Doctor Wilken is - alas - completely unaware that the (late) guard he is attempting to impersonate was, without question, the stupidest member of the entire garrison, little more than an imbecile. Every morning he stared at his boots for minutes at a time, trying to remember which one went on which foot. He was given a posting at Branderscar solely because his father knew the Warden and was desperate to get the boy out from under his feet and earning a living (not that Blackerly ever paid him, by the by). With foreknowledge, and properly coached, Ottakar would still struggle to think himself down to a level where he could be convincing. As it is, his propensity to use words like, well, "propensity" makes it obvious that something is wrong. He sees the two guards' faces change, hardening from doubt into outright suspicion. One of them steps back, reaching for the signal horn at his belt. It proves fatal.
Seeing the move, the rest of the Forsaken charge out from their hiding place, desperate to silence the guards before the alarm can be given. Felrin, Erevan and Ottakar are deadly; Hecate, Etna and Tkaara have powerful magic; and Grumblejack is a living engine of destruction. The guards fall without landing a single blow.
But. The guards have one weapon that the Forsaken cannot overcome: their devotion to duty. Their Sergeant may be a criminal; their Warden may be negligent; but these are the honest yeomen of Talingarde - steadfast, incorruptible.
The frontmost guard, Davian, steps up to meet the rush of blades. He dies, pierced in a dozen places, but it gives his friend, Andros, time to sound the signal horn. Andros dies immediately afterwards, no time even to draw a weapon; but within moments, answering horns sound from the other patrol atop the wall - and from the gatehouse ahead. It is quickly joined by howls from the guard dogs. Most distressing of all, in the nearby town of Varyston (home to the salt mine to which Etna had been sentenced), they hear it. Still sleepy and unprepared, it will take them many hours to respond. But respond they will. More ominous noises follow from the gatehouse: the rattle of a portcullis; and a thud as the main gates are barred with great beams of oak.
The way is shut.
With one accord, the Forsaken act quickly. The bodies are unceremoniously pitched over the side of the wall; and a rope is tied around a crenellation. Since the gatehouse is inaccessible, they will make another path. Descending rapidly, they follow the reefs around the outside of the wall. It is slow going: the reef is treacherous and slippery with seaweed; the spray of the sea is icy cold, mercilessly sapping their strength. But the noise of the waves does at least hide them, even drowning out the sound of Tkaara's rough, hacking cough.
By the time they have made it round to the prison's main entrance and the causeway is in sight, the sky in the East has lightened perceptibly: dawn cannot be far off. Midsummer's night is little more than one month past. The time has come to abandon what little stealth remained and trust in speed. Vaulting the last few steps, the Forsaken scramble up to the causeway, hitting it at a dead run. Shouts of alarm sound from the top of the gatehouse: "Open the gates! After them!" Clearly, not all discipline has been lost. But now, the portcullis and barred gate work in their favour: valuable time has been bought. Danger, however, is ever present: there is a post at the far end of the causeway - and the guards have longbows. Arrows fly at the party, whistling as they sail past. Heedless, the Forsaken plunge forward, running, running, always running. What other choice do they have?
Distraction comes in the form of a great hound, with burning eyes and leathery, blood-red skin; appearing just in front of the group, it charges the archers, drawing their fire. It is struck - once, twice, again - but carries forward, bull-rushing one of the guards off the causeway, his scream abruptly cut off with a splash far below. The other archer is quickly cut down and freedom lies ahead, freedom for Erevan, Etna, Felrin, Grumblejack, Ottakar, Tkaara...
A quick count. Confusion. Where is Hecate? The Summoning spell held her back, took all her attention, and she is isolated far behind. Fast approaching her are the remaining guards (the gate now being open), angry at the slaughter, determined on revenge. Even as she turns to face them, they are upon her.
The lead guard runs Hecate through with his sword.
She staggers back, but he advances, backhanding her out of his way, off the bridge altogether. She disappears from view, her life's blood tracing the arc of her fall. The guard grins, encouraged by his easy victory. "See! Mitra is with us!" he exhorts his fellows. "Now for the rest of that scum!" The other four guards cheer. "By Mitra's might and by His will!" They run towards you.
Doctor Wilken is - alas - completely unaware that the (late) guard he is attempting to impersonate was, without question, the stupidest member of the entire garrison, little more than an imbecile. Every morning he stared at his boots for minutes at a time, trying to remember which one went on which foot. He was given a posting at Branderscar solely because his father knew the Warden and was desperate to get the boy out from under his feet and earning a living (not that Blackerly ever paid him, by the by). With foreknowledge, and properly coached, Ottakar would still struggle to think himself down to a level where he could be convincing. As it is, his propensity to use words like, well, "propensity" makes it obvious that something is wrong. He sees the two guards' faces change, hardening from doubt into outright suspicion. One of them steps back, reaching for the signal horn at his belt. It proves fatal.
Seeing the move, the rest of the Forsaken charge out from their hiding place, desperate to silence the guards before the alarm can be given. Felrin, Erevan and Ottakar are deadly; Hecate, Etna and Tkaara have powerful magic; and Grumblejack is a living engine of destruction. The guards fall without landing a single blow.
But. The guards have one weapon that the Forsaken cannot overcome: their devotion to duty. Their Sergeant may be a criminal; their Warden may be negligent; but these are the honest yeomen of Talingarde - steadfast, incorruptible.
The frontmost guard, Davian, steps up to meet the rush of blades. He dies, pierced in a dozen places, but it gives his friend, Andros, time to sound the signal horn. Andros dies immediately afterwards, no time even to draw a weapon; but within moments, answering horns sound from the other patrol atop the wall - and from the gatehouse ahead. It is quickly joined by howls from the guard dogs. Most distressing of all, in the nearby town of Varyston (home to the salt mine to which Etna had been sentenced), they hear it. Still sleepy and unprepared, it will take them many hours to respond. But respond they will. More ominous noises follow from the gatehouse: the rattle of a portcullis; and a thud as the main gates are barred with great beams of oak.
The way is shut.
With one accord, the Forsaken act quickly. The bodies are unceremoniously pitched over the side of the wall; and a rope is tied around a crenellation. Since the gatehouse is inaccessible, they will make another path. Descending rapidly, they follow the reefs around the outside of the wall. It is slow going: the reef is treacherous and slippery with seaweed; the spray of the sea is icy cold, mercilessly sapping their strength. But the noise of the waves does at least hide them, even drowning out the sound of Tkaara's rough, hacking cough.
By the time they have made it round to the prison's main entrance and the causeway is in sight, the sky in the East has lightened perceptibly: dawn cannot be far off. Midsummer's night is little more than one month past. The time has come to abandon what little stealth remained and trust in speed. Vaulting the last few steps, the Forsaken scramble up to the causeway, hitting it at a dead run. Shouts of alarm sound from the top of the gatehouse: "Open the gates! After them!" Clearly, not all discipline has been lost. But now, the portcullis and barred gate work in their favour: valuable time has been bought. Danger, however, is ever present: there are guards at the far end of the causeway - and they have longbows. Arrows fly at the party, whistling as they sail past. Heedless, the Forsaken plunge forward, running, running, always running. What other choice do they have?
Distraction comes in the form of a great hound, with burning eyes and leathery, blood-red skin; appearing just in front of the group, it charges the archers, drawing their fire. It is struck - once, twice, again - but carries forward, bull-rushing one of the guards off the causeway, his scream abruptly cut off with a splash far below. The other archer is quickly cut down and freedom lies ahead, freedom for Erevan, Etna, Felrin, Grumblejack, Ottakar, Tkaara...
A quick count. Confusion. Where is Hecate? The Summoning spell held her back, took all her attention, and she is isolated far behind. Fast approaching her are the remaining guards (the gate now being open), angry at the slaughter, determined on revenge. Even as she turns to face them, they are upon her.
The lead guard runs Hecate through with his sword.
She staggers back, but he advances, backhanding her out of his way, off the bridge altogether. She disappears from view, her life's blood tracing the arc of her fall. The guard grins, encouraged by his easy victory. "See! Mitra is with us!" he exhorts his fellows. "Now for the rest of that scum!" The other four guards cheer. "By Mitra's might and by His will!" They run towards you.
When Ottakar's ruse is revealed, Etna pales, her hair losing the small color they had just regained.
Oh no...
Desperately, she steps forward and hurls an orb of acid to the two guards, too panicked to cast a more elaborate spell. Staying calm becomes even harder for her when the Mitrans manage to sound the horn before dropping to the ground.
With wide eyes, incapable to say anything, Etna looks to the rest of the Forsaken, until someone proposes to climb down. The Ifrit nods weakly at the idea, knowing that for her it would have probably meant sure death, given her lack of physical exercise: nonetheless, she agrees, as it seemed there was no other choice.
Trembling, she climbs down the rope, trying her best not to look down as she does. For what seems like an eternity, she keeps going down: when it seems like she's about to lose her grip on the rope, Etna finally reaches the ground.
Shivering as her bare feet walk on the jagged rocks of the reef, the Ifrit silently follows after the others. Some of the splashes of sea water hit her hair, giving them the black tinge of wet coal.
When they finally reach the causeway, Etna starts to regain some of her confidence.
As they run closer and closer to the entrance, arrows flying over them and guards behind them, the Ifrit starts laughing faintly to herself.
Maybe it didn't go exactly as planned, but we're almost out of here! We, uh... I must admit that I've been lucky to find associates as capable as them: maybe they can help me get my revenge on Lady Farisa,too. Hecate in particular: I like her. Being around slothful, unintelligent nobles for all this time had made me forget that there were such brilliant people around.
I...wouldn't be adverse to chat with her about less serious matters when we have the chance...
"We're almost there! There wasn't a chance that an uncultured bunch of guards could have stopped us, right Hecate? Hecate?" Etna turns smiling to the wizard, only to see the Captain run her trough with a sword, tossing her off the bridge.
For a moment, she says nothing, but the the Ifrit's hair blossom in fire with a roar, fluttering around wildly. For the first time, everyone can clearly see Etna's horns, usually hidden.
"You shouldn't have done that..." she tries to say as calmly as possible, her expression betraying the anger she was attempting to contain.
Silently, she points to the charging guards, and a gout of flame erupts from her fingertips.
There are five guards: Abel, Baker, Ximinez, Yossarian and Zack.
Ximinez, Yossarian and Zack engage the main party while Yossarian signals at Abel and Baker to go wide around and keep the ogre contained. Yossarian is very much the one in charge here - he was a squire in the Knights of Alerion before an affair with a priest of Mitra was discovered. Although homosexuality is not technically illegal in Talingarde, the Darian monarchy and Mitran church have done their best to make it unacceptable and so Yossarian and the chaplain were both disgraced. Yossarian has ended up a guard in the backwater prison of Branderscar. His frequent disagreements with Blackerly over the running of the prison led to his almost permanent postings on the top of the gatehouse, where the icy wind from the sea chills you to the bone even on the warmest night. It did however mean that he was out of the way when the Forsaken went on their rampage.
Abel and Baker smile slightly - they've been dosing Grumblejack with drugs for weeks on end now, how difficult can this be? What they have overlooked is that the ogre is big - and angry. Abel nearly gets brained even before he can get close: Grumblejack's long arms give him an advantage. Staggering slightly, Abel misses with his longsword and the ogre's return stroke completes the job. Abel drops to the ground, a pulpy mess. Baker flinches but his sword strikes true; Grumblejack roars with anger.
The three other guards look alarmed as Etna's wave of fire speeds toward them, but then Yossarian laughs as it does no damage at all (OK, Ximinez lost an eyebrow). "See? Our Lord Mitra of the Sun is mightier than the fires of Hell. He protects us if we but trust in Him!"
Bother. There goes the one among these cretins who was not a complete imbecile. A pity to waste an intellect such as hers.
Eyes narrowing in annoyance at the young wizardess' fall, Ottakar waits for the guards to close and lashes out with his quarterstaff.
As the Forsaken make their way along the base of the wall, Felrin smiles in grim satisfaction at the progress they’re making, in spite of the alarm being raised. I thought all along that this was the way we should go. Now we’ve got a chance of getting out of this place. He lifts a hand in the darkness to study the glint of blood on his claws, wondering how many more guards he’ll have to kill – or get to kill – before this night is out.
Felrin’s focus is entirely on the end of the causeway, and freedom, when he sees his fellow prisoners looking around. Realizing Hecate is not among them, Felrin turns in time to see her die, having given them all a chance at escape with her summoned hell-hound. ”No!” he cries out, ”we need her! She needed us…” It is in that moment that he realizes how strongly bound to this group he is already, having never had allies, or even companions, who knew him for what he was and accepted him. His rage at the Mitran guards, spouting their holy inanities, is fueled, quite surprisingly, by devotion to the Forsaken at his side. No more of us shall die!
Flexing his bloodied claws, he waits for the guards to get in reach, then lashes out viciously before a blade can land. Unfortunately, it appears that anger does not make him a better fighter, merely a more eager one.
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Unlike her lady companions, Tkaara had little difficulty with the climb down the rope or along the causeway. Admittedly, she had to be held once or twice when bouts of coughing overtook her. But, her years of exercising before and after court had toned her thin body until little remained other than taunt muscles on her lithe frame.
Seeing Hecate get taken down, she lets out a growl with a wisp of vapor being released from her mouth as she does as one might expect on a cool autumn morning, but not a midsummer night.
They shall pay for that and Hecate shall be remembered. I vow to make sure she is remembered for her valiant deed. Perhaps some day we can recover her body and bring her back to teach the fools of this land about proper magic.
With that, she grips her mace and moves to the closest guard, Zack, that Felrin had also engaged, hoping to reduce the number of enemies by one.
Justice shall prevail. Just not under you laws.
Attack-heavy mace:
Damage:
"Shame," Erevan says simply, his voice soft and cool, cold even, as he sees Hecate falls, courtesy of one of the guards' sword. Still, calm and controlled as he is, the narrowing of his golden eyes betrays at the very least frustration, perhaps even a hint of anger. He had come to like the young wizardess, however brief the time he had known her.
Still, there is work to be done, he realizes easily as he takes his spear in his hands, waiting patiently for the guards to reach him and his fellow Forsaken, all the while studying the way the move and wield their weapons. Unfortunately the exertion caused by climbing down the prison walls seems to be taking its toll.
Zack is a bit of a hothead, and thinks nothing of taking on most of the group at once. Maybe it's true that Mitra smiles on fools, because neither Felrin nor the Doctor can harm him. Zack doesn't have time to get cocky though, as Tkaara's mace hits him in the side of the face, breaking his jaw and knocking out several teeth. He slashes his sword wildly in reply, just catching Tkaara before she can get her guard back up.
Seeing Zack struggle, Yossarian steps in next to him, reciting the Mantra against Devilry as he stabs at Felrin, missing completely.
Ximinez, more cautious than Zack, engages Erevan warily. He fancies himself something of a duellist, and his strike is overelaborate where something simpler might have worked. Erevan clearly reads the move and avoids it.
Summary
Abel - dead
Ximinez - 1
Zack - 9
Grumblejack - 6
Tkaara - 2
Felrin remains focused on the foe before him, knowing they need to put each guard down as quickly as possible. With a quick step to his left, he has the poor guard flanked and lashes out viciously with a claw, which misses badly.
He takes a quick, calming breath. Focus, dammit! We’ll all die like Hecate if we don’t take care of these guards! His rage now under control, he lifts a hand, stiffening his claw-like fingers and jabbing them precisely into the injured guard’s neck.
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Tkaara grimaces as the blade catches her.
May justice be swift and brutal upon you.
With that, she steps to the side and once more sings her heavy mace at Zack.
This time, her blow is not as accurate and she is uncertain whether it caused the righteous guard any discomfort.
5-foot step to gain flanking if possible
If Zack is down, then she will move to attack one of the other guards. Whichever is closest.
Seeing that her spell had no effect, Etna frustratedly throws an orb of acid on the most damage guard. Unfortunately, with Hecate's last moments still burned in her mind, she puts too much strength in the throw and misses badly, the orb flying well over the guard.
Curses!
Easily avoiding his opponent's sword, Erevan proceeds to strike back with a straight attack of his own, preferring a basic spear thrust quite unlike the guard's elaborate swordplay.
Contemptuously ignoring his foes' weapons, the Doctor moves into a flanking position if possible and lashes out once more.
(-2 if flanking not possible)
(-1d6+1 if flanking not possible)
Felrin misses with the first swipe, but his second claw tears off what little remains of Zack's face; Zack collapses in a fountain of blood.
With Zack out of the way, Ottakar steps round Yossarian's blind side and clubs him brutally into the dirt until he stops talking. This takes longer than you might think. ... will.... avenge.... me...."
Grumblejack finishes grinding his boot on Abel's corpse: "See, yoomie - Grumblejack make jam!" Unfortunately, he loses his footing in the gore and Baker manages another cut, this time to the ogre's arm.
Erevan manages to manoeuvre his unwitting opponent into a position where he is sandwiched between Ottakar and himself. His spear thrust catches Ximinez completely by surprise and pierces the lungs; the astonished would-be duellist collapses, coughing blood.
Tkaara steps up behind Baker and does her best to brain him, but her mace just bounces off his helmet, doing nothing more than making his ears ring.
Status report
Grumblejack - 8
A - dead
B -
X - dead
Y - dead
Z - dead
Felrins steps over the bleeding body of the guard he's just killed, dropping the skin of the man's face on the ground as he moves. He snarls at the last remaining guard, his expression nearly as feral as Grumblejack's, and rips into him with a claw.
Once again, Etna furiously throws one last orb at the remaining guard: this time, she manages to aim slightly better.
Felrin's claw tears through Baker's chain shirt as if it were paper, leaving a gaping wound most of the way down his back. As he screams in pain, Grumblejack's club knocks him off his feet, silencing him forever.
The ogre looks around, sees that all the enemies are dead, and grins at Tkaara. "See? Grumblejack no need pretty littl'uns help. Grumblejack kill yoomies hisself, turn them into jam. Hmmm. Grumblejack hungry."
Opening his sack of provisions, the ogre rummages around until he finds a loaf of bread looted from the kitchen. Tearing it open, he carefully scoops it along the ground in the stomped-up mess of the guards, using his hands to load as much onto the bread as he can. Taking a bite, he beams - and then stops. "Urrgh. Grumblejack forget manners. Pretty littl'un want bite?"
He holds out the half-eaten loaf, laden with blood, gore, and dirt, towards Tkaara.
Status
Grumblejack - 8
Abel - dead
Baker - dead
Ximinez - dead
Yossarian - dead
Zack - dead
Etna stops for a few seconds to catch her breath, her hair slowly turning to a more normal color.
Don't think about Hecate Don't think about Hecate Don't think about Hecate Don't think about Hecate
"We...we have to move on." she manages to say, taking a deep breath, just to notice Grumblejack making a sandwich out of the guards remains.
"Grumblejack...We're hungry too, but we have to first get somewhere safe. Why don't you take it away and finish it later, okay?" the Ifrit says as calmly as possible to the ogre, trying to not show her disgust.
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Tkaara looks at the blood soaked bread. A deep and unnatural desire building in her to try it. However, her human will suppresses the desire. She waves Grumblejack off.
Thank you for your offer great warrior. I agree with Etna that we should move on. The light will be up soon, and I do not want to be anywhere near this place when replacement guards or people from town show up.
With that, she searches the guards for anything of value, including armor or weapons, and then prepares to follow the others to this mysterious house with a candle in the window.
"To the marsh, then. We shall see if this mysterious benefactor is indeed friend or foe."
Tkaara's search of the bodies reveals nothing more than the guards were carrying: chain shirt, longsword and heavy steel shield.
It is now around 6 a.m. on the morning of Fireday, 25 Erastil. The sun is rising over the sea in the East, bathing the castle in its light , and twinkling in the puddles of spilled blood around you. Just over 12 hours ago, you were branded and thrown into your cell, with little future and no hope. And now? You are free - for the time being.
There are two routes open to you (assuming you're not going back into the prison). The first is to follow the road away from Branderscar, which would take you into the town of Varyston (famed for its salt mines). According to the map you retrieved from the Warden's office, a little over three miles along that route would take you to the Old Moor Road, and thence to your destination. However, it appears that the town of Varyston may be coming to you: in the distance, the morning light gleams on what can only be an armed procession. Drifting on the wind, you can hear the baying of dogs. To proceed that way is certain death.
That leaves the Deadmarsh Moors. Starting here at the sea, they undulate for mile after mile inland, a collection of hillocks, tussocks and stagnant pools of brackish water. A haven for mosquitoes, biting midges and the occasional bandit. There are rumours of monsters, but aren't there always? According to the map, crossing the Moors is actually shorter: you would bypass Varyston entirely and reach the Old Moor Road in little over a mile.
Not waiting for whatever may be coming down the road, you plunge into the Moors; the boggy grass squelches over your footwear and the springy, thorny gorse catches at your clothing. It is heavy going - and the early morning flies do not help. Looking back, you have made no tracks, and the brackish water will not carry your scent. Small mercies.
You press on, until Felrin skirts round the edges of a particularly deep pool - which grows a bulbous pair of eyes and lunges at him.
As the water courses off its back, you see an enormous toad, the size of a hippo, its green leathery hide pitted and crossed with ancient scar tissue; it chomps at Felrin and lifts him, struggling, into its mouth.
Felrin - grappled, 9 hp damage
In order:
Etna
Erevan
Grumblejack
Felrin
Toady
Tkaara
Ottakar
Felrin cries out in alarm as the huge amphibian grabs hold of him, and he begins to struggle immediately. After a few moments of futile thrashing, he goes still…then abruptly jerks, trying to free himself from the creature’s grasp.
Even if during the run trough the marsh the ifrit was barely aware of what was happening, still struggling to forget what had happened to her friend, as soon as the beast pounces Felrin Etna reacts almost instinctively. With adrenaline pumping in her veins, the sorceress quickly utters an incantation, coating the ground near the frog with slippery grease.
The beast gives an indignant and topples over in the puddle of grease that appears at Etna's command. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Felrin jumps free and prudently steps out of the way.
Grumblejack looks amazed. "Lashtongue! Grumblejack has heard of big frog but always thought was a miff... a nith... a story. Grumblejack hears frog taste like chicken! And now he finds a proper size frog! Today is a good day for Grumblejack!"
With a great, hungry, roar, he bulldozes past everyone and charges the beast. His club adds another angry mark to its side.
Spitting with rage, the great toad bites at Grumblejack, but its vicious jaws cannot connect from its disadvantageous position.
Still to go: Erevan
Next up: Tkaara, Ottakar
L - 14 HP damage
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Taker walks toward the toad, looking up at Grumblejack as she does.
Nice work big man. You need to be careful in the future or some toad may take you by surprise.
With that, she swings her mace hoping to keep the toad from standing up again.
Attack-heavy mace vs. prone: <-- prone AC should be -4
Damage:
The mace hits the giant toad's head with a sickening crunch.
Wasting no time as soon as the giant toad makes its presence known and the Forsaken have had a chance to react, Erevan joins the rest of them and manages to add another wound to the creature's growing collection.
Erevan's spear sinks deeply into its side, wounding it mortally. The great beast tries to right itself and shuffle away, but Tkaara's heavy mace dashes out its brains. The toad thrashes once, twice, convulsively, and then falls still.
Wasting no time, Grumblejack tears off one of its vast hind legs; peeling off the skin, he takes great, hungry bites. "Hrrph mmph mulf... Urrgh." His expression slowly changes from satisfaction to distress. "Not so good..." is all he manages to say, before throwing away the haunch and kneeling by the pool in an ominous fashion.
A projectile-vomiting ogre is literally indescribable.
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It just goes on
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Tkaara puts her hands on her hips like an angry mother, while trying to ignore the parts of guards that are coming up:
Grumblejack. You can't put everything in your mouth. Just as a child tastes better than an old drunk. An old swamp toad is going to be tough and tasting like . . . well . . . swamp.
Now, get yourself together. I would prefer to not leave you behind, but I am certainly not going to get caught by the town guard because you are sick.
Before going on, her eyes take on a distant, almost alien look, which vaguely resembles a starry night sky.
Cast Detect Magic
Once this passes, she looks at the toad.
The thing tried to eat Felrin. Perhaps it has eaten others in its long history. We should cut it open, and also search to see if it has some type of a lair.
Perception:
Etna averts her eyes when Tkaara smashes the creature's head to bits: even without looking at scene, she grimaces as she imagines what happened to Grumblejack after he ate the frog.
For the first time after they ran out of Brandescar, the Ifrit realizes in what condition she's in: even if she managed to put on shoes before escaping into the marsh, she's still currently in her prison rags, stained with filth and gore.
Tkaara's words snap Etna out of her musings. "Oh, yes, right." the ifrit says looking around, searching for anything useful.
I just want an hot bath...
Felrin watches as his companions kill the creature that wanted to make a meal of him. It is over quickly, and nearly as quickly Grumblejack is vomiting chewed bits of toad into the marsh. He grins as Tkaara scolds the ogre, then steps up to the dead amphibian. ”You didn’t eat me, but she’s right, you might have something worthwhile in there.” Flexing his long, sharp-nailed fingers, he tears open the belly of the massive toad.
The Doctor simply raises an eyebrow and leans on his staff at the antics of his fellows. The beast is dead within seconds, proving any help from him to be unnecessary. He does give an exasperated sigh at Felrin's incredibly clumsy dissection, a professional watching a rank amateur at work.
and on
and on. Finally, Grumblejack stands up. Still looking a little green, he nods at Tkaara's rebuke but says nothing.
Felrin tears open the dead toad, finding only a vile stench - and the discovery that its skin exudes a numbing contact poison. His inhuman heritage protects him from the worst of it, however.
Tkaara and Etna circle the edge of the pool, slowly, looking for something. They finally spot it: about 10 feet below the surface of the water is what looks like the mouth of a cave. Is anyone's greed/curiosity enough to brave the brackish, murky water - not improved by several gallons of ogre sick?
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Taker's arm hangs by her side, exhaustion clearly evident in her face.
I could really use some rest. Unfortunately, I think the old saying, No rest for the weary, is applicable here with the search parties likely to be not far behind.
She then points to the dank pool.
Anyone want to go for a swim? There appears to be a cave of some sort. I can swim, but being tired as I am, it may not be the wisest choice.
Felrin takes a moment to recover from the unsurprisingly disgusting experience of gutting a giant amphibian with his bare hands, then joins Tkaara as she looks into the toad’s pool. ”I can change my form into something that can swim well, if there’s a reason to explore this place further. And toads breathe air right? If it lived in there, there should be air to breathe. Though I could be wrong, I don’t know much about toads.”
After a pause, he says, ”It is a shame Hecate is lost to us. I suspect this would have been one of the many surprising little things she knew…”
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Tkaara shrugs:
Didn't have many toads as clients.
She pauses for a moment.
I didn't have many actual toads for clients. Several of my clients would probably be considered toads by many.
Anyway, I really do not know whether it breathes air or water or something else. Studying frogs and toads was never of any real interest to me.
If it is not going to delay us much, I see no reason to not search the toad's lair to see if anything was deposited there from its past victims.
Felrin changes shape and enters the pool, which is cold - not icy, but unpleasant nonetheless.
It is not inviting, and the new deposits of effluvia on the surface do not help.
The rest of the group sees him submerge, and enter through the cave-mouth that Etna and Tkaara spotted.
A few bubbles of air break the surface. Then nothing.
Time passes.
You emerge on dry land, above the surface of the water, but still underground. The cave is large (easily high enough to stand up in), and dry. Certainly more hospitable than the prison you just escaped from.
Moss forms a soft carpet on the floor. At the far end of the cave, lies a skeleton - probably human, but Felrin isn't an expert. The glint of something gold shines in what is left of its ribcage.
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Leaning casually on his spear after having cleaned it of any residual ichor, Erevan waits patiently for the tiefling to return. "Do you think he will find anything? I have heard that dragons like a good treasure hoard, but giant toads? The creature barely looked intelligent."
At this last comment, he glances sideways at Ottakar and smiles amusedly. "Of course my good doctor, that is probably what you think of some if not all of us as well, yes?"
Felrin takes a careful look around the mossy grotto, reaching out with senses both mundane and divine before moving to inspect the skeleton and its alluring glint.
Ottakar glances wryly at Erevan. "Looks can be deceiving, but I would wager that even our disemboguing companion is more intelligent than that insalubrious beast. And for the record, toads do have lungs, but their larval form have gills." He peers curiously at the water. "I wonder if Felrin is being consumed by giant tadpoles.'
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Tkaara shakes her head at Erevan's comment:
Dragons are collectors. I doubt this toad was a collector. More likely it was a consumer of treasure. It would eat the victim, including whatever treasure the victim had. Then, it would deposit the "treasure" in a nice pile along with whatever the meal had been turned into.
She smirks:
Fortunately, we are not the ones who will have to search through the toad's "treasure trove". And, with any luck, any treasure will be washed off when Felrin returns through the water.