"Fire drakes! Breath fire, vulnerable to cold, darkvision and scent." Malthazir lists off as succinctly as possible.
"Fire drakes! Breath fire, vulnerable to cold, darkvision and scent." Malthazir lists off as succinctly as possible.
Though it seemed their elven companion was knowledgable about the particulars of dragons, the dwarves told Gruskorb all he needed to know. "They might as well be weak to the dark, we still don't stand a chance against 'em - goblins don't help any either." The small creatures' continued focus on them made Gruskorb fear the two forces were working in concert.
"We can't do anything until we're off this bridge with the cart! Keep moving!"
He was nimble enough not to worry about his own footing normally, but with two groups of enemies ... he didn't want to find out what lay further towards the bottom of this chasm.
Before Garidan can even start racking his brains for answers, Malthazir offers his own knowledge on the matter, and Garidan can't stop the flat glare of displeasure aimed at his companion--not that he makes much of an effort in any case. Being just one source of useful information among many--and, he glumly suspects, not even the best source at that--is not a position Garidan is accustomed to, and not one he much enjoys now that he's experiencing it.
Overhead, his sister simply chuckles softly into his mind, quite used to deciphering her brother's expressions and accurately gauging the thoughts behind them.
Gruskorb hollars at the group to keep the cart moving as the oxen bellows under the stress of its current surroundings. With the carts quickening pace, it continues to get closer to the outer doors. Garidan, meanwhile, moves a short distance and continues to look to anything in range at which to shoot.
Truk'tosh urges the cart and livestock onward hoping to get clear of the goblin's line of fire.
The drakes launch themselves into the air and emit a loud shriek. One drake turns to the north and flies in a hurry towards the dwarves before opening its mouth and belching a fireball down upon them. You see several of the dwarves scramble between the parapets. Two of the dwarves calls out in their native tongue. While the other two fly up 80' above the bridge and begin to make their way towards the party.
His annoyance aside, hearing the name does jostle a couple of very important details loose from his memory, and Garidan wastes no time sharing them as he watches two of the beasts clear the smoke clouds and come winging toward the party. "They can do a fair sight more than just 'breath fire'," he says, voice fraught with tension. "It's a ball of fire that bursts on impact, and they can use it at incredible range." As he says this, a worrying thought occurs to him, and he eyeballs the distance between the drakes and the party before continuing, his voice oddly flat and toneless. "And we're in that range right now." Almost as an afterthought, Garidan then adds in that same empty voice, "They've also been noted by observers, those who survived meeting them at least, to be able to push themselves when pursuing choice prey or fleeing for their lives. They can't do it often due to the strain, but expect them to really move if they have reason to do so."
Niyut throws up another "smoke screen" to occlude the sight of the party, and hastily gets off the bridge.
Malthazir keeps running with the others, trying not to think about what being incinerated would feel like.
Niyut sends up another smoke screen to aid the party's retreat while Malthazir continues to lead the group towards the double doors atop the raised platform.
High above, the goblins race across the arched bridge towards the small tower, but just as they are on top of the dwarves, an elven figure rises up between two battlements and shouts in draconic. Suddenly a section of the bridge, closest to the tower disappears. The goblins shout and curse as the bridge waivers for a moment then collapses. The large stones that made the bridge tumble, along with several of the goblins, into the vast emptiness below.
The dwarves cheer in triumph, then turn their attention to the drake and fire their crossbows. Grymdor, who has now reached the dwarves, leaps upon the battlements of the small tower and raises his dwarven waraxe, cursing at the flame breathing beast.
With Niyut raising another smoke screen between the party and the two oncoming drakes--and here, Garidan takes a brief moment to lament his lack of skill in actual spell use--Garidan visibly relaxes as he falls back yet again. If she can do that at least a few more times, then the drakes will have to enter his range to attack; the flames dribbling from their gaping mouths are enough to mark their approach, but not enough to highlight them for any effective attacks from his bow, what with the limited distance he can see without light. Garidan stiffles a grim chuckle as he realizes that he hasn't even had his sister's unintended gift of improved eyesight for but a few days, and he's already finding something to complain about in regards to it.
As he takes up a new overwatch position, a sudden thought occurs to him and he calls a question to the others. "If one of you has any sort of light-generating magic, could you maybe use it one those scaly horrors so I can see, and shoot, them effectively?"
Truk'tosh frowns. "I can conjure light but not enough for your eyes to see that far. Help me move the beasts to safety."
Following Truk'tosh's lead, Gurskorb kept pace and kept his eyes peeled for any emerging threats to their cart. Who knows what other dangers lurk in this place?
He wondered if the spirit within him had the power to create illumination as well, and it was soon after he conjured the thought it was answered.
I could help you make a small patch of light, but it won't help things as they are. You're better off helping your friends do their work.
Friends? That's a bit much, but sure.
Looking-out for others wasn't the rogue's strong suit, but his keen eyes and ears would have to adjust themselves to the task.
Garidan rushes forward to the base of the steps, then turns to face the oncoming drakes, his bowstring held taut as he prepares to fire. Truk'tosh bounds up the stairs to the double doors as Gruskorb urges the oxen to pull the cart up the shallow steps.
The first drake with the green talons circles the smoke screen to the north staying high above the party then opens his mouth to and sends a flaming ball of fire at the party. As he does so, the illumination gives Garidan the chance to fire his bow. The arrow flies true and hits the drake squarely in the torso.
The drake with the blue ridge scales swoops down below the smoke and bites at Niyut as it flies past the oracle. Niyut reacts quickly ducking out of the way from the drake's razor sharp teeth. The drakes circles low to the ground curving to the south as it prepares another attack.
Meanwhile, the drake with the flaming red scales charges at Grymdor. The young ranger delivers a mighty blow to the drake's left side as it bites down upon the ranger's upper arm and shoulder of his shield arm. As a soft wispy voices rises up and begins to sing, the dwarves return fire with their crossbows at the drake, hitting it with two bolts.
Niyut raises her left palm below her lips and begins to blow. From this breath a ball of ice and snow spins into existence and streaks forwards, striking the flame drake who tried to bite her.
As the drake circles to take another run at the oracle, Niyut's snowball hits the creature in the snout momentarily stunning the creature. With a shake of its head, it regains its composure and prepares to retaliate.
As the drake's fireball passes his arrow in flight, Garidan is already moving away from his best guess of the fire's target point. That quick reaction is enough keep him from taking the full impact when the incendiary ball explodes, but he still catches a burst of flames that draws an agonized scream from him. Fortunately, the flames don't ignite anything on him and extinguish on their own even as he rolls back to his feet.
Truk'tosh isn't nearly quick enough to avoid the burst of dragon-flame but the spirit that merged with his own somehow wards off some of the heat.
Hustling forward the big orc hauls on the doors to get them open. "Hurry! Inside, now."
Barely evading the spout of energy directed at him, Gruskorb leapt to the side in a blind reaction. It was good they were beyond the bridge, for he would've had a tough choice to make.
He heeded Truk'tosh's words. Don't need to tell me twice...
The nimble elf avoids most of the drakes fireball before ducking through the door that Truk'tosh has opened. The hulking half-orc opens the right door and signals for the others to enter.
The goblins curse at the dwarves and fire a round of arrows as Grymdor struggles with a trap door on the roof of the small tower. A single arrows nicks the back of Grymdors neck. He instinctively reaches up to protect himself when anotehr dwarf comes to his aid. Seeing that the arrow did little damage the two dwarves heave open the door to the level below.
With the drakes now clearly visible to his eyes, Garidan decides to aid the retreat by snapping off another shot with his bow. A quick glance between the two beasts shows him that the nearer of the pair is the more wounded, so he sends his arrow in its direction, hoping to bring it a little closer to death or flight.
Though the shot is well-placed, it doesn't seem to have actually done any damage, and Garidan curses under his breath as he drops back through the open doors. Perhaps he can find a way up to the level above inside and catch the drakes fixated on targets below. Slick as a weasel, he slips past Gruskorb and Truk'tosh as they maneuver the singed cart and wounded animals inside, darts around the left-hand door, and catches his breath off to the side. As he does so, Garidan lets his curious gaze roam over the Hall's interior.
Making his way beyond the portal, the rogue instinctively looked for cover. Something that won't buckle to those shots from the fliers...
"Let's get through and shut the drakes out!"
There probably won't be time, but one can hope...
Truk'tosh urges the poor beasts through the doorway and then looks to his twin. "Hurry sister!" he warns.
As Garidan fires an arrow, hitting the drake with the blue ridge scales, Truk'tosh and Gruskrob drive the cart through the open door followed quickly by the swashbuckler.
As the trio enter the Receiving Hall, they see a lone goblin at the base of set of stairs, talking quickly to a pair of goblins around a small fire. The ceiling in this room is vaulted forty feet high with a balcony around the room. The stairs split with the right set leading up to the balcony while the left split goes through an archway back into the cavern outside.
Broken pillars lay about the room along with the stone remains of several statues. Combined with other debris in this room, the entire space is difficult terrain to traverse, except for small pathways that have been cleared.
Outside, the red scaled drake lands on top of the small tower, while the other two drakes swoop past Niyut. She successfully tumbles forward, avoiding the bite of the drake with the blue ridge scales. But in doing so, she finds herself within range of the green taloned drakes who takes a massive bite out of the oracle, disabling her. Both drakes circle around Niyut preparing to attack again.
Bleeding terribly from her wounds, Niyut stumbles through the door.
Niyut stumbles through the door way bloodied and beaten. With a look of anguish upon his face, her brother slams the door shut but then quickly realizes that there is no lock. Massive iron hooks on the inside of the door suggest that the door could be barred. With a quick glance around, Truk'tosh notices a large, worn oak timber lying in the pile of debris to his north.
"Truk, get this wood on the hooks with me!"
Strong as the orc was, a large slab of wood was bound to be cumbersome due to its length. His eyes kept darting to the goblins though. But the shaman is in no shape to help us. The elf and swordsman will have to deal with them while we move this...
Hard labor again. Just like being back at the quarry...
Malthazir begins to cast a spell, muttering arcane words and gesturing with his hands.
The goblin wearing the teal feathers in his hair fires his shortbow at Truk'tosh, however the arrow deflects of his armor. The other two goblins, draw their short swords and advance on the party.
Seeing Malthazir begin what is clearly an attempt to cast something of aid to the party, even as a pair of goblins advance at a steady trot, Garidan quickly runs through his possible actions in his mind before settling on what seems to be the best course. Bringing his bow up as he loads an arrow, he draws the string back and takes aim at the goblin with the bow off in the distance. With his target nicely backlit by the fire, it should be an easy enough shot to make, and will hopefully give the little bastard something to think about besides the spellcasting elf at Garidan's side. A twitch of fingers releases the tension in the string, and sends the arrow on its way with a soft hiss of disrupted air over the fletching.
The moment his arrow leaves the string, before he can even gauge its effectiveness, Garidan is stepping forward a few paces to meet the rushing goblins. With little conscious effort on his part, he easily manages the simultaneous tasks of drawing his rapier with his left hand while the right stores the bow in what its rapidly becoming its usual place over his shoulder. Once in position, he assumes a guarded stance and awaits the enemy. Only one slight oddity, a sudden rush of palpable warmth emanating from his weapon, mars Garidan's intense focus in the least. To his eyes, it appears as though there a shimmer of moving air around the length of his rapier's blade, similar to what might be seen on a sun-warmed surface during a hot summer day. He passes off both the warmth and the shimmer as products of tension, however, and swiftly forgets them as the goblins draw closer.
Truk'tosh is visibly anxious over his sister's bloodied state but he joins Gruskorb in hauling the large piece of lumber.
Garidan fires an arrow hitting the archer in his left thigh. With a wail, he pulls at the arrow lodged in his leg. Tuk'tosh and Gruskorb scramble to retrieve the wooden beam from the pile of debris, loding it into the large metal hooks and effectively barring the double doors.
Moments later, the doors shudder as something pounds savagely upon them. Although they hold firm, the doors violently shake, upsetting the animals. The horse rears up on its hind legs struggling against the lead rope. The oxen surges forward pulling the cart and the horse along with it away from the door and into the darkness.
There is blood everywhere. Niyut feels her shredded blouse wet against her skin. She takes a moment and breaths letting the energies of the spirit world flood into her, knitting flesh back together.
She then tries to avoid notice and goes after the cart -- their one chance of survival.
As Niyut creeps through the debris to the south of the group, staying hidden from sight, an eagle suddenly appears behind the goblin with the dusty, brown boots and claws at the goblin's back ripping flesh from the creature. Malthazir smiles as his bird of prey distracts one of the goblins and then throws a conjured globe of acid at the closer goblin. However, in his delight, he misjudges the goblins speed and the acid flies harmlessly over the creature. Malthazir takes a step to the side, opening the way for his friends to advance.
The archer returns fire at Garidan with great accuracy. The arrows flies straight for Garidan's face, but the swashbuckler nimbly avoids the arrow at the last moment and only takes a grazing slice across his forehead. One goblin turns and slashes at the eagle, striking it with a firm blow to its right wing. The other goblin, the one with the purple markings across its leather armor, steps forward swinging its shortsword in a rage at Garidan. The young human, however, stumbles backward feeling the blood trickle down over his eyes. As his knees begin to buckle, Garidan lowers his face to his open hand attempting to wipe his eyes clear of the warm blood, and the goblin's sword passes silently where his head had been only moments before.
Feeling the breeze of the goblin's blade as it passes overhead, Garidan instinctively raises his rapier to parry the blow. The swashbuckler uses the goblins strength against him, off-balancing the fiery humanoid. As the goblin loses its balance, he steps forward to regain any composure and finds himself on impaled on Garidan's blade. The swashbuckler retracts his blade from the goblins side as the pair square off. Glancing at the wound, the swashbuckler notes that the creatures skin does not appear to be singed from his blade... the burning effects of the blade did not function as he had anticipated.
Flicking the blood off of his fingers and blade both, Garidan casts a quick glance over his shoulder at the barred doors, which moments earlier rattled violently under a heavy impact. He knows that those drakes likely won't let a mere door stop them for long, and here he and his companions have to waste precious time dealing with these runty little goblins. And while they do so, their animals and their supplies make off into the darkness, to the Ealintaine only knows what fate. Returning his gaze to the wounded goblin before him, Garidan finally gives vent to the fear, tension, and long-simmering rage that he's built up over the last few days, ever since awakening in the Bright Tower.
With lightning-quick strokes, he flicks the tip of his rapier over the body of the goblin before him, targeting all of the goblin's visible skin. The weapon does no damage with its touch, but each time the tip rises, it takes with it a small puff of coarse goblin hair. Within heartbeats, the goblin has been neatly shaved clean, and Garidan rests the tip of his weapon between the creature's eyes before speaking, each word bitten off as a consequence of his intense emotional state. "Little vermin, I am not in the mood for your stupidity right now. If you do not get out of our way, I will carve my name onto your heart while it still beats within your chest." He doesn't know if the goblins can understand him, and in truth, he doesn't much care. The tone of voice should be enough to convey his meaning.
Even in his current state, however, he's not foolish enough to stop his vigilante appraisal of the two goblins closest to him, ready to intercept any attack the moment he sees it.
The goblin's mouth stands agape as he reaches up and feels the smoothness of his cheeks and chin. He squawks something incoherent in a strange dialect of goblin and glances about nervously. The other goblin with the dusty, brown boots responds similarly, his knees shaking very slightly.
With the doors effectively barred for now, Truk'tosh grips his weapon tightly and moves in to engage the goblins.
With the goblin fending off the eagle and nervous that a rapier wielding human may give it a close shave, it fails to notice the half-orc approaching from the southwest. The last thing it hears is the rush of wind whipping around the orcish double axe just before it embeds itself deep in the goblin's back. It slumps to the ground... dead.
As Truk'tosh felled one of the menaces, Gruskorb felt his predator's instinct kick into gear. The cart was through the door; now was the time to stop any other threats from within the chamber.
Weaving to Malthazir, he avoided the reach of the pint-sized warrior as his whip uncoiled itself. The aegean dodged around Gruskorb's backswing as the corpse it created dropped.
They really should keep some of these alive to see what was what down here. But if they don't know when to yield, that's not going to happen.
There was no mercy in the lash Gruskorb exacted upon Garidan's opponent.