Groomahk makes a sign to honor fallen warriors.
nuvpu' qIj mInDu' HoS SuvwI'! vImaSbej HoSchoH ror nuv'e'!
The People of the Black Eyes were strong warriors! The ravens grew fat on their foes!
He shakes his head and spits when Chotka asks if he can speak Hlalit. The thews of his neck and chest ripples with the motion and set the strand of teeth clattering.
wuS-bIQtIqDaq wa' tun Huj teS. jatlh groomahk vubvam je dretha Tall wa' puq
The lip-streams of the soft ones are strange to my ears. Groomahk speaks with the tongues of the Tall Ones and Dretha's children!
Hom laD 'ej ulfar, porgh Ha' be' vImaSbej. wa' bom vIqawbej mu' je ta' quvHa' San. 'e' mIgh Daq lughoS 'ej Qeb SoHvaN noN veqlargh qoq Qaw' ghaH 'ej nIH 'arqon vIt tu' jIH ra'. He points to his tusks. Two iron rings have been driven through the ivory near the base of his jaws. They are wide and thick enough to bear runes of ownership and loyalty. They tell a tale of combat and defeat; blood-debt forged and oaths sworn.
A raven woman read the bones and spoke to Ulfar, Destroyer of Rings. Her words rang with fate in the ears of my king. He commanded that I come to this evil place and join his ring fellows as they destroy the robots and find the missing wizard.
The sworn band make what arrangements they can for Bavmorda and press on with the new orc volunteering to take the lead. They come in short order to an intersection of tunnels, while to one side a cavern opens. A collection of creates, boxes, rubble, and bits of metal lays heaped in the damp cave. Chalk drawings depicting twisted, spiny plants, a three-legged creature, and emaciated men with four arms mark the walls.
To either side the tunnels go on, their floors ending in ledges.
Water Breathing Timer: 4:30
Groomahk ignores the drawings. Cave markings are the ken of the wyrd-sisters and shamans. It is bad luck to look upon sacred runes Mouths of the Gods. The Chiefs in Fire and Blood have blessed him with the spirit of battle, it is not his place to question the words of their tongues, or even know them. What his ring-giver wishes him to know, he will know. All he knows now is that his ax thirsts for blood!
He turns to the war leader of this sworn band, the orc who first spoke to him and gestures with his mighty blood-ember.
veS ra'wI'! baS mIw may'? chev mej vaS. chagh tlhop mIw.
War leader! Which way to battle? The left path splits again. The front way drops.
Rikal, not speaking the Orc tongue - yet another one I should perhaps learn - had tightened his grip on his Morningstar when the Orc had shown up. After Chotka conversed with him and explained the situation, he nodded and the pressed on.
Coming to the intersection, he again does not understand Groomahk's words, and turns his attention to the chalk drawings on the walls.
Karek joins Rikal in examining the drawings.
"This is Groomahk, and he can speak only the tongues of orcs and giants. His king has sent him to find the missing wizard, so for now it appears our goals align. He says he is a brutal warrior, and hungers to bring death to our mutual enemies."
"Has anyone seen drawings like this before? And more importantly, any signs of our wizard friend moving through here?"
Chotka put forth a superficial effort at searching the debris, but didn't find anything particularly useful.
Rikal, not speaking the Orc tongue - yet another one I should perhaps learn - had tightened his grip on his Morningstar when the Orc had shown up. After Chotka conversed with him and explained the situation, he nodded and the pressed on.
Coming to the intersection, he again does not understand Groomahk's words, and turns his attention to the chalk drawings on the walls.
Rikal sees that given how damp these caves are, chalk drawings would not have lasted long. Looking at their condition, he estimates they can't be more than a month old. On closer look, he realizes that the three-legged creature bears a passing resemblance to the metal man the sworn band battled to rescue Val Baine.
Groomahk pounds his chest and carefully scouts ahead. First he takes the front path, as he nears the cliff, he'll drop to the ground and crawl like the Rat himself. When that's done he'll crawl backwards until he's out of sight of the cliff and then he'll take the left path, clinging to the side. Once he's done he will report back to the War Chief (Chotka).
"These chalk drawings would not have lasted more than month in this damp. They are recent. This three-legged thing looks like that metal man we destroyed in Khonnir Baine's house. They may have been drawn by him at some point."
Groomahk pounds his chest and carefully scouts ahead. First he takes the front path, as he nears the cliff, he'll drop to the ground and crawl like the Rat himself. When that's done he'll crawl backwards until he's out of sight of the cliff and then he'll take the left path, clinging to the side. Once he's done he will report back to the War Chief (Chotka).
Groomahk pushed forward, crawling ahead on his belly to a ledge. The tunnel soon grew cold, traces of water changing to frost that reached over the walls in lines and sheets. He came to the edge of a ten foot drop and beneath him lay a cavern carpeted with brown dust. A body sat slumped against the eastern wall.
Groomahk peers down at the body to see if it still clings to life.
** spoiler omitted **
Groomahk peers down at the body to see if it still clings to life.
Groomahk slinks back from edge and stands, not bothering to dust himself off. Hah! Weakling! He returns back to the warband and thumps his chest in greeting. He bares his neck to Chotka as he speaks, indicating that he accepts Chotka's authority and command. veS ra'wI'! Heghpu' tun-DIr legh qoj bIS'ub tu'lu'. He laughs. It's a gutteral, throaty sound that ripples through his whole body. Every sinew and muscle shakes with the motion. wej SeH Dogh Hom neH porgh juH! He laughs again and makes a warding sign to protect himself from the Destroyer's eye. He is no coward, and welcomes death. He will not suffer a straw-death. But, it was not wise to speak of the Doombringer, or he would take you to his horde more quickly.
War leader! There is a dead soft-skin at the bottom of the cliff. Foolish weaklings do not belong in the Destroyer's home."
"Groomahk has found a dead man down that path. Not an orc."
Chotka pulled his axe free of its restraints and prepared to do battle if the enemy was so close.
"Then perhaps we should see if we can determine what killed him," Rikal said, unlimbering his bow. "There may be enemies afoot - and it may be Khonnir Bhaine."
Groomahk grunts quietly and shakes his head "no".
tlhoy Hop mInDu' DIr tun ngeH nuq porgh ghom vIlegh veS ra'wI' puS groomahk. qoj beQ 'ej nuv Hutlh Ho' puj 'ej mach 'oH. He draws his own mighty blood-ember and grunts again. This time, instead of shame, the sound is guttural and full of strength and power. ghung groomahk veS pach! Dev, veS ra'wI' tlha' groomahk! HoS 'ej ben law' batlhmey! he grunts again and pounds his fist to his chest, following Chotka to battle.
He pauses as Rikal follows, ready for war. The human's bird-twitters are mute in Groomahk's ears, but he does hear the name Khonnir Bhaine. With that, he once more addresses Chotka with bared neck, and eyes held firm. He is submissive but strong before his war chief. khonnir bhaine? tlhIch-jat tu', qatlh DayaHmoH ulfar Qeb Damoj 'Iv. groomahk Sambe'chugh. nuq ghaH 'e' DaSov'a'?
War chief, Groomahk was too far for his eyes to see what sent the soft skin to the Destroyer's horde. The cliff is steep, and the tuskless are weak and small things.
Groomahk's war claw hungers! Lead, war chief, Groomahk will follow! Strength and Glory!
Khonnir Bhaine? That is the smoke-tongue who Ulfar ring-giver wishes found. Groomahk seeks him. What do you know of him?
To the others he said, "Groomahk could not see what slew the man, so it could be mechanical monsters, or perhaps more of those blinding beasts. It's also possible that he is frail and just fell down the cliff. Be ready for anything." Chotka led the band down the passage to the cliff, crouching low as Groomahk had done as he approached the edge.
Groomahk snarls as well and follows, hot on the heels of his war chief! He will not suffer a straw-death! His might bone-beak hunger for flesh! A bit of drool dangles from a tusk at the thought of crushing his enemies' hearts, and the taste of their blood on his tongue!
As he marches, greataxe at the ready, he thinks about the others under his war chief's command. They gray one had the look of war about him. He had war-steel, and walked with the stride of a bear-shirt. What good could an elder be in battle? Why was he not. A shaman, safe in the tents, breathing in the fell smokes of the Fire God, and reading his tribe's doom in the embers of his cook fire or the entrails of a sacrifice?
The small archer was no coward, despite his love of war-rain. He knew the call of conflict, and seemed to thirst for battle-sweat as readily as the war chief. That much was clear as he was the first to ready his war-gear. He knew of Khonnir Bhaine... He was wise. Perhaps he is the shaman to war the chief? Soft-skins were odd, the weak ruled and the strong serve. That was wrong. The weak served the strong, and the mightiest ruled all. But, the tuskless obeyed Chotka, and named him war chief. That was good.
The scarred one was silent. He was large and strong, and he obeyed Chotka well. Was he another as the Graybeard? A warrior who served as shaman? Perhaps, he had no tongue? Such warriors were truly dangers on the battle fight. Maybe he could test himself against him to see who was the stronger?
He shakes his head with a another snarl. He should not be thinking such crafty thoughys! Not now when the ravens needed feeding! He would spill blood this day and eat the flesh of his enemies!
Chotka and Izzak led the others down Groomahk's path, finding the chilled passage give way to frost just as he had and coming to a ledge ten feet above the brown-carpeted floor and body opposite them. Nothing stirred to meet them.
Groomahk, on his second look, and Chotka spot slender brown filaments draped over the body as they peer across the way.
All, save Groomahk and Chotka, who gaze upon the dust know it to be a patch of the brown mold, a vile plant that feeds on heat. If they draw near, it will freeze their blood and drink their lives. To burn it would only spread the menace, but the touch of ice slays it as fire does natural things.
Consolidating some rolls because I plain forgot to make them earlier.
Perc DC 14
K: Dungeoneering DC 12
Survival DC 15
Groomahk grunts and gestures with his ax. qoj toS 'ej Heghpu' tun-DIr naDev qem groomahk. He sheathes his great waraxe through a few leather straps about his broad back. He steps off the ledge, twists, and grabs onto the lip of the cliff by his fingers. Then, he drops down the rest of the way to land on the carpet of brown. He raises his mighty bone-beak, ready to feed ravens with any who strike.
Groomahk will climb the cliff and bring the dead soft-skin here.
"Groomahk, wait! Do not approach that body! It is covered in a dangerous brown mold!"
Looking at Chotka, he says, "I do not speak the Orc tongue, but please pass that warning along."
Chotka grabbed Groomahk's arm just before he dropped down the edge of the cliff face.
"Rikal, what can we do to protect ourselves, so we can retrive that body? It could be Bhaine."
Groomahk pauses as he heads to the drop. The soft-skin's twitters bear the call of warning. He grunts, slightly unsure, and that confusion stokes embers of rage within him. He is a warrior, he does not think such crafty thoughts as these tuskless. The minds of shamans are filled with the knowledge of the spirits and the tongues of the gods. He is a warrior, and knows only the ways of battle. But, warriors must heed the words of the shamans, for they are touched by the gods. But, what are the words of a soft-one shaman? Their gods are weak and puny. They loose their waters upon the earth before the night of the Chiefs in Fire and Blood.
He almost ignores the human's words, until the war chief grabs his arm. Ah! Here is strength! He is a bear-shirt, filled by the spirit of a mighty Tall One. He is strongest in this war band, and Chotka Heart-Tearer lays hand to him, without fear. Groomahk bears his fangs and snarls in challenge as Chotka grabs him. His hands clench about his bone-beak, his blood screams for battle. But, Heart-Tearer's eyes bore into his own, and he cannot pull his arm free. He submits, completely, to Chotka's command. He cocks his head to the side, exposing his neck to Chotka's tusks.
He stops in his tracks and steps back from the ledge with a snarl. chay' tar HoH maH?. He gestures at the brown carpet of poison with his massive blood-ember, with a cutting motion. The meaning is clear.
How do we kill the poison?
"This brown mold must be frozen as the ground is in the northern reaches, where dwell dark witches and massive animals. Have any of you means to do so?"
"I cannot. The spirits that speak to me are friends of fire, battle and blood. They banish the cold and do not welcome it to this world. If no one else can freeze it, let us go the other way, and come back when we can bring winter."
Groomahk grunts and pounds his chest, showing strength to his war chief. eH vISIQlaHbe'bogh wa' Tall Qoy groomahk teS. tagh tInchoH porgh HoS 'Iw HIq qul 'Iw 'ej napjaj je 'ej chaw'nIS SuvwI' tlhIch.. He snarls at the brown poison. Doq 'ej wovbe' tar wej HajchoHtaHvIS jIH! 'oH vaj ghor groomahk je neb Dun Hom!
Groomahk's ears hear only the spirits of the Tall Ones. Their smokes fills his lungs and thews with strength and the blood drink of the Chiefs in Fire And Blood.
I do not fear the brown poison! Groomahk shall break it with his great bone beak!
Groomahk grunts and pounds his chest, showing strength to his war chief. eH vISIQlaHbe'bogh wa' Tall Qoy groomahk teS. tagh tInchoH porgh HoS 'Iw HIq qul 'Iw 'ej napjaj je 'ej chaw'nIS SuvwI' tlhIch.. He snarls at the brown poison. Doq 'ej wovbe' tar wej HajchoHtaHvIS jIH! 'oH vaj ghor groomahk je neb Dun Hom!
** spoiler omitted **
Karek starts searching the rubble to see if he can find anything that might be of use?
Karek starts searching the rubble to see if he can find anything that might be of use? [dice=Perception] 1d20 + 4;
Karek found a small collection of silvery disks in the rubble, each with angular markings on its face, but nothing that would help fetch the body. One sat in a small pool of thick liquid of a muddled blue-black shade. It smelled oddly sweet.
The liquid is the blood of metal. It drives some mad, slays others, enslaves more with its craving, and gives some great powers. No one can say what will come of drinking it, but many will pay great sums for the substance.
Karek collects the liquid in a vial.
He will ask around Torch to see if anyone knows what it is? He also gathers the disks to share with the party when they are sold.
He is curious to try the liquid, but not where we are at the moment. :)
Karek collects the liquid in a vial. [dice=Knowledge (Dungeoneering)] 1d20 + 6;
He will ask around Torch to see if anyone knows what it is? He also gathers the disks to share with the party when they are sold.
He is curious to try the liquid, but not where we are at the moment. :)
As Karek collects a vial of some strange liquid, Rikal is able to see it in the light given off by his spell, and shudders as he recognizes it.
"I would not drink that, were I you. It is the blood of metal, and those who drink it can suffer madness, death, or a craving that requires them to consume more of it. They say that some who drink it gain great power, but the other is far more likely."
He thinks back to his Test of Spirit and the visions he has seen since then, all of the metal men and their strange language that has been imprinted in his mind.
Karek grunts with annoyance. "We have come hunting with the wrong tools. We should return to the town and equip ourselves properly for the things that lair under the earth."
Water Breathing Timer: 4:15
The sworn band reversed course, going back the way they came and down the ledge. Taking to the cold water, they followed it through the tunnel and came to a stony bank. Carpets of gray and green mold grew there, concentrated around three foul-smelling mounds the size of human children.
Among the mounds, Rikal and Karek spotted the half-concealed gleam of a gemstone.
Groomahk leaps upon the shore, carried by his mighty thews. He lets the cold water run from his body. He cares nothing for the cold or heat! He will warm himself with the blood of his enemies! His bone-beak is at hand, and he seethes with battle-lust