Round 1, wrap up
Brunar and Kiril go after the troll from either side, wounding him slightly, while Kayne tries to aim a magical attack into the fray but cannot get a clear target, and his attack misses.
Finally Flint moves in close with torch and sword, hoping to add to the monsters misery and inflicts another slight wound
It appears that this monster is not accustomed to being attacked with such determination, and with their success the party presses the advantage gaining initiative on the beast for a moment
Round 2
Kristyd tries to hit the monster with her torch
While Gwen goes at the troll with her hammer again
The troll dodges the fire, but the hammer blows is a solid hit
Brunar – takes – 13 damage (6)
Flint – takes – 10 damage (7)
Troll – takes 4 damage (80)
Troll – takes 8 damage (72)
Troll – takes 10 damage (62)
Troll – takes 5 damage (57)
Round 2
Troll - takes 5 damage[/dice]
Kayne curses again and fires another bolt from his gauntlet. "Last chance! Clear out from the beast if you can!"
Kiril will stab once then move back beside Kayne, out of the line of fire.
Brunar feeling inspired this time, chops again at the nasty foul and dangerous troll, AHAAA!!!"
But misses and takes this opportunity to move 5' diagonal step forming up right next to Kiril so Kayne can blast the creature with fire, soon?
"FORM UP ONLINE WITH KAYNE!"
Flint withdraws from combat, after a final swipe with his rapier, fighting until the last moment before ducking away when Kayne's spell goes off.
using inspiration
Kayne's eyes narrow beneath his hat as the others step back from the troll. "Perfect," he mutters, and with a flourish he sweeps back his robe and extends his gauntleted hand. "Now taste the fires of hell, you beast!" The runes on his gauntlet glow bright orange for a moment, and then a waft of fire blazes forth, sweeping across the hideous creature.
Round 2, wrap up
Kiril strikes a blow and then retreats when Kayne speaks a warning of things to come. Soon, Brunar and Flint are trying to do the same, but the thought of getting out of the way seems more important that landing wounding blow.
With the area clear, Kayne steps up and summons a fan of flames that washes over the troll
The fire scorches the Troll’s wounds, sealing them closed with blackened scars, for now…
Furious at the attack the troll lunges at Kayne
But the dark robed wizard moves back before the monster can get upon him
Round 3 initiative
It seems as though the troll's injuries are slowing it down, and the party maintains the initiative, leaping to gang up on the monster before it can recover.
Brunar – takes – 13 damage (6)
Flint – takes – 10 damage (7)
Troll – takes 4 damage (80)
Troll – takes 8 damage (72)
Troll – takes 10 damage (62)
Troll – takes 5 damage (57)
Round 2
Troll – takes 5 Damage (52)
Troll – Takes 10 damage (42)
Troll
Kayne steps back as the monster claws at him, and he brings his gauntlet up and around in another flourish, a wash of flame blazing forth once more across the beast.
Kiril continues harrying the troll, stabbing at the back of it's knee with his longpike, trying to slow it down.
Brunar positions himself to not be in the way of Kayne's burning hands, not to draw AoO, and attacks, "HAHAAAA!"
Brunar almost misses the troll but seems to find troll flesh to slash some more.
Seeing the troll closing in to attack Kayne, Flint waits for Kayne's second wave of fire before tumbling into his position between the warlock and the Troll.
Flint flourishes his rapier and torch in the troll's face briefly, not an attack, just a way to get its attentions.
"Ya sure you want to f$** with me?!" Flint roars at the creature, striking a battler's stance. Clearly he thinks he's needed to protect Kayne from the beast, despite his small size.
You whisper a discordant melody that only one creature of your choice within range can hear, wracking it with terrible pain. The target must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, it takes 3d6 psychic damage and must immediately use its reaction, if available, to move as far as its speed allows away from you. The creature doesn’t move into obviously dangerous ground, such as a fire or a pit. On a successful save, the target takes half as much damage and doesn’t have to move away. A deafened creature automatically succeeds on the save.
It may not have been a brilliant plan. Maybe it wasn’t even a great plan. It certainly didn’t start out that way, but as things became dangerous, the group fell into a harmony one normally only associates with well-practiced formulas and the experience of seasoned veterans.
The assault got off to a rough start, but as the group fell back in unison, allowing Kayne a clear area to summon a sheet of magical flames not once but twice, followed by a solid pummeling by Kiril, Brunar, and Flint, it looked as though the troll was taking a serious beating and would not last much longer
As the Troll turned away from Flint in fear it fell to the ground writhing in agony.
Thinking quickly, Krystid rush at the fallen troll applying the torch to its wounds
Brunar – takes – 13 damage (6)
Flint – takes – 10 damage (7)
Troll – takes 4 damage (80)
Troll – takes 8 damage (72)
Troll – takes 10 damage (62)
Troll – takes 5 damage (57)
Round 2
Troll – takes 5 Damage (52)
Troll – Takes 10 damage (42)
Troll – takes 8 damage (34)
Round 3
Troll –takes 9 damage (25)
Troll – Takes 9 damage (16)
Troll - takes 9 damage (7)
Troll – takes 9 damage (dead)
Flint stands over the dead, writing body of the troll as Krystid rushes to torch it's wounds and keep it from regenerating.
"Well..." Flint says with a nonchallance, his battle stance breaking with obvious disappointment. He tosses the torch casually onto the body and turns to Kayne. "Maybe the next thing will be a challenge"
clearly he's already forgotten about his head nearly being taken clean off in a single swipe.
"Anyone dead?" he looks around the room, tapping his hip-drum with his thumb.
Kayne only sighs at Flint's antics and shakes his head. "One can only hope, I suppose. I don't imagine anyone would care for my keeping a specimen from the fight? Never know when a bit of regenerating flesh could come in handy."
"AYE! I don't mind and let's hope for some moar fun." Brunar looks around for anything valuable the troll have been keeping.
Having just shouted so fiercely that a troll died from fear of him, Flint swaggers over to the tied up dwarves.
"Hey, Knife Ears, look around for secret passages or whatever." Flint offers casually, having forgotten that the elves previously in his party had vanished.
Approaching the dwarves, he checks to see if they're conscious. If not, he'll kneel near one of the bodies his rapier in his hand but held aside (for now), and "Poke!" at one of the still forms.
"Still living, dwarf?"
He assumes them more bandits, but maybe... Maybe they're more of the captured soldiers (there were more soldiers missing, right? Friends of... Gwendolyn's?)
"Take your sample and let's burn the rest. I've seen them come back from worse. That was well done everyone." He nods to Krystid in particular.
He lets Flint deal with the tied up dwarves, checking the rest of the room for any other threats--or treasure.
About ready to check for treasure, he sees Flint head for the dwarves, and he follows feelin' obligated to assist his kin no matter what state they are in, "Aye, still alive alive me kin or you wun o'them bloodsuckin' types since them trolls will eat just 'bout anythin' or so it is written in tales?"
"Ah, brilliant!" Kayne doesn't do a good job of hiding his excitement at this prospect, and quickly leans down to the corpse. "Let's see... I don't have any acid or brine to keep it in, but for a short while at least... one of the jars, perhaps? But then, who knows when we might have need of one."
The warlock puzzles over this conundrum for several minutes, until finally slicing off a finger, torching the end of it, and sticking it in a pocket. "Have to fully care for it later on," he mutters.
Flint and Brunar discover the dwarves are alive, but they have certainly seen better days.
Their garments are tattered and torn, but are the uniforms of the soldiers of Balor. Once their gags are removed they thank you profusely, cry out in greeting to Gwendolyn, happy that she is safe, and tell you their tale.
Our squad was escorting a maintenance crew through the mountains, keeping the watch towers in repair, when we were attacked by orcs who were lead by a pair of ogres. It seemed they were after slaves, and not simply in a mood to kill us all. We were bound and hooded, brought to this place, and divided up. Some of our number were sold to goblins while others were sold to a strange human. We overheard the orcs discussing trading some of us to the troll for weapons he had collected over the years and it turned out that it was the two of us that were the payment. We learned that the troll keeps his treasure in a secret place, something that frustrated the orcs, otherwise they would have tried to bring him down by their own hand, but they feared his treasure was guarded by some trap or pet of the troll that they were not keen on finding out about the hard way. There were nine of their number to begin with, those who survived the initial attack on their camp.
Gwendolyn is overjoyed at finding two of her former comrades, alive, and mostly unharmed. She introduces the dwarves to Kristyd and Sandy, and the two women try to put on faces of bravery and resolve, even though it is apparent they are a bit shaken by the battle with the troll.
As Gwen makes a promise to accompany the soldiers safely to the Black Village, and then further on to Cipenney, Brunar,and Flint agree, even getting the concurrence of Kayne, that now would be a good time to resupply and determine the next plan of action, over a drink at the local tavern
Meanwhile Kiril literally turns the room upside down, sorting through piles of gnawed upon bones, pieces of animal hide, furs, and mats of straw and dried branches. About to give up, he stumbles upon a lose stone in the floor, beneath it is a small bag with forty gold pieces in it.
Kiril pockets it, and takes a few animal furs too. .
He shakes the dwarves' hands roughly "Glad to see you're alive. Let's get the hell out of here."
"Aye, I will lead the way but just tell me where to go for the fastest way out of here unless you'll want to?"
The Dwarven soldiers are grateful that not only did you rescue them from a horrible fate, but that you are willing to see them safely back to Cipenney.
Reviewing the Map being drawn by Sandy, Gwendolyn, and Kristyd, the party hurries back to the central corridor of the first level, and then straight to the exit.
It is dark on the mountainside. The chill of the spring hangs in the air, but at least it is dry. The cloudless sky above reveals a sea of stars shimmering in a white ribbon that flows across the sky like cream.
The moon is a waxing gibbous, telling you it is still a few days before the moon will be full, which you know is due to happen on the tenth day of Mergunum, that means that it is the night of the fith through the seventh perhaps, and not as much time as you were beginning to imagine has actually past.
Below the mountain, in the distance to the south you can see the faint lights of the village of Cipenney, some ten miles away. To the east, just below the mountain, only a mile or a mile and a half away lay the ruins of the Black Village where the Kobold Warren known as Loamstone Hovel can be found.
There should be no lights, no fires burning in the Black Village, and yet from the ledge where the doors to the palace are you all can see a small campfire burning below, though you cannot, from here in the starlight and faint moonlight, make out any of the burnt out buildings of the Black Village.
"Should there be a fire? I don't recall there being a fire in the past." Kayne peers down through the darkness and glances at the others. "Something tells me we may not be finished with this outing just yet. Should we rest here, or see what's going on by cover of night?"
"What, like stealth?" Flint says, looking out into the void of night, at the small bit of mysterious light from the campfire.
He tries to figure out how far away it actually is.
"If you want to do that, I'll hang back here. They'd be able to feel me coming. Never could sneak up on anything, like wolves, even people can tell a threat is near them when I'm sneaking around."
He... Might actually believe it, even if it's bullshit. Flint may actually expect others to feel a kind of predatory energy radiating off of him.
Flint stares out into the night, eyes burning with curiosity. "Best we probably just walk right up, see who it is and if they need their teeth punched in, we oblige them. What are they going to do that a troll couldn't?"
Flint starts walking confidently forward, toward the campfire (though he would stop with an eyeroll if someone insists).
It might be next to impossible for a group this size to proceed quietly, but they try. The four heroes, their three companions, and the two rescued dwarves set off single file down the mountain trail toward the Black Village. In the faint starlight, and subtle shadows from the crescent moon, the trail is difficult to negotiate, but it has become familiar to them now, and keeping it slow and sure, the group finally reaches the foot of the mountain two thousand feet below the Palace of the Vampire Queen.
And as they approach the ruin of the Black Village they begin to hear singing.
The voices are mixed, male and female, and the songs are happy, almost bawdry in nature, but the language is hard to identify. The sound of stringed instruments, plucked, strummed, and bowed can be heard as well, and then the jingle jangle of tambourines, bells, and the clack-ity clack of castanets rises.
Through the burnt out buildings and fallen fences you can see a caravan of three large and two small four wheeled wagons which resemble small cottages on wheels*
A small fire burns in the ring of the wagons, and seated and standing around the fire are at least a dozen tall, slender people dressed in flowing, lose garments. You see no sign of any guards, or weapons worn by the revelers.
You approach close enough to identify these strange folk as Iarisheans, elves from northern Alodoa.
Kiril, impatient with the idea of sneaking, follows Flint, backing him up.
Brunar whispers as they watch the new comers, "Aye, who are they other than pointy-ear wuns?"
As they near, Kiril whistles to get the strangers' attention if they haven't noticed us already.
After Kiril whistles, Flint gives them a wave while swaggering up. "Elves! Hey!" he says, wondering if they are friendly elves.
As the large group approaches the campsite, the music slows, grows quieter and then stops.
Three elves leave the main camp, from near the small fire, and walk casually toward the approaching adventurers.
Ahey, and welcome weary travelers, one of the elves, a tall square shouldered man with long brown hair that is tied behind his head into a lose pony tail says spreading his arms wide. His smile is gregarious and warm. He wears a yellow coat with shiny black buttons and a pair of long grey trousers. His shirt is green and has a wide collar which is turned up in a most peculiar fashion.
Beside him, to his left is an elven woman with long, wild and tousled black hair streaked with white that seems to frame her care worn face with striking elegance. She has a green and blue scarf tied around her neck which hangs lose to one side. Her dress appears to be made of many different tops and skirts of light, brightly colored materials, layered for warmth against the chill of the spring night’s air.
On his other side is a shorter, slimmer elven man. He wears a red and white stripped, light cotton stocking cap bunched up high on his bald head and how it stays in place seems a mystery to you. His long graceful ears are studded with piercings, while large golden hopes hang from each lobe. He is dressed in golden brown trousers, a white wool shirt and a wide black leather belt.
The older, female elf, curtseys, bowing deeply, and lifting her skirts with both hands as she says, We are the Adaranal, Maldornan, and Darenal families, once of Iarishea, but come to this land more recently from Tarule. We left Cipinney this morning and were welcomed here by the friendly little folk who live below this unfortunate little town. We welcome you as our guests, please come and sit around the fire. The night is still young, and we are still in high spirits from our good fortune.
Kiril crosses his arms, suspicious, letting the others speak first.
Brunar gives his best attempt at bowing in return for the curtsey...
"Aye, well met Miss! What good fortune and spirits do ye speak of?"
After hours spent exploring the extents of the first level of the strange place near the top of the mountain west of the Black Village, and after fighting a troll which freed two of the missing soldiers from the Dwarven King’s patrols, the party of heroes have made their way down the mountain trail in the dark, to the ruins of the well know Black Village only to find that a group of travelling Elves from Iarishea are camped in the center of the burnt out town.
Brunar bows and asks about the good fortune these elves have spoken of, seeing that they were singing and dancing only moments before the party arrived.
Well, our good fortune is manifold, and continues to multiply, the elven woman says. We are three families, with a few friends, who left Iareishea seven months ago in the hope of finding better lives away from the problems that have griped the empire lately. We heard that the Dwarven King was welcoming our kind, and we jumped at the opportunity to find a ship that would bring us here. We are artisans, craftsmen, and entertainers, and we brought with us not only our talents, we are particularly well known for our skill in dying and weaving of many kinds of cloth, as well as our unique skills in the tailoring of garments both fine and practical, but many samples of our craft. We also count in our number a few who have skill in the crafting of fine jewelry, gold, silver, as well as gem work, and the carving of unique woods, bone and ivory.
As the woman speaks she is not afraid to point to the crowd gathering behind her, all smiling, some holding instruments such as small violins, eight stringed guitars, flutes, oboes, and pipes of strange designs, and various percussion instruments. Pointing to individuals as she mentions their particular skill or craft immediately brings forth a bow or curtsey from the one being pointed at.
We sold half our goods in the capital when we came ashore a month ago, and then just yesterday sold half of what we had remaining in the city of Cipenney, while today we managed to trade a small amount of what have left to the kindly kobolds of this burned out village. I won’t lie, but perhaps be guilty of slight exaggeration when I tell you we have made a profit once more over than we ever expected. And the goods we were able to acquire from the kobolds will be most helpful as we journey further north into the heart of this land. We have new, strong and reliable tools, saws, axes, hammers and nails of all sizes, so if we continue with our streak of luck, when we reach Habenford, which our simple map tells us is north of here three days travel, and if we can purchase the building materials we need, we will be building new homes and settling into new lives well before winter sets in.
She bows with a flourish at the end of this long statement, but then stands with a wink and extends her hand toward Brunar, with one more statement
As to our good spirits, I’ll let you and your friends be the judge of that for we have many casks of fine Alodoan wine, as well as a few bottles of a remarkable lemon distilled draught we obtained from the Kobolds. Please, come close to the fire, sit, tell us your tales and we will tell you ours. You can sleep below the stars with us tonight after you have had your fill of drink and what small bits of food we have, for we have looked into the clouds and see no rain to dowse our revelry this night, or you can seek shelter among the kobolds. We would be glad for your company, but the choice is yours.
Kiril sets a hand on his coinpurse defensively and heads for the kobold's entrance without a word.
Flint shrugs when Kiril when he walks off, acting all anti-social and paranoid. He approaches the elves, swaggering closer after Brunar has greeted them.
"Wine and stories? Sounds like a fair trade. Tell you what, pass me a bottle and see if you can't find me some bread and stew, or whatever it is you elves have to eat, and I'll tell about the time I killed a Troll."
Flint launches into a story of his heroic deeds as he ignores Kiril, who purposefully strides off to the safe, reliable comfort of the kobold hovel. He senses something is out of place, as the elves are still, quiet, and seem to be taking his story coldly.*But then as the Halfling strides into the light of the campfire he trips and falls flat on his face, just as he is describing his amazing footwork when the battle with the troll was reaching its climax.
There is a collected gasp, and then a brief moment of silence, which is then followed by applause and loud laughs as the elves assume the fall was meant to be a broad statement of ironic humor punctuated by a pratfall.
Oh, that was rich, that was rich the elven woman says clapping her hands heartily, I almost believed you actually did fight a troll. You are a talented fellow, for a Halfling She gives flint a smile, but he knows it is an uncomfortable, forced nicety
*
Meanwhile, Kiril makes his way through the burned out ruins of a tavern, to the still standing access to the taverns cellar, where he encounters an old, kobold guard. Kiril doesn’t recognize this kobold, but the old fellow seems to know Kiril simply by his swagger.
The Kobold reaches for the door handle as he looks Kiril over,
Dude, welcome back. You look tired, man, here let me get the door for you. I think there’s still a few others up, man, so, get something to drink, and take a load off your feet.
Kiril takes a breath and relaxes. "Thanks. Good to be back."
He'll get some food and drink and chill with the chill kobolds.