With the hobgoblin's assurance that the way was clear, Truk'tosh and his lizard companion lead the way forward.
Truk'tosh flings open the door and rushes into the room. As he does so, aroows come flying at him from multiple directions. He takes a hit from one arrow in the right thigh.
Looking about the room quickly, he identifies four goblin warriors armed similar to the ones you previously killed. Close to the font, two smaller goblins hold mugs in their hands. At their feet is a large wooden tub. On the opposite side of the font, another goblin in a tattered, black robe stands with his back to the door and his arms raised above his head. You can hear him chanting.
Truk'tosh eyes the nearest goblin menacingly and then releases a burst of healing energy.
After the door was opened, Gruskorb did not delay; he dashed through, hoping the element of surprise would be useful.
A ritual? Were they unprepared?
He moved to the center-left of the room, clearly armed. He shook his wrist, cracking the whip, but not bringing it to harm his opponent just yet. Do they even know what danger they're in?
Does it matter?
Mmm... I guess not. But they might have some information about the rest of their clan.
They outnumbered the goblins; he waited for his allies.
Gruskorb rushes into the room and cracks his whip threateningly at the goblin with the green stained leather armor. Grymdor follows the hobgoblins lead and steps up to the goblin with the yellow boots. Striking at the creature, Grymdor buries his dwarven waraxe into the goblins side.
Hearing the chanting, Mathazir slips past Tru'tosh and hurls a spell at the robed goblin. A familiar patch of grease forms at the goblins feet and he slips to the ground.
Finding his shot frustrated by the doorway and Truk'tosh's bulky frame both, Garidan curses under his breath briefly and follows the rest of the party into the font. Squeezing past Truk'tosh, he takes a very quick look around to take stock of the situation, then draws his rapier and advances on the bow-wielding goblin to his right. He just barely manages to avoid bumping Malthazir as he slips into the font toward his target, which is quite fortunate as Malthazir casts something that causes the chanting goblin to suddenly lose its footing and go down on its face with an impressive burst of what sounds like profanity. The sight and sound unexpectedly draws a laugh from Garidan.
Garidan's intended target fares little better against his blade than its fellows outside the font had, and the blade's tip bites deep as it bypasses the goblin's armor. Withdrawing it with a flick of his wrist, Garidan then lifts the blade into a ready position, ready to punish his foe for any mistake it makes against him.
Garidan skewers the goblin with the red leather armor in the stomach and the goblin hisses at him.
The goblin in the black robes hurls a mud at Mathazir striking him in the face. The goblin then tries to get to his feet only to slip in the grease and fall back to his belly. The two goblins in the overalls scream and empty the liquid from their mugs into the the font, quickly refilling the mugs from the wooden tub. The crystal blue water begins to swirl and turns slightly cloudy.
"Brother, I do not think we want them to complete their ritual."
Putting her own safety at risk she moves into the room, carefully avoiding the goblins at the door. Once the robed goblin is in range of her most potent incantation she, releases a punishing ball of ice from her hand.
"Infriga!"
The goblin reacts quickly raising his hand to deflect the icy globe, but the slippery surface of the crypt floor hampers his movement and he is struck in the arm. He screams in pain as his arm momentarily turns blue before returning to normal.
Truk'tosh step closer and cleaves into the goblin he'd been watching.
Mathazir returns from a fugue-like state and quickly checks his resources. Just behind him, the hulking half-orc, Truk'tosh steps forward and with a mighty swing decapitates the goblin with the red armor. Its head careens across the floor landing in the lap of the goblin in black robes.
The goblin with the yellow teeth draws it's sword and swings at Grymdor. The dwarf's armor deflected the blow easily, and Grymdor easily avoided the goblins following attempt to bite him.
To the southeast, the goblin with the green tunic leaps out off the tomb and attacks Gruskorb, attempting to skewer him with his shortsword then biting at his leg. The hobgoblin narrows his focus and deftly avoids the goblins blows. However, seeing his opportunity, another goblin drops his bow, and drawing his shortsword from a blue scabbard, he charges at Gruskorb, slicing the hobgoblin's leg and drawing blood. Flanked by the goblin warriors, Gruskorb considers his options.
Bolstered by the blood he drew previously from the goblin, Grymdor swings his dwarven waraxe in a high-arcing, overhead chop that misses the agile goblin and slams into the stone floor. Slightly off balance, he tries to recover with a shield bash but the goblin again apears too fast. Perhaps he has learned not to underestimate the dwarf and is ready for his attacks.
Malthazir quickly casts an incantation on the two goblins grouped together.
With Truk'tosh stepping forward and divesting the wounded goblin of its head with a single, deceptively quick swing of his weapon, Garidan is free to turn his attention to the remaining goblins. He briefly ponders taking advantage of the robed goblin's situation when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a different goblin successfully take advantage of Gruskorb's exposed back. With an angry grimace, Garidan abandons his tentative plan to strike at the downed goblin in lieu of ensuring Gruskorb's survival.
Deciding to give the sword-wielding goblin a taste of its own treatment, Garidan sprints a few paces toward the downed goblin, then angles his path to the side to get in behind his intended target, the rapier flicking forward to pierce its own back in turn the moment he gets within arm's reach.
The hobgoblin clenched his jaw at the intense pain, stepping back to his allies. They didn't know to take quarter when they had it!
Thankful for the dwarf at his flank, he refocused his efforts on the goblin at the far side of the room.
Mathazir casts another spell sending the goblin with the yellow stained teeth into a deep slumber. The other goblin's eyes lids grow heavy, but he snaps himself out of the drowsiness. Garidan reacts quickly and, sprinting forward, pierces the goblin with the blue scabbard through the back. While a nasty wound, the blade failed to hit a major organ, and the goblin lives. The goblin turns to strike back at Garidan but Gruskorb's whip entangles his legs and the goblin falls prone.
"Filthy dwarves have many friends!" cries the goblin in the robes. He gets to his feet and takes a step back. "Burn Human!" he growls at Garidan. Flames burst from his hands engulfing the young swashbuckler!
The goblin workers pour more of the liquid from their mugs into the font. The liquid in the font swirls and turns a murky, reddish-brown color. The entire chamber quakes. Several stones from the ceiling fall to the ground, striking you in the head and back. A burst of hot energy emits from the font. You feel the warmth surround and penetrate you. The air becomes difficult to breath as it burns your lungs.
"Infrigia!" Niyut cries again hoping to end the spell caster before he did more damage.
The young spirit guide is dismayed that no one acted on her warning, not her brother, not the proud elf who could have enchanted both the goblins with mugs. She quickly tries to take stock of what is happening.
The goblin cries out again in pain, "Ka gryndar, ka gryndar! Marta ca shanti!"
Garidan is so intent on finishing off the goblin sprawled out at his feet that he doesn't notice the robed goblin finally regain its footing. He does, however, hear its rant about the dwarves' allies, which causes him to throw a curious look over his shoulder. Thus, Garidan isn't caught by surprise when the goblin decides to vent some of its displeasure on him personally, its words accompanied by a burst of flame that has him slack-jawed with shock. Fortunately, while his mind is busy gibbering, his body is already moving through a strange evasive contortion that he doesn't think anyone could ever do intentionally. The movement is just enough to let him evade most of the quickly-dissipating fire--but the key word here is 'most'.
Garidan howls in pain as the edge of the flaming attack still catches him, filling the air with the smell of burnt hair and cooking meat. Somehow landing on his feet, he manages to ascertain through eyes filled with tears of pain that he isn't on fire, and he fixes the robed goblin with a glare that promises considerable pain in its immediate future. Before Garidan can make good on that promise, the actions of the last two goblins take effect, and Garidan finds himself pelted by barrage of masonry shaken loose from the ceiling above. Fortunately, the pieces are small, which means the ones that strike his head, opening bloody wounds in the process, don't lay him out unconcious--or dead--on the floor, and he quickly shakes off the blurred vision and disorientation they cause.
The sound of goblins groaning in pain as they too receive a share of the ceiling's unwelcome gifts reminds Garidan that he still has a little problem to deal with before he can kick that robed goblin's teeth down its throat, and he turns his attention back to the goblin on the floor, which was thankfully too busy dealing with the injuries inflicted by the falling rubble to take advantage of his distraction.
"Yellow tooth is faking. Strike him down!"
Niyut is more than a little frightened that the goblin had not yet fallen before her borrowed magic. He is clearly more powerful than she.
As a stone clunked into his head, Gruskorb began to feel faint. The time has come to exit...
He did not want to signal a retreat to his companions, though. That was not the way to gain influence. Instead, he took a lash at the enemy Niyut mentioned before retreating to the doorway, stepping carefully over what debris was behind him.
At his sister's urging Truk'tosh barrels forward and straight into Malthazir's puddle of conjured grease. He prompty loses his footing and face-plants. He quickly climbs to his feet.
When the goblin with the blue scabbard leaps to his feet, Garidan tries to thrust his blade into the creature, but the goblin is too quick. Once upon his feet he lunges at the swashbuckler attempting to shove his blade between two ribs. The blade penetrates Garidan's parry and pludges deep. The goblin presses the attack by biting at Garidan, but he fails to sink his teeth into the human flesh.
The goblin with the green cloak shifts slightly to the left, eyeing Niyut, but swings at Grymdor. The goblins blade opens a gash across the dwarves arm which is followed up by a bite to his leg. Grymdor hollars, "That burns!" Glancing at Grymdor's leg you can see severe burn marks around the bite mark.
Trying to take advantage of the situation, the yellow toothed goblin scrambles to his feet giving Grymdor a chance to end its life. However, the pain in the dwarf's leg puts him off and the goblin regains his feet unscathed. The goblin stabs Grymdor then tries to sink his yellow teeth into the dwarf but fails to find flesh.
Gruskorb lashes out at the green cloaked goblin ripping the flesh from his foot. Grymdor slides to his left circling the goblin with the green cloak, then swings his waraxe in retaliation. The weapon finds a chink in the goblins armor and his arm begins to bleed profusely. Grymdor tries to follow up with a bash from his shield, but the wounded ranger's attack is lacking.
Garidan feels a bit of health return to his body.
Malthazir tries to coat their leader in acid!
Between the burns, the chunks of rock from above, and now the goblin's wickedly accurate blow, Garidan finds himself sorely pressed. The nervous humming from the ioun torch at his throat tells him that his sister is equally worried, though she doesn't give voice to her thoughts for fear of drawing some ill luck down on her brother's bleeding head. Though it pains him to do so, for it will put his allies at risk, Garidan must break contact and let that strange effect from Malthazir's trinket work on his injuries uninterrupted for a few moments.
Deftly avoiding his foe's weapon, Garidan carefully but quickly picks his way through the rubble scattered across the floor, finally coming to a stop not far from the body of the goblin he and Truk'tosh put down. In fact, one of the bits of debris in Garidan's path is the loose head, which he nudges aside with a grimace; the goblin's last expression is still present in the locked muscles, and Garidan doesn't much fancy having to look at it while he's near.
Grunting in pain as his breathing strains the sword wound in his side, Garidan decides to try and see if his patron is feeling at all generous right now. The group's performance in battle has been quite good, if Garidan's opinion on the matter counts for anything, and he hopes that this will be enough to find Calwein's favor. Lowering his head respectfully--but not so far that he loses sight of the goblins and their actions--Garidan murmurs a heartfelt entreaty to his patron. "Mighty Calwein, I humbly ask once more for a bit of your favor. This time, however, I ask it for my allies instead of myself. Wily Gruskorb and the steadfast Grymdor are steadily losing their life's blood to the efforts of these foes, yet they refuse to give into craven fear and flee the battle to save themselves. Stalwart Truk'tosh, whose weapon has reaped a fearsome harvest nearly every time it has seen use, could use your help as he finds his footing and brings that blade down on yet another foe. And Niyut and Malthazir, who risk much to get close and bring their spells down upon our enemies, could use the warm presence of your glorious wing to shield them from the blows, bites, amd spells of these goblins."
Hoping that his patron has heard him, and will deign to respond with more than another dismissal, Garidan prepares to bring his bow into action once more, the distance between himself and the nearest--living--goblin enough that he should be able to use it unhindered.
Mathazir's acid goes high over the robed goblins head and harmlessly hits the back wall. The robed goblin cackles as more flames burst from his hands burning the half-orc.
The goblin workers submerge their mugs into the tub and pour of the foul liquid into the font. The water in the font swirls violently turning a bright fiery red. With a loud crack the floor opens up and the entire crypt shudders under the stress. Stone cascades down from the ceiling once more. Taking the last bits of life from the goblin with yellow teeth, the goblin with the blue scabbard and the black robed goblin.
As the two ignored goblins at the font dump more of their mysterious brew into the fouled container, producing another chamber-rattling shock in the process, Garidan is easily able to ride out the movements, though he does so at the expense of being hit with more debris. Wiping the blood out of one eye as the chamber settles, he can see that at least three goblins have succumbed to the falling masonry, among them the little bastard that injured him and the apparent leader of the group.
Feeling slightly wobbly from the loss of blood, he decides to send an arrow at the goblins by the tub, hopefully putting a stop to whatever it is they're doing before the chamber comes down entirely. If, that is, h can get that one damned cut in his brow to stop blinding him. After wiping his eye clean for yet a third time, the ioun torch at his throat suddenly lights as it floats up to the level of the cut, even as his sister's concerned voice sounds inside his mind.
"You worry about the goblins Gari, and let me deal with this. I may not be able to do much like this, but I can manage to keep your eyes clear at least."
With that, Garidan watches in amazement as a scrap of fabric is ripped from the clothing of the nearby goblin corpse and pressed against the cut. He expects the scrap to quickly become soaked through and useless, but a faint tingle of magic--matched by a nearly imperceptible flicker in the ioun torch's light--regularly pulses against his skin. Straining his eyes upward, Garidan can see at the very limit of his peripheral vision the absorbed blood simply fading out of the fabric.
We could all die in this room.
Niyut is not ready to die. She throws her senses into the spirit world.
Her spiritual form is much like her physical form, an almost human beauty swathed and shrouded in shadows. Before her is a pit. It swirls azure blue and fiery red. She stretches forth her hand.
"Honored spirits of the dwarven dead, I invoke you here in your holy place. It is being defiled by your enemies, and I cannot consecrate it anew. I beg you: lend me your strength and wisdom to draw off the malice of their ritual!"
The spirit guide breathes out her power in the spirit world and calls again.
"Spirits of Shadow, my guardians and guides, your chosen vessel stands before you. Bless me, I beg you, so that I may keep the balance between our two worlds!"
Even in the spirit world one can still weep. Silver ethereal tears spill down from benighted cheeks.
"Mother, if you have joined the ancestors of the Firebird, your children in danger. Please steady me! Please encircle your twins!"
With her third invocation, the shadows that shroud her surge towards the pool in a hungry fashion. Will the hunger of shadows defeat the power of the goblins' malice?
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Niyut begins to cast a spell calling for the ethereal spirits of dead dwarves buried in the crypt along with those of her clan to aid her in this time of need. She feels a surge of energy pass through her and cascade towards the dwarven font. The fiery red liquid in the font begins to steam as the crackling, blue flames of ethereal energy from Niyut intensify and overwell the goblin's magic.
In a radiant burst of blue mist, the room is enveloped and your senses are clouded. The cool mist surrounds you and fills your lungs with a rejuvinating spirit. You can breathe easier. As you struggle to locate your friends, as well as the enemy, in the haze, you feel the aftershock of Niyut's magic as the mist retreats to the font. The fire is gone and the bubbling font is clear. A fiery red crystal floating in the air above the font slowly drifts towards Niyut and comes to rest in her palm.
Before you, the goblin workers lay dead and the sole surviving goblin is on his knees struggling to breath. The floor is clear of debris and the chamber is repaired.
The oracle sways unsteadily on her feet as her hand tightens into a fist around the lurid crystal.
I cannot faint.
Being a channel for the spirits is exhausting and dangerous even when the spirits were as gentle those spirits of the dwarves had proved to be. Her fear of the dwarves and their strange customs slowly drains away.
"Thanks be unto you, honored spirits of the dwarven dead, may you rest in power."
Niyut resolves to honor and appease these spirits before she leaves the dwarven halls. Without their aid, she may have failed or destroyed their anchor to the world of flesh.
Truk's warrior instincts kick in when the goblin begins his spell and the big orc shifts his shoulder to awkwardly hack at the little menace's leg.
Lying in the slick, grease patch, Truk'tosh sees the goblin sorcerer begin to invoke the element of fire. Just as the inferno is growing in the gnarled hands of the goblin, the half-orc hacks at his right leg, cleaving it just above the knee. The goblin roars in pain and falling down, he bleeds out.