Boomer moved to get a better shot, leveled his crossbow and fired at one of the spiders.
Hezekh lashes out, but is thrown off by the massive spider’s skittering movement. ”Damned bugs.” Hezekh growls.
Without skipping a beat, Toulbe screams at one of the spiders.
One may wonder if Toulbe screams out of fear, but he jumps right back into his warsong, keeping up morale. Hezekh may notice that one of the spider's exoskeleton has cracked just a little more.
Unfortunately, Hezekh is a little overwhelmed holding off two spiders and isn't able to add to the attack.
However, he gets a further assist from Boomer in the back, who's able to sink a crossbow bolt into a spider abdomen. Yellow ichor seeps from the hole and the spider hisses in pain.
Urist helps clear a path up to the front line, while Gunnar tries to help the entangled Barik get free of the webs. Even with the extra help, Barik remains caught up.
Finally, Glor is again able to wallop the same spider Boomer hit with another blast of dirt and stone. This time, it's a bit of overkill, and the spider explodes in a goopy mess of ichor and chitin all over Hezekh.
That leaves o'l blue to contend with. Badly damaged and outnumbered, the spider makes a last ditch defensive effort. Maneuvering its spinnerets at the steel-armed dwarf, it launches a glob of sticking webbing before retreating back to the safety of its webs.
In such close quarters though, the webbing shoots just past Hezekh's shoulder.
"Alright, lads. Way's open, let's bring 'er 'ome!"
[ooc]Assuming the spider is still up by the time it's his turn, Urist marches forward and takes a swing at the remaining spider. Otherwise he'll take a moment to proudly stand over the battlefield.[ooc]
Somewhere between the spider flinging webs at him and then backing off, Hezekh finds a moment to strike.
He misses again, and the spider retreats back to its nest of webs.
Toulbe slips around the webs carefully and makes his way up within distance of the spider. He puffs up again before unleashing another shrill scream.
He pants slightly as he tries to catch his breath. The magic coming from his voice fading.
Even in its injured state, the remaining spider is able to resist some of Toulbe’s magic scream. It quivers on its web, tucked up into a little ball, clearly on its last of eight legs.
Boomer stopped. He didn't feel the need to keep attacking an animal that had retreated. He reloaded his crossbow and waited for Urist to make a decision about whether to leave it or not.
Hezekh advances on the last spider, in no mood to let it get away. He swings at it, but his punch serves to do nothing but encourage the creature to run a little faster.
The spider has retreated to the top of its web, and seems to be out of reach for Hezekh. The poor critter will probably die in a day or two from its injuries, and it is of no more threat to you. If you want to take a final potshot and finish it off, feel free, but I think we can call this fight finished and move on.
Glor takes one final shot as the powers of earth begin to settle back into their normal inanimate and normal state.
"Finally." Gunnar holsters his weapon and makes for the back of the cart, digging up his harvesting kit and stepping over to the most intact, but still dead, spider, lifting its head to reach its fangs.
"Bound to be some juice left in there..." he mutters as he sets up a milking jar and tries to coax out some venom.
The first proves intractable, but after draining some venom from the second, he quickly seals the jar against the elements, eyeing the unassuming fluid through the glass. "See how long this keeps, I s'pose..." He then stows his prize and the kit.
As Gunnar harvests some venom from the dead spiders, the rest of you clear out the remaining webs to make clear passage for the wagons. As you do so, you find the husk of a dead goblin wrapped up in the sticky silk. On his corpse is a set of small leather armor, a dagger, and some coin . Nearby, on the ground, you find his short sword and small wooden shield.
Moving onward, the rest of the day passes quietly. The underground road twists and turns lazily through the mountains. As you nearly go mad from the boredom you reach the halfway point. A roughly circular area, wider than the road, has been carved out here. Signs of old campsites remain scattered about, coals from campfires, broken tools, the tattered remnants of a tent. Your tummies are rumbling and it is decided to rest here for the night.
Hey, first loot. Too small for most of us but this gear looks just your size Toulbe.
Toulbe looks a little...upset when they find the goblin. It was commonplace enough to see smallfolk of this type dead and left discarded but it often reminded him of his own mortality.
He shook it off and nodded at Glor "Indeed, it is my size though I already have better armor and arms. We can toss it in the wagon and even if it's a few copper down the road, that'll still help us buy bread." he said as he made it over to Gunnar.
"Ah, fancy yourself a bit of venom? That stuff doesn't keep well." he said as the man stowed it away. He walked back to the wagon and rummaged for a moment.
Pulling out the appropriate preservative, he walked back. "A drop or two of this stuff and it should stay for as long as you need. Well...till you open the container again. Damn stuff doesn't do well when mixed with open air." he said offering him a small vial.
Gunnar watches as the gnome adds his expertise, stonefaced. He gives the sealed jar another close look, then after a moment, shrugs and nods. "Alright then, long as it doesn't ruin the flavor."
He then goes about aiding the camp setup, muttering curses under his breath, though at whom, none could discern.
The hours go by, but Urist McFatson is more than happy to fill the quiet hours with tales "...and then, ah tell 'em. Don' pick up tha puppy ah tell 'em. Tha damn thing's OBVIOUSLY cursed! On fire'n everythin'!" The dwarf shakes his head. "Tha's why we McFatson's got a sayin'. If'n it burns fer a day, ye stay away. 'Sides forges, o'course. Anyway, Jodar picks the thing up, and 'e lights up like a grim, bearded torch! 'E was runnin' around, hehe, screamin'..."
"But hey, ah'll tell tha rest la'er. Fer now, we eat an' rest, yeah? Ah'll take first watch with the commander."
Toulbe looked at the location. He nodded at the campsite. "Alright, out with the old, in with the new? We could probably use the only tent as a bit of burnable. To help start the fire and all." he said as he pulled his wagon a bit past.
He opened the back of it and rummaged for a few minutes before finding the Pavillion tent he had bought. "Alright, this should take care of us all. Nothing too fancy but it's plenty big to help keep in the heat provided we keep the fire low. Course, we'll need it low and slow for a good meal anywho. Need to use up all them lovely fresh mushrooms and meat!" he said as he struggled to get it out of the wagon.
He looked at the others "Could you guys be gentlemen and set up the tent and and I'll get started on our fire and food!" he said seeing far too cheerful.
He danced about as he made the firepit, got out the pots and pans, dug through the food barrels and got the fire going. He hummed, he jigged, and finally he blew a large spark from his mouth and finally the cooking began. "Nothing like a good meal to help one sleep!" he said before he went back to humming.
There’s an old saying in the mess halls of Taggoret, “A cook’s best friend is a fully stocked larder.”
With all sorts of ingredients to choose from, Toulbe gets to work. But, ‘work’ may not be the best term, as you watch him sing and dance and... is that frolicking? Did your gnome cook just frolick?
The aromas emanating from the stew pot have you salivating soon enough. Lamb hock, goat tripe, plump helmets from the deepest tunnels, spring onions, carrots, and rustic spices stew together and mingle in a rich broth complemented by Toulbe’s vibrant soprano.
You’ve never felt hungrier in your life, and the group tent is set up in record time. Supper is like a battlefield, with no quarter, no man left behind. Using scraps of bread to soak up every last morsel, the stew pot is emptied within minutes.
Glor is silent as he eats, making only chewing noises. Mopping the last of the stew out of his beard with a crusty piece of bread he notes Now that was properly done. and lets loose with an impressive and complementary belch.
Boomer tipped his hat to Tolbe. "Aye, well done indeed." He broke out a flask, which was really more like a canteen, of distilled spirits that was rich with spices and a smooth peat finish. He took a long pull and passed it to Tolbe first.
Gunnar eats readily, swatting at the air on occasion. Though he leaves no morsel untouched, he frowns upon finishing the meal.
"Hmph. Stew used to have a lot more flavor..." he scratches his beard with a furrowed brow.
Hezekh eats wordlessly. There'll be time to talk later. He grunts a few times, nodding appreciatively. He's an odd one, but the little one can cook. Well, maybe not so odd, for a gnome. They're an odd folk. "Best gnome-cooked meal I've ever had." the iron-armed smith says once he's finished. He neglects to mention that he's never had gnome cooking before.
With your bellies full of Toulbe’s Inspiration Stew and warmed with a swig of whatever Boomer keeps in his flask, you settle in for the night, comforted by the fact that your fellowship has already been forged in the heat of combat, although you really only barely broke a sweat on that one. The night passes, and, one by one, sentries take watch, each reporting nothing more than a scurrying rat.
Your internal circadian rhythms wake you at dawn, although no sun rises in these tunnels. After a small breakfast of stale bread and cheese, you break camp and load up the wagons. Once Urist gives the signal, you head on out once again.
A few hours into the day’s journey you come to a sudden bend in the tunnel. You hear strange clicking sounds up ahead, as well as the sounds of flesh being torn into and munched upon. As Gunnar pokes his head around the corner he sees two man sized scorpions tearing into the corpse of a something or other.
Well now... Gunnar's eyes light up a bit at this new discovery. Stickers like those ought ta have quite the juice...
He puts up a closed fist, signaling the caravan to stop. He then draws his warhammer and turns to the party, pointing at his eyes and jabbing a thumb in the direction of the path.
"How 'bout we start things off wit' a volley? Ready shots an' cut loose all at once. Focus fire on th' closer one?"
Urist look towards his companions and nods, reaching down to draw his crossbow. The normally boisterous dwarf speaks in a hushed tone as he leans in close.
"H'bout we get'a couple'a lads ta get their attention? Bring 'em back 'ere and we'll 'ave a proper ambush waitin' for em?"
His beard parts to reveal a grin, and he loads a bolt to articulate.
Stopping with his hand halfway to his crossbow, Hezekh nods. ”Aye. Can do, boss.” with that, he proceeds ahead of the others.
"Oi. Ye know, I bet if we... hmm. Move this guy over 'ere, an' that guy over there...ahh, slag it. Let's just kill 'em."
Glor moves in far enough for a clear shot, but his ranged ability allows him to hang back some. He gathers earth to him, forming a ball of pebbles bound by clay and propels it with his power over the element when everyone is ready, hoping to catch the nearer vermin flat footed.
Another fight against overgrown arachnids doesn't call for much tact, and Urist decides for a free for all approach.
Standing 4' 3", with a well-kept red beard and piercing stare, Goggeck is a picture of Dwarven strength. And that's before the chainmail, and the giant hammer with the snarling hydra head grasped in both hands.
He's here to use it. Once he sees where.
Walking as close as he can before the arachnids notice him, Hezekh charges in, shouting "TORAG!"
Confirm?
Gunnar follows Hezekh in as closely as possible, charging in after him with his warhammer in both hands.
Glor signals the charge with a bullet of earth. By now, his ability to control dirt and stone this way is no longer novelty. The earthen blast whistles speedily down the tunnel and cracks the nearest scorpion hard. Snot colored ichor begins to ooze through its stone colored carapace and the two scorpions, now alerted to your presence, turn in your direction, pinchers and stinger-tipped tails raised aggressively.
"By the might of Trudd!"
Goggeck fires himself up with a roar, then charges his target vermin, seemingly trying to put it down with a single blow with his huge hammer.
"Right, lads. Get in there an' take 'em down. I'll cut off their exit!"
Urist bolts forth, his stubby legs pushing him into a sprint. Throwing caution to the wind, he makes his way forth to set up a backline.
Toulbe begins another inspiration song, though this one completely in Sylvan. He had tapped his own Dwarven like song and decided it was best to move onto something Fae.
Glor fires another earthen blast in rapid succesion. This one flies well overhead the scorpions' low profile.
Goggeck follows with a mighty charge, bringing his hammer down on the scorpion's grey carapace.
Hezekh charges alongside his fellow warrior and lands an uppercut. The scorpion is looking like a hot mess.
Urist displays the renowned dwarven sprint and tries to cut off any sort of scorpion escape.
Now the retaliates against Goggeck, its tail swinging like a deadly whip.
The stinger finds its way past Goggeck's armor, but barely knicks his flesh. 'Tis but a scratch, not nearly deep enough to inject its deadly toxin.
Boomer leveled his crossbow and took a shot at the scorpion facing off with Goggeck.
Hezekh punches at the wounded scorpion, but is unable to wound it. Darn distracting racket. What is that noise? he wonders to himself, as he hears high-pitched singing in a language he doesn't understand.
Touble continues to sing for now. The situation not really looking fire, he holds back his spells.
Boomer’s bolt finds its mark in the base of the scorpion’s tail. The giant vermin thrashes in pain. Meanwhile Toulbe continues his fey canto, keeping spirits high, as they should be.
Gunnar follows Hezekh’s charge with his own, finishing the scorpion off with a ‘crunch!’ and a ‘splat!’. Bits of chiton and gooey ichor splatter across the rough hewn rock, as well as Hezekh and Gunnar.
One more scorpion to go, and it’s looking rough.