"...and just how deep is that thing?"
The cave is not even recorded on the map, nor is it part of the path laid out by Moss' research. However, the sun is beginning to set, so finding a suitable place to camp for the night might be wise.
"'Email'" Henry Southgard muses, turning the unfamiliar word over. "That's not privateer slang I'm familiar with."
He steps over to Gorim and unloads his equipment. Backpack is dropped, bandoleer is unloaded, and a case of crossbow bolts is mostly emptied. The crossbowman then takes three potions out of the pile, a red health potion, a green one, and a pale amber one with the neck sealed with wax, and loads them into his bandoleer.
"Heal me up, Gorim. I'm going to see what's down there." He looks at the half-orc beside him. "You've been on the ball so far, so watch my back."
"Gotcha, hold on..." Gorim inspects Henry's wounds, and brings his hands to meet them.
"Gotcha, hold on..." Gorim swings his holy symbol into his hand, closes his eyes, and mouths words silently into the hand of Irori.
"How do you think they'll react to fire? I've got a couple of torches in my pack."
Henry Southgard draws four torches from his pack, hooks two to his belt, and lights the other two. He then walks to the mouth of the cave and looks in.
Gorim approaches the side of the cave, listening out for any sudden movements from the inside.
Shoulda gone in there too...
The torch light shines fifteen feet deep, where the cave shows a turn to the left. Some form of animal waste can be seen in the uneven rock floor, but movement suddenly pulls Henry’s attention to the ceiling: a giant centipede rears to strike!
With a sickening hiss from the oversized bug, sharp mandibles snap at Henry.
The bite comes away bloody, and the mercenary notices a foreign fluid in the wound a moment before something painful courses through his veins. Poison!
The bite catches on the mercenary’s woven chain, and the man-sized vermin rears back to try again.
"Bloody. Hell." Henry Southgard gasps as the centipede lunges for him. His language gets a little courser as the thing's mandibles catch on his chain shirt.
"Watch for the fangs!"
The mercenary swings the torch at the beast and retreats.
The blazing torch bats the centipede right between the eyes as the crossbowman steps out of its reach.
Quick, already standing back, draws his crossbow and fires.
Frowning at the shaky shot, Quick takes another step away: just to be safe.
Gorim attempts to heal the group once more, responding to the actions unfolding around him.
Gwath’s blade grazes the hard exoskeleton of the segmented monstrosity. Gorim’s pulse of healing close up the wounds of his companions, and soothes the burns of the centipede. Coiling back, large fangs lash out at Gwath!
The mandibles close on half-orc arm, but the pincers fail to break the skin before Gwath pulls away.
A sound, like someone spitting, precedes a sudden sting in Gorim’s thick leg. Tiny black fletching spouts from dwarven skin, a metal needle pierces deep into the muscle. Peering deeper into the cave, a tiny squat body holds up a disproportionately large, bulgy blue head. Pale, oversized and unwavering eyes gleam at the dwarf with malice from the corner in the dark cave. Dirty, worn cloth covers its frail humaniod frame, and its delicate hands work to reload a blowgun.
Yup. Just as Henry Southgard had thought, Gorim had just healed the centipede. And with the appearance of something else in the cave, torches were completely inadequate.
"Falling back," Henry says as he drops the torches. He dashes back to his pack and pulls his crossbow out from underneath.
"Agreed!" Gorim pulls back, and draws his mace.
"Didn't mean to heal the bugger! Sloppy timing on my part".
Gorim recalls skimming an encyclopedia, many years ago, that described the creature he just saw: a mite. Wicked and foul, mites are known to live underground, and do not stray far into the surface world. Gorim also recalls mites having a rather violent history between dwarves and gnomes.
"Alright, be professional. Draw the bug out into the open!"
The Dwarf grinds his teeth, quickly peering down at the dart in his leg, "We've got Mites in there too. Watch it, Gwath!"
"Zilf gein sav zey!"
"Silver one save me!"
Quick shouts as he rushes forward, falchion in hand. He stops beside Henry.
Draw it out Gwath! I will fight it with you!"
The centipede flinches back from Gwath's dangerous blade.
Henry Southgard draws the bowstring back, loads a bolt, and takes aim for the giant bug. He takes aim, but realizes that he doesn't have a good shot. He strafes to the left, seeking a better vantage point.
"Gwath! Fall back!"
As Gwath moves back, the centipede snaps at the spot the half-orc formerly stood, and gives chase. Many legs click over stone as the giant critter crawls down the cave wall and outside. Reaching his quarry, two poisonous fangs lunge forward at the mercenary.
The pincers find purchase on half-orc skin, but Gwath heartily shakes off the poison.
“తీవ్ర గడ్డం రోత” a small, raspy voice barks, and the mite creeps back into Gorim’s sight.
Another spitting sound echoes from the cave, and Gorim sees a tiny dart stick into the ground right at his boots.
“Fiercebeard/dwarven filth!”
Quick steps forward beside Gwath and swings his falchion at the centipede.
Gorim glances at the dart bellow him, his face growing slightly redder, "Dwarven filth..?"
Drumming his fingers along the mace, his eyes flick up and then between targets, settling to make a dash for the centipede.
"Like a seasoned crew we are," Henry Southgard mutters darkly. "Flank it! It can't look in two places at once!"
Lacking a clear shot at the centipede, he takes aim at the Mite.
And misses.
"Er, honestly, I've never had a problem with sleeping out in the open."
Henry's shot narrowly misses the mite as it ducks out of the way. Gwath cleaves the segmented critter, and the halved centipede falls back in a twitching mess of legs.
The mite raises his blowgun at Henry.
The dart certainly hits hard enough to bruise, but the point does not stick.
Another mite runs up beside the first and fires at Gorim.
The dart dinks against his shield harmlessly.
Henry Southgard glances bemusedly at the dart lying in the grass, and then back to the mite that shot at him.
"Really now?" he asks as he reloads.
The fletching of Henry’s bolt sprouts from the mite’s enormous, puffy blue head, with enough force to send the body flying against the cave wall before flopping over, dead.
Gorim advances toward the Mite, swinging his mace upward as stepping into the cave.
The large pale eyes of the mite widen to their full size as the dwarf towers over him, and turns to flee. But Gorim's mace cuts his escape short as it bashes in the foul creature's skull. Mite collapses, dead.
"Is it safe to rest here? My magic is mostly spent. I need to rest."
"We can rest. First we see to dinner," Henry says as he approaches the dead centipede. "Anyone got a knife?"
Gorim shakes his head to the question, and stares at the fallen centipede "I've got some flint and steel. For the fire"
"Are you really thinking of eating that? It tried to poison us. I can't imagine it's safe to eat, let alone tastes good."
Quick pulls some jerky and a hard biscuit from his pack. "I'll stick to this, but here." He offers a dagger to Henry. "Just clean it when you're done please."
Gwath Gil
