at least, she uses the Golarion equivalent thereof). "So. How'd the Redcaps get their hands on a poet?"
"It's a tragic tale of surprise and turnabout, I'm afraid. It wasn't long ago, perhaps three seasons, since my route brought me by this fortress and the noble rangers who once manned it. New inhabitants had taken up residence upon my latest visit, to my sudden dismay. Hobgoblins, and not one of them with the slightest sense for expertly crafted steel. Rather than accept my services for coin, they captured me and kept me chained upon this roof, to tend their blades. Then these vicious fey came shortly thereafter and I've been sharpening scythes ever since. And let me add in lament, that my tormentors suffer from two terrible lacks: recognition of talent, and an appreciation of bathing."
"Were you a regular visitor to the Rangers of this fort?"
Vexras shrugs slightly with a nod of admission, "An infrequent visitor, but, until this most recent stop, a welcomed one."
"Yar. Every soldier with a lick of sense appreciates seeing the blacksmith," Isabella says, nodding sagely. "Swords get dull. They break if they're used too much. You need a man who can beat them back into shape or reforge them from scratch. Not to mention all the other little things they do, like make cutlery and nails. An armed unit falls apart pretty fast if they can't eat like people and can't put in proper doors or sit on proper chairs."
Arryn leans over the trap door and calls down, "Cirieo, did you guys used to have a red-skinned sword smith who talks a lot stop by every now and then?"
"Vexas?" Cirieo calls back. "Yes! How'd you know? Did that bigmouth end up here? If someone had told me that earlier, I'd have said they're the one without a leg to stand on!"
Satisfied that all is in order, Arryn relaxes a bit. He gestures to the chest and asks, ”Your stuff in there?”
If it’s locked, he’ll pop the lock for him, otherwise, he just makes his way down below. After a few minutes he shoves his emotions down and begins the unenviable task of sorting through Dregg’s effects and what could be useful for others in the group.
Garrivek introduces himself. "Oh, hello, there! I'm Garrivek. Garrivek Runebuckle. Of the Kraggodan Runebuckles. You look awfully familiar. Have we met?" Garrivek strokes his beard, certain he's met this fellow before. "I'm a messenger by trade, you know. Yes, I'm positive of it! We've definitely met. Pleasure to see you again, Vexras! Awful poor situation you find yourself in. Why, I was in a shamefully similar situation just a few weeks past. Why, there I was, butt naked and tied up in a hobgoblin's tent when..."
Suddenly realizing he's having a conversation over the body of one of the fellows who saved him, Garrivek looks momentarily chagrined. "Right... Uh... You'll be coming with us, then?"
Vexras nods in appreciation as Arryn pops the lock on the small chest and he sighs with relief as he draws a well worn yet also well maintained hammer from within. "Ah, good." He adds as an aside, "No one really appreciates how bad a hammer is until they've swung a good one." He pats the handle affectionately as he slips into a loop on his belt and begins outfitting himself with his possessions once more.
A few minutes later, the red-skinned blacksmith slides down the ladder to meet the rest of the group, but his wide smile turns to a wince as he sees Cirieo's missing leg, then into a deep and somber frown when he sees the group gathered around a recently fallen member. Eyes fixed on the horribly scarred orc's collapsed chest, he offers softly, "I am terribly sorry. I- did not realize you had suffered such a loss beneath my very door." He sighs, partly in relief for not wanting to intrude, when Garrivek bustles over.
"Ah! Yes, Master Runebuckle. I believe we met... up in Kassen, wasn't it? So pleased to see you still up and about. Perhaps now would be a good time for us to do some catching up, yes? Over this way and out that door, perhaps? Yes, yes, after you, my good dwarf! If my memory serves, last we saw each other you were on your way to the Storval Stair? You really must tell me how that all went! I hear it is a most dreadful place, after all. Cirieo, my friend, come join us!" As the trio head off to the adjoining room to catch up, Vexras mimes to the others to take as much time as they need. "Oh! A duel you say? Please, please, do go on!"
As their new serendipitous friend heads out with their other serendipitous friends, Arryn returns his attention to Dregg. ”We can’t carry him all the way back to the caves. We’ll have to lay him to rest out here in the wilds, which he would probably prefer anyways.”
Before dealing with the stables, Arryn will search out a good burial place just outside the fort and begin using his telescoop to lift dirt and rocks out of the ground.
"That, or we set the place on fire," Isabella says. "Better we cremate the big lug than leave him for some hobgoblin to find and eat."
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”Well, the Fort may some day be reclaimed by the rangers, so we should burn it out, but a funeral pyre in the courtyard would be appropriate. I’m glad one of us is still able to think.”
Arryn collects the remains of the trap door, remains of other doors, broken furniture and piles up the empty wine and beer casks that the korreds has been emptying.
When it’s time, he lights a torch, then pauses.
”Dregg smelled bad and he insisted on calling everybody those awful, insulting nicknames. To him, I was his Little Angel. I think he enjoyed how completely inappropriate that nickname was. He enjoyed making me feel uncomfortable, kind of like he was a big brother or something. At least, that’s what I imagine having a big brother would be like.”
”He drove me crazy, like how he’d just leap into battle whenever he saw a bag guy, and to hell with strategy. I wanted to throttle him when he ran down those stairs to charge Scarface because now we couldn’t leave, but that was the way he thought. No expectation that we wouldn’t leave him behind while he slowed down the biggest threat, because that was also the way he thought. Self-sacrifice for the good of others was his main motivation, and he made us all better for it, stupid nicknames or no.”
He pauses again. ”Anybody else want to say anything?”
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Aramis stands far from the fire, oddly uncomfortable near it. She watches the smoke rise into the sky, then sighs. Her tears left sickly green streaks across her face, but she doesn't seem to care.
"I... Dregg was..." She sighs again. "I've lost a lot of friends. I didn't know him long, but Dregg was one of the best. I wish..." she trails off, tears up, and wipes her eyes.
"Goodbye."
Then she sits down to watch her friend burn to ash.
Garrivek wanders off with Vexras, regaling him with rambling tales that occasionally have a point. When the pyre's ready, he rejoins the others around Dregg to pay his respects.
"I owe Dregg, and all of you, a debt for saving my life. I plan on paying it forward. I won't forget Dregg, his bravery, or his sacrifice."
Perhaps to everyone's surprise, Isabella starts chanting the official prayers of the departed from the holy book of Pharasma, queen of the graves. She ceremonially touches Dregg's heart and brow, drawing a spiral on both.
Once she's finished, the half-elf rises and looks the half-orc in the face one last time. "See you around, Green Genes," is all she says as a personal salute.
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As you make your final comments, Cirieo bows his head too. "I only knew him for a very short time, but he -- you all -- freed me from certain death," the halfling ranger says. "If there's anything I can do to repay that, I will."
When it's finished, you make your way slowly back to the caves, where shock greets the announcement that the bigger-than-life figure has died. He wasn't with you in Phaendar as you made your escape, but he met you right outside the village, and had been helping shepherd the refugees ever since. Symond, the boy, bursts into tears, running deep into the bowels of the cave to be alone.
The next day, the council gathers to hear what else you found and determine your next step.
"Is the Fort someplace safe that we could go?" Jet asks. "Not that the caves aren't suitable, but they're a bit ..."
"Rustic?" Abby supplies, finishing the thought.
Cirieo recommends the group heads for Fort Nunder. He says the Chernasardo Rangers battled a trio of vicious green dragons for nearly a decade two generations ago, and if they still have any dragon-killing supplies, they are sure to be stored in a vault at Fort Nunder, along with other arms.
He warns you, though that the vault was protected by the two best trapsmiths among the Rangers -- a dwarf named Dargrit Foehewer and a human archer named Ekaterin Fletcher -- who quarreled ("no pun intended!" Cirieo says) about how to best protect the vault. The feuding architects constructed two separate trapped passages leading to the vault, each convinced their traps would provide the defense the other’s lacked. The two Rangers were so confident in their constructions that each asked to be entombed within the hill after their deaths. Unfortunately, the halfling can't remember much else about the defenses, but he can certainly give you directions to the fort.
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Isabella goes to see Symond after giving him an hour to cry, and sits down next to him. She brings out the fur cap that Dregg might have liked and plunks it down on his head.
"A man needs a hat," she says. She pauses for a moment, then starts to talk as though she has to physically drag the words out of her: "A man needs a mountain, too. So does a woman. Your mountain ain't just a big wrinkle in the land, it's something or someone to look up to and test and measure yerself against. Your Dad can be that mountain. Your Ma can be that mountain. Your brother can be that mountain.
Now, unlike them big, rocky wrinkles, this kind of mountain is there ta help build ya up, not just because the land shifts and bits sink down or get pushed up. This kind of mountain will say: "Ya wanna be big as me, bigger e'en? Then come over, step up; I'll teach ya, shelter an' nurture ya. I figure Dregg was your mountain."
Another moment of silence passes, and Isabella audibly grits her teeth.
"I had a mountain, me. I had a whole mountain range. But my family died. Someone killed 'em an' I dunno who. I know how much it hurts. I know how lost it feels when ya lose yer shelter, yer role models, yer teachers. I had to go find me a new mountain. Had ta tend me own trails 'till I did. Messed me up some, as ye might've noticed. So."
Isabella sighs. Then she grunts, and puts her hand on Symond's head.
"I ain't no Dregg. I'm an Isabella. But I can be yer mountain. Yer teacher. I can train ye up ta be strong an' sly, so's ye can protect yerself, protect yer folk. Ye can be a man mountain like Dregg, rise ta his height an' maybe higher. So. How about it?"
The half-elf holds out her fist for Symond to bump.
"Want to challenge a new mountain, young man?"
At Jet's question, Vexras spreads his hands and mimes weighing the two sides of a scale as he offers, "Unless you've the means to patch up collapsed citadel walls hidden further back within these charming caves, I do not think that particular fallen fortress will serve you all that well. Not only that, but the hobgoblins already know of it. If you all are looking to be staying put in a particular place, perhaps then it is not so good a choice?" As Cirieo describes Fort Nunder, he nods, "This sounds like a marvelous place! Filled to the brim with clever and deadly traps, and with a pair of ghosts or even perhaps a dragon as a cherry on top of what will certainly prove to be an extraordinarily dangerous cake! Magnificent, to be sure. How soon can we leave?" His tone conveys a sense of adventure lust and wonder mixed with a bit of cheery playfulness as he elbows Garrivek to coax additional enthusiasm from the dwarf.
”Also, we brought with us a group of fey who have the ability to craft walls and huts out of nothing. We tentatively negotiated an agreement for their magical services in exchange for good booze, if we have the means here to brew any.”
Arryn wants to find Phaistea and just enjoy her company, though his misery is so strong he can’t be much fun for her.
Symond wipes his nose and sniffs at Isabella, but looks up at her and nods, bumping fists. "Yeah, that's what Dregg would have wanted!" he agrees. He still mopes a bit, but seems ready to try to continue on.
The other survivors seems a bit concerned at the idea of fey, but if they're willing to be helpful. "I think we can manage that," Aubrin says. "I'd be a pretty lousy cleric of Cayden if I couldn't brew some good liquor. I'll move the still up on the list of priorities; maybe these fey can help make that happen even more easily."
Though the leprechauns are waiting outside, the four atomies apparently don't have the same restraint. They rush in, exclaiming excitedly after a quick purview of these caverns.
"Yes, tell us where these stills are and we shall slay them for you and get your your liquor!" Arpellion exclaims.
"Right," Isabella tells Symond. "We'll start by building up yer muscle an' stamina. I'mma give ya exercises ta do. Do them e'ery mornin', an hour after eatin'. At dinner, see ya get yer fair share o' meat. Meat is good for buildin' muscle.
Teachin' ye the bow like I tried ta a'fore was too fast, I see that now. Like I said; we're buildin' ya up. But we're also after teachin' ya ta aim, so we're gonna get ye a sling. In the mornin's, ya do the exercizes I'll give ya; sit-ups, push-ups, runnin', climbin'. In the afternoons, an hour after lunch, ya get out yer sling and start slingin'. We'll set ya up a target.
Don't aim yer weapon at a person! Yer still learnin', an' as like ta hit yer own elbow as a friend's eye. If battle comes, ya hide 'hind tha traps I set up wit' tha others. Don' pick a fight 'till I says yer ready. Got it?"
Garrivek nods along with Vexras. "Fort Nunder, ya' say? What a storied place! Fascinating."
Later he nods at the atomies. "A still's a tool for making alcohol, not a creature to defeat. But, I'm sure we could use your strength and help, Arpellion." He looks to Aubrin for guidance. "What do you need us to do first? I've brewed the old 'Goldspeck Ale' on more than one occasion., but never set up a still."
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The first night back at the caves, Arryn finds Aramis, Isabella, and Garrivek at their fire, and he seems better. His dark cloud is gone and he’s even smiling a bit (unsteadily), though Phaistea nearby looks worried.
”Things do seem to be looking up, don’t they? We brought back, what, eight new allies for the town and it only cost one. Those huts and walls could save everybody come winter or a hobgoblin attack, and Dregg would be glad of that. No need to be glum at all, is there?”
He gives Aramis’s arm a squeeze, and leans closer, the unmistakable smell of booze wafting over. ”He was sweet on you, you know? He told me once, after Scarface, that he might have run off, but he couldn’t leave you behind. He would have died for you. Heh. I guess he kind of did.”
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Isabella crinkles her nose at the smell, then looks from Arryn to Phaistea.
"How much's he had?" she asks, bluntly. "Any left so's we can clean out wounds? 'Cause if he's had all we had in supply, I reckon Dregg'd be mighty disappointed in him."
Symond nods enthusiastically at Isabella's advice, agreeing that he'll do as many exercises as he can -- as long as his parents let him and it doesn't get in the way of his chores or schooling. He seems very excited about the idea of a sling.
Dregg never said I could do that!" he exclaims.
"Yer not ta do more exercise than I tell ya, mind. Too much is bad. It'll ruin yer growth. And no slingin' at anything but the target! Not in jest. Not in mock. Only the target. I'm yer mountain now; heed me. Yer not ready ta hit enemies -- yet. But I'll get ya there."
Vexras is caught up in deep conversation with Habbly talking shop when Arryn stumbles by on his way to a fire where some of the rest of the adventuring party is gathered. The tiefling wrinkles his nose and pulls a face as he catches a whiff of the man as he passes by, but he just shakes his head and returns to his conversation. ”So tell me, my good man, what’s the most difficult repair you’ve managed since those dreadful brutes struck?” Vexras listens intently, nodding in understanding or interrupting and asking for clarification as Habbly expounds upon one of the more difficult problems he’s had to solve since leaving Phaendar behind. When he finishes, the red-skinned blacksmith declares, ”Ah! A clever solution, to be sure! You are a credit to the profession and to your people, my good man! To think of using charcoal as a means of neutralizing the bath: profound!” He claps Habbly on the back then, and excuses himself. ”Now excuse me, my friend. Nature calls, as they say.” He chuckles at his own silly joke then adds hastily yet still genuinely, ”But you must promise me that will talk at length again. I am sure that is not the only clever solution you have found and I would very much like to hear more!”
He spends the evening flitting from person to person or group to group, always jovial and cheerful and upbeat in his tone. He listens intently to each person he converses with, and makes a point in each to ask at least one question prompting for further elaboration about some specific detail or other. By the end of the evening, he’s introduced himself to at least a half dozen of the remaining survivors, learned what they used to do, discovered a singular they’re good or skilled at, and how they’ve reapplied that skill to surviving in the wilds as refugees. In each and every case, the itinerant blacksmith leaves them with words of strong and genuine encouragement.
Late in the evening, he’s heard exclaiming in surprise from within the cave complex, ”A duel, you say?! Why, it would be my humble honor to cross blades with such a capable and heroic atomie as yourself! “