"These wolves explain the smell of the one room. Prepare yourselves for a fight." Anchard says closing the door into the chapel.
Yes. he is the alpha. they might break moral and flee if he dies.
'what are you all doing in my lair...' an ominous voice comes out of the larger wolf...
Members of our two legged pack have become ill, there were mushrooms.... eh soothing grass like plants that grew here we needed to make the pack strong again, Now that we have them we shall go to not intrude on your hunting grounds any further.
He began keeping his eyes locked with the large male.
Alistair just stands there still as can be What the hell man, wolves seriously
'two legged problems do not concern me... if it makes them sick it makes them easier to kill...drop what you took from my lair now...' the wolf says in common pacing back and forth as if anxious...
Hefting his hammer silently the dwarf looks at the speaking wolf. "What now?"
A shame you couldnt listen to reason...you notice the greenskin's bodies about, we did that quickly too, you will fall and your mates will find another if you dont back away.
To his allies he said quite clearly
Take down the big one and the others will most likely flee.
The larger wolf paces back and forth looking at the females nodding his head.... and then lunges at group
Alistair:
Bonifacious:
Cerian:
Anchard:
Shortnose:
Wolves:
Combat 1st Round
Ceria, Shortnose, Bonny, Alistair
Wolves
Anchard
"Wrong move, pup. You just gave me a new cloak. Time for stirring the couldron." Casting divine favor Bonifacius moves forward.
He drew and fired smoothly cursing lowly in Elvish as the sudden movement of Bonifacious distraced him enough to miss high. It was a novice move to be so distracted. He glanced torwards the walls he had earlier used in the defense versus the orcs effectively and moved that way again.
Bonificius buffs himself as Cerian misses with his shot...
For better or worse, Shortnose raises his shield and move to attack!
"Doggies should waggle their tails and be just dogs!" he says to the talking worg.
Shortnose displays his bravado and attacks the larger canine scoring a hit...the worg lets out a howl and looks straight at the warrior with its cold dead eyes...
Alistair stares at the wolves and the conjures grease underneath the wolves, hoping to buy himself precious time
The female wolves struggle with the grease under their paws...
The worg snaps out at Shortnose...
narrowly missing the warrior...
Combat 1st Round
Ceria, Shortnose, Bonny, Alistair
Wolves
Anchard
Combat 2nd Round
Ceria, Shortnose, Bonny, Alistair
Wolves
Anchard
"Want a piece of me? Want a piece of me?!" the warrior howls in anger and attacks the worg in front of him.
Holding his shield high and prepared for any attack, the warrior swings his sword to the side, partially hidden by the shield shoved into the worgs face.
"Take that! Doggie!"
Alistair steps forward and tried to bash the wolf in the nose with a mace.
The elven ranger ran to the wall again and tried to quickly scale up it, only to have his hands slip ridicously badly getting nowhere fast. With an annoyed sigh he shook his head and moved to try flanking the other way perhaps.
Alistair and Shortnose both strike the worg after Alistair moved up to engage...Cerian changes his tactics and the worg howls in pain...
Anchard moves toward the wolg and his pack, letting loose a gout of intense flame that spills over one wolf and the worg.
both targets move out of the way and gets slightly singed...
Bonny is up
The worg attacks shortnose one more time...
MISS
while the smaller wolves move slowly out of the slippery part of the ground...
End of 2nd- Anchard
Combat 3rd Round
Ceria, Shortnose, Bonny (delays), Alistair
Wolves
Anchard
Anchard's outstretched hand spills forth his last gout of flame enveloping the smaller wolf and the worg again before Anchard retreats back to prepare for another tactic.
"Whatcha'doin?" Shortnose inquires after deflecing yet another attack from the monster.
"Hit'im! Stab the thing! Kick the damn dog outta'f me!"
He moved forward some calmly, providing some cover for Anchards withdrawal while removing an arrow and pulling it back torwards his ear loosing it at the worg. He had to aim too high and to the left for his liking to avoid the boisterous shortnose.
Alistair continues to work on the Worg, but not before starting to dance
The combined might of magical fire and melee attacks stumble the worg and the bard delivers the final blow cracking his skull...the two female wolves begin to flee and the group is alone int he courtyard with a large dead worg at their feet...
Let the she wolves go, they are just animals... not like the cruel thing before us.
He said simply hoping the others indeed let them flee. He moved closer to the great hulk of a beast in the worg.
You should have listened friend... then you would have been ruling this forest for some time.
He said simply.
Alistair spits on the Worg "Serves it right. Now can we PLEASE go get the medicine so we can get paid and get the hell out of this backwater"
"That's one vote for leaving. Any others ok with leaving the tower and small rooms unexplored?"
"Well, dad used to say ‘When ye’ve stepped on the shit, just spread your fingers’." he clean any blood from his sword, and then tentatively steps towards the unexplored area ”Can’t hurt to look, right?”
Leaving now or leaving an hour from now wont change too much, We can give everything the quick once over if necessary.
He said simply.
Anchard smirks at the statement. "Right, what's the worst that could happen." Then with a more serious tone, "Just be extra careful. I've almost tapped my divine power entirely."
"Well we are here, aren´t we?"
With a smile the dwarf points to the other doors.
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The group decides to check out the remaining rooms in the dwarven fortress. They focus on the rooms they have not been to yet and find-
Room 9- The double doors leading into this chamber are shattered and broken, one of them lying on the floor. The room beyond is in an equal
state of disrepair. What was once a library is now a shattered mess with one corner being completely collapsed and dominated by a wide
pool of stagnant water. Thick fungus grows on most of the books that still remain on the shelves lining the walls.
Room 8- This small cramped chamber holds two beds (one of which is covered in bird bones), a small sack, and an array of old tools. The other bed looks recently slept in.
Room 6- Tucked under some old and tattered cloaks are a few things of value hidden, including a bag with 35 gp, a masterwork light crossbow, a potion of bull’s strength, and a wand of light (CL 1st, 28 charges). In the dark corner of the room grows a small patch of ironbloom mushrooms, six in all.
Room 5- The door to this room was not only locked (broken) but also barred from the inside. After forcing the door to finally give way and opes, the team sees an assortment of wooden furniture propped against the door now in shambles. The room is dark and smells deeply of dust and decay. Inside is a dwarven skeleton holding an ornate war mace in his hands (MW mace).
”Well, that’s some good shit we found, innit? See? It’s worth to just spread your fingers.” the man laughs at the new found treasures from the ruins.
If the others didn’t want to collect more mushrooms, he’ll do it himself and then deliver to the one carrying the first batch.
”More ‘shrooms. Can’t hurt to take more than asked, right? ” he says and if the other makes so much a annoyed face, the warrior don’t mind offering to carry the goods. After all, if someone complains must be because they don’t want to carry the stuff, right? It’s not about not pleasing their contractor and then maybe trying to squeeze some bonus for overachieving what was requested, right?
He also tries the mace, before giving it to the dwarf in the party, Bonifacius the Bold. ”Isn’t all dorfs somewhat related? Maybe this is from some long long long distant cousin! Ye shoulda keep it.”
Anchard chuckles at Short Nose's tactfulness. "Quite the find. Now let's depart for the witch's home to procure the last part of our self burdened missive."
The group grabs their belongings and head to the location of the hedge witch. They travel for a while along the mountain path until it brings them to a forest. Cerian is more at ease in the forest. The forest path continues for a few leagues and they see a clearing up ahead.
The sounds of the forest become suddenly distant as the trees part, opening into a small, almost perfectly circular glade. The nearest stands of pine, cedars, and darkwood—all typically sturdy woods—twist away from the clearing, as if bent by some impossibly strong wind or seemingly in an attempt to flee despite their paralyzed roots.
At the glade’s center squats an ugly cottage, little more than a pile of twigs, shoots, and ivy stacked upon mud walls. From the thatched roof dangle bundles of gnarled roots, old dried beast carcasses, and knucklebone bangles, all clattering together like gruesome wind chimes. A dozen small thatched fetishes—each shaped like a tiny man, imp, or rearing serpent—stand propped in the yard, keeping guard before a
rickety plank door.
Anchard utters a orison and scans the yard and the hut for signs of magic before slowly pushing forward.
He enjoyed the trips through the woods, it was indeed almost like home. It was a bit colder to the north of course but it felt good to be amongst the trees again. When they arrived to the witches hut he paused with a slight frown. He...didnt have much dealings with witches... and by much that meant none. He had heard stories though.
I assume we are taking the utmost care with a witch?"
He asked not bothering to even not the hint of concern in his normally smooth and melodious voice.
your orison detects faint magic outside and it seems you detect more magic inside the hut...not surprising since this place is a witches home...you do not detect anything truly powerful on the outside though
you notice animal tracks of all kinds and sizes around the open fields, herd animal tracks and predator animal tracks side by side....which is strange and extremely uncommon...since there are no signs of a struggle in the tracks
”Witch? Didyasay Witch?” Shortnose urgently inquires to the band he just met. ”No’ne said anything ‘bout witches!”
The man seems desolated and afraid. To think all this trouble with darkness bringing monster and that shit description thing and the Worg and the mushrooms was all because of a witch.
Then he sees the glade, the hut and all abnormal things around.
”Er, ya know. I’ll keep guard here outside.” he says not moving an inch to enter the witch glade ”To make sure you are safe, yes, just to make sure no’ne creeps on you while you do whatever you are doing inside there.”
Anchard moves to the hut, and knocks on the most convenient surface. If no one answers Anchard tries to let himself in after another call to rouse any occupants.
That is a fine idea friend Shortnose
He began following Anchard fearless approach. He didnt look forward to this at all either.
"Very brave of your to wait out here in the strange woods all alone to make sure we are safe.
He added over his shoulder.
Superstition will get you nowhere nosey.
Alistair takes the mushrooms int othe hedge witches hut and smirks Quit the job for a bunch of stinky mushrooms dont you think Anchard?
Stuck between a unknown witch and a macabre forest. Such was Shortnose life at the moment.
”Gorum proud pole!” he exclaims and then steps inside following the others. Disaster would follow, he could feel in his bones.
"Quite..." Anchard replies in a distant tone, his eyes focused on catching the slightest movements.
The group determine there is no one in the area.... and Anchard receives no answer from his knock on the old door. Anchard tests the door and finds it unlocked and unbarred. He manages to open it which makes a wooden groan and calls out to anyone inside...no response...
Inside, the cottage is dank, reeking, and filled with shadows. Haphazardly hung shelves line the walls, covered in all manner of clay jugs, clouded bottles, strangely cut rocks, rotted bunches of herbs, and a museum of other crude curios and remnants of a bone grinder’s artifice. A rusted iron cauldron, with a mouth nearly 5 feet wide and a depth of at least 3 feet, dominates the hut’s single room, its ash- covered surface shaped with a relief of capering fiends and leering devils. Across from the door, against the far walls and in the shadows stands a highbacked chair made of wicker, the gigantic curved tusks of some monstrous beast, and thousands of human teeth. In the chair sits what looks like a corpse wrapped in filthy burial linens...