Regret and sorrow collide with fear deep in Trox soul. A young half-orc female with blond hair flashes though her mind as a falchion split her from shoulder to hip. Blood flies in her memories as she runs eyes white with terror.
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Druamin moves swiftly to close with the remaining hound. He brings his axe around in a deadly stroke.
Kobu races around his master and then slaps his tail at the hound.
Reynard continues to run.
Druamin, Erond and Kobu gang up on the remaining hound and bring it down. Unfortunately, you suspect that howl could have been heard for miles...
Luckily, with the removal of the source, the fear eventually subsides. Can I assume those running away have come back?
Faywen shakes her head and says "They gave us no physical wounds, just the mental sort." Then, all pretense of stealth abandoned, she runs after Trox, determined to bring the half-orc back to the relative safety of the party.
Druamin pats down his chest and the front of his thighs. "Looks like I'm all whole. No injuries." Kobu slides up next to the druid. "Kobu seems fine too. All in all I'd say that was an outstanding battle."
As the fear wanes Trox drops to one knee breathing hard. The image of the half-orc split from shoulder to hip fresh in her mind. He breaths heavy and lets out one small sob before rising and trudging back to the group. He is silent and embarrassed to the core that he fled. retrieving his weapons he mumbles.
"Sorry."
Again he mores to be close to the front of the group.
Faywen shakes her head and places a hand on Trox's shoulder, speaking quietly. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
Druamin raises his eyebrows at Erond. "Seriously? You think dark thoughts my friend." He shakes his head with a mirthless chuckle. "I hope that I never see that situation happen."
He turns to Trox. "Hey, just like Faywen said, nothing to apologize for. These things happen."
He shrugs his shoulders a couple times to settle his bag. "Ok. Let's continue."
The next door is both quiet and unlocked. Erond peeks in.
The lower four feet of the walls in this empty room are covered with crude drawings in mud, blood, and paint. Most of the drawings show goblins engaged in some sort of violence against humans, horses, or dogs. One picture on the north wall is at least three times the size and complexity of the other scrawlings. This image shows Thistletop from the side, the goblin stockade perched atop it like a crown. A cave has been drawn into the center of the image, and looming inside is what appears to be an immense, muscular goblin with snakelike eyes and a dogslicer in each taloned hand. If the scale compared to the rest of the drawing is to be believed, this goblin must be at least thirty feet tall.
Another quiet, unlocked door leads through a hallway, ending at another door. Again, going through, Erond finds a conference room.
A large table surrounded by chairs fills much of this room. A slate board to the north is covered with scribblings in chalk, but the map of Sandpoint that has been carefully inscribed on it leaves no doubt as to the purpose of this room-this is doubtless where the recent raid was planned.
He is grimly accepting of the reassurances from the group though clearly still upset.
Trox speaks quietly as they find this second room with the map of Sandpoint.
"A lot of planning for goblins. This all has a very bad feeling to it."
When Reynard gets back, he collects the items he'd dropped and rejoins the others. Somewhat sheepishly he says "Let me know if you need any doors checked out."
"Yeah, for some reason I didn't think goblins did this much thinking. Well, we should keep going. I'm very curious to see that thirty foot tall goblin."
Faywen gives Reynard a smile as he returns to the group. Then, following the others, she stops to examine the mural of the giant goblin. She tilts her head, a curious look on her face. "What a strange bit of art they've made," she says, to no one in particular.
She shrugs and moves on to the next room with the battle map. "I agree. I'm no goblin expert, but they don't seem the sort to draw meticulous maps or engage in what any sane person would call 'planning.' I suspect whatever lies in wait for us down below is much more devious and clever than the dimwits we've encountered on this level."
"Yeah you're right. Not goblins. What was that woman's name? I can't remember. I guess it doesn't really matter. We'll have to find a way down below and we'll probably find her there. Looks like we have a couple options here." Druamin points to the doors to the west and east. "Do any of you have a preference?"
A large wooden worktable sits in the middle of this room, its surface cluttered with scrolls, books, stone tablets covered with dense, spiky runes, and fragments of carvings that appear to have been chipped off of statues or bas-reliefs. To the north, a floor-to-ceiling set of wooden shelves sags with picks, shovels, brushes, lanterns, and other equipment one might expect to see at an archaeological site.
Sitting at a table is a woman who immediately turns in anger to yell at you, and then her expression changes to surprise. "Who are you?"
Trox moves into the new room with the others, trying to stay to the front. Not really a diplomat, unless you count intimidation, he stands ready and tries to look friendly.
"I don't know where she is. I don't keep track of her. What do you want her for anyway? Are you here to study the ruins as well?"
She stands slowly as she speaks, clearly wary of you.
Druamin backs up Erond. "We believe that she is responsible for attacks on Sandpoint. We want to stop her from continuing with those attacks." Druamin tries to sense if the woman in front of him is in league with Nualia or is one of the clueless academics who spends so much time with their head in the books, or the rocks, as it might be in this case, that they don't know what's really going on.
Faywen looks past the woman to the artifacts lying on the worktable. "What sort of ruins are these? Are you an historian?"
Reynard circles to the side, trying to make it easier to encircle the woman, if necessary.
"Historian? Sure, that sounds about right. These ancients held great secrets and powerful magic, and I am indeed studying them. My name is Lyrie Akenja. Sandpoint justice, eh? Nualia is no longer interested in attacking Sandpoint, she has bigger plans than that, but are you familiar with Tsuto?" Her mood seems to darken considerably when she utters that last word.
"We've heard of Tsuto, why do you ask?" Although Lyrie hasn't made any overt aggressive actions towards them, Druamin remains suspicious and guarded. The last he heard, Tsuto was still locked up in the sheriff's jail but he wasn't going to reveal that information unless he needed to.
Faywen watches Lyrie impassively, her glassy eyes difficult to read. Bigger plans, huh?
"Heard of? What do you mean?" She looks like she is trying to keep from exploding.
"Are you all right? You seem on edge."
Druamin pats his thigh to call Kobu to him. He watches Lyrie with suspicion.
Trox is not completely sure what the deal is with this woman but he is slowly getting agitated by the conversation. Bigger plans? He lets a long sigh of frustration out but does not speak.
"Is Tsuto... is he dead?"
"What? No, I don't want to see him. Listen, if you let me go, I will point you toward Nualia."
You can tell that despite her words, she is very much interested in seeing Tsuto. But she does seem sincere in her promise in exchange for being allowed to leave.
Druamin frowns. "You don't want to see him? Why not? Well, I guess it doesn't matter. How about you tell us where Nualia is and then after we take care of her, we'll decide if we want to let you go or not."