“We got it to move a little bit. Rolg? Jamie? Can we get some extra muscle over here?” Simon asks.
Rolg silently steps to the door and brings his falchion into the sodden wood.
The woman lashes out a kick as Balion rolls away.
Rolg’s blade sinks deep into the gate as much of the wood splinters. Jamie follows suit.
The pit-fighter's falchion cleaves part of the door with a resounding crack. Large boards can be heard falling on hard floor on the other side. The gate swings slightly inward, no longer barred closed.
Simon pushes the doors open, and the room before the party is floored with worn, clean grey stone. Not one piece of furniture adorns the walls or floor, and the air is thick with a sweet-smelling smoke. What used to be a stairway built along the circular room appears to have crumbled, the nearest steps to the next level some twenty feet from the ground. The stone debris of the missing steps appears to be cleared away. There are no windows in the first level walls, but ample yellow light beams in from the second floor.
As the wooden debris rumbles against the floor as Simon pushes it open the rest of the way, the adventurers hear muffled sounds from the floors above.
The woman casually blocks the blow, her attention diverted to an echoing crash from floors below. “Your friends are here.”
She unleashes a flurry of blows, her face twisted in annoyance.
Her first fist is blocked by Balion’s shield, but the second strikes him square in the jaw. The ranger falls onto the stone floor as his vision blurs. By the time his head smacks the ground, he is unconscious.
Simon cautiously edges into the keep. “Is that,” he sniffs, “Incense?”
Jamie peers inside.
The inattentive party members notice on the far side of the stone wall, a simple rough spun mat. Centered on the mat is a clay cup emitting trails of blue fumes.
Jamie throws a concerned gaze to the opening in the ceiling that leads to the second floor. She holds her ready falchion at her side.
As quickly as he can Bolgrith rushes into the now open room adjusting his shield on his arm. Holding it up at chest height in front of him, the dwarf plants his feet firmly and faces the top of the partial staircase.
"Balion! Is that you?" he calls up after the sounds.
Aladdin waves his hand and summons a dire rat and points through the door and sends the rat through.
A woman in a loose-fitting tunic appears and quickly leaps from the stone ledge of the second floor. But she seems surprised by the positions of the adventurers, and she lands awkwardly. She overcomes her wince with a fierce scowl. With a shift to a wide defensive stance, her calloused fists are upturned at her waist. Her eyes are intense as she studies the adventurers. The woman’s voice calls harshly across the room.
“Trespassers, I did not invite you. You disturb my meditation. I’m afraid you…” she trails off, staring at Bolgrith’s shield. She begins again, her speech even, almost monotone.
“I’m afraid you will find this place unfit for visitors. This is a sanctuary for attaining perfection, and your mere presence prevents my concentration. But I will grant forbearance for a brother. Tell me why you intrude.”
"...brother" Rolg glances from the woman, to Bolgrith, and back.
Bolgrith relaxes slightly behind his shield as he looks up at the woman. "I freely admit, I did not expect to find a sister of the faith so far afield." The dwarf casts an exaggerated look around the room before returning his gaze back to the woman. "We meant no offense nor trespass. All knowledge we had of this place suggested that it has long been empty." He gestures out the now-ruined door. "And as you can see, weather approaches and we sought shelter. I understand the hinderance that companionship can sometimes be, though often it is a balm for a lonely existence." The Priest gestures to the empty room they stand in. "We've no desire nor intent to stay long, merely the night to allow the storm to pass. If you would allow us this we would be most grateful, and I believe the exchange of knowledge would be mutually beneficial."
Lowering his shield fully the Cleric of Irori smiles up at the woman standing before him. "After all, it is as the book says: 'The Path to perfection has many turns, not always will you know your steps.'" Bolgrith extends his hand forward, open palm facing the unknown woman.
The woman frowns, relaxes a fist and tensely presses a palm against Bolgrith’s. She pulls it away and smiles uncharitably, looking down at the dwarf. “You will find, brother, that companions such as these can only be a hindrance. Those ignorant to the path of perfection are a waste of space and breath. Still, one must never neglect an opportunity for improvement.…”
She breaks her stance and takes long-legged strides near the center of the room, until she stands directly in front of the source of incense smoke. She addresses the group, grinning arrogantly. “If it is shelter you seek, it will not be free, as I did not gain this keep freely. I challenge you to a fighting contest. The victor may rest inside, warm and dry. The defeated must sleep outside under the storm. After this night, you must depart.”
The Irori worshipper continues, “I will begin with my brother in the faith. If he scores a hit, another of his company may join the match. If I am struck again, another may join. In this way, I shall practice defeating multiple foes. I will not bar lethal weapons, for a merciless world gives no quarter to the weak. These terms you must accept, if you expect a chance at avoiding the storm.”
The monk stands tall with her hands behind her back, her bare toes flexing and relaxing against the stone floor underneath. She grins darkly as she looks to each of the adventurers, waiting for a response.
Jamie chortles. “Listen here, lady. Things can get crazy in close quarters. What if I kill you in this contest?
The monk levels an even gaze to the pit fighter and sternly returns. “What if I kill you?”
Jamie exhales loudly from behind clenched teeth and shakes her head as she shifts her weight from foot to foot, watching Rolg for the word.
Rolg snickers at the cat fight, then narrows his eyes at the new woman.
"A bit cowardly of you to first fight a priest is it not?"
Rolg draws his swords and tap his shield with it.
"Why not test someone closer to your own skill? Or do you like tofight weaker foes to swell your narrow head?"
The woman blinks. “It would be rude to extend a chance to improve to an outsider over one of the faithful. Moreover, I expect him to closer to prowess in all things than the likes of you. I care not who I fight first, if Brother Dwarf is so generous. I do admire your eagerness to learn the folly of your ways.”
She stomps a leg sideways to a wider defensive stance. The boom of the footfall echoes off the stone walls and ceiling as she slowly moves one fist forward, not fully extended, while keeping the other coiled at her side. She closes her eyes as she slowly inhales, and trace whisper escapes her lips. “Hard as stone, soft as water…”
She opens her eyes calmly, a steady stare at Rolg. “Approach, hobgoblin. Let us learn from one another.”
Rolg steps forward and raises his shield. He conceals the point of his sword behind the boards so the woman won't see the attack begin.
The woman does not move, in fact she seems to scarcely breathe. Relaxed, hooded eyes watch the wary Rolg before her. Her voice is monotone.
“I tell you, approach.”
To Rolg, her command seems to be more than mere words, but they do not affect the surly sellword.
"No, fight fairly.Or have you no honor as I suspect?"
“One who fights for honor deceives himself,” she snaps.
Her coiled arm loosens and reaches into her tunic to retrieve a wood-beaded prayer necklace. Strangely, her tone loses its harshness. “And the pursuit of perfection encompasses physical and mental resilience. Those blessed by Irori should not neglect his gifts…”
As she says this, a simple wooden hand hangs from her neck. Her extended fist opens into a stiff open palm turned sideways. She whispers an indiscernible a prayer. She slowly brings the thumb to her chest, and when it touches the holy symbol, blue flame pulses over her arms and hands, fading as she returns to her original position.
“I will not tell you again.”
Bolgrith watches the exchange with interest. Saying nothing the Priest sets his shield on the ground and lowers himself into a meditation stance. His legs crossed beneath him and open palms downward resting on his knees.
Once settled, the dwarf turns to the warrior woman. "I am old, and have had many opportunities for, improvement. My friend Rolg is young and vigorous, I am worn and tired. You might have more chance for improving by facing the hobgoblin." His eyes defocus as he inhales the smoke from the burning bowl.
"Te rog, nu-i rău prea mult."
"Please don't hurt her too much."
"Voi rănit-o la fel de mult cum am nevoie."
I will hurt her as much as I need to.
Rolg drops his sword, stowes his shield, and draws his guisarme as he moves back.
“Complacency is a sickness, brother. Perhaps you spend too much time in the world.” she admonishes Bolgrith with a disgusted look.
In a fluid motion, the balls of her feet scuff the stone as she makes swift, light steps to meet Rolg in the corner, mindful of the guisarme blade.
On her last step, she sweeps her second foot around to catch the back of Rolg’s knee, but her landing was less graceful than intended, and she resolves her failed attempt with a stomp. She stands in front of Rolg, her knuckles hard and her gaze harder.
Jamie steps a bit closer, as to join the match as quickly as possible.
"Hit her good, Rolg."
Aladdin steps out of the door into the rain and turns to face the female warrior. He conjurs up some missiles and flings them forward streaking toward the woman quoting lines as if they were pulled from some fantasy.
The monk keeps her footing under Aladdin’s magical barrage. Her shout echoes off the walls.
“You enter the fight prematurely! Perhaps you wish to sleep outside?”
"My apologies dancer, but from out here all I can hear are snippets of your flirtation. It looked as if you were dancing with Rolg instead of fighting; so I thought it'd be best if I were to start the fight with you. After all, I wouldn't want to share your attention with anyone else, you pretty thing you. Wouldn't want you to get all dreamy with some other handsome devil. I believe I have scored two hits on you now. According to your own rules, that now allows two more to join OUR fight. That is if you are done dancing with our hobgoblin there." Aladdin shouted from the rain.
Rolg drops his polearm and sidesteps, drawing his shield and flail as he goes.
"Jamie. Hit her."
Eyes straight ahead and unfocused Bolgrith reaches his hand out and lightly pats Jamies armor encased foot. Soft blue flame spreads from his fingertips.
Jamie’s lips curl into a menacing grin. In one step, she swings her mighty curved blade.
But for all her fury, Jamie's attack arcs too far left.
Simon draws his longsword, checks the straps on his buckler, and waits.
The woman tries to ignore Aladdin’s words, but her ears burn red.
When she notices the attacking pit-fighter, she kicks at one of Jamie’s feet, sending the sellsword sprawling, and follows with a solid punch.
Aladdin flicks his hand forward again and two more missiles homes in on the fierce lady.
"Well done fair lady! I'm afraid I've managed to hit you two more times, so I do believe that brings your sparring partners up to a total of 5. You're incredible to be doing so well! Beauty and ability all rolled up into one tight package, I dare say!"
Simon makes a confused face as he watches the magic missiles strike. He tries to frown away his confusion as he steps in to melee.
The woman leans away from Simon's attack, almost casually.
Rolg swings at the woman as she sidles away from Simon's strike.
"Dodge this!"
The woman groans as the flail head slams onto her shoulder. She tries to shrug off the injury, but tears well up under her hard stare. Blood begins to blot her grey tunic.
Jamie comes up with her blade, and the monk finds an opening, and flings a backhand…
…but she did not account for her injured shoulder, and the strike does not follow through.
The pit-fighter, now on her feet, finishes her swing, unsuccessfully.
The monk strikes Rolg’s wrist to disarm him, and jabs her elbow at Rolg’s jaw.
The hobgoblin drops his flail, but he is able to jerk back in time to dodge the elbow. The weapon clatters on the ground between the two.