Nme'an rushes to the far corner and pulls on the rope to make sure it is hanging down properly.
The vines grasp and tangle at the highlanders legs. Struggling against them the big man strains his muscles while drawing his massive blade.
Snapping the ropy vines like so many dried twigs, the Casns warrior moves away from the enchanted ground, checking to see if the others had made it out of the trench yet.
With the sounds of struggle behind his back, Themp grabs onto the rope and pulls himself as fast as possible. I need to be up there before they get swarmed!
With a glance at Mot and Olp, Beorae moves as quickly as she can toward Nme'an and Themp. Despite her deft movement, the spikes and rocks at the bottom of the pit slow her progress significantly. Shark follows Beorae's movement along the ledge, keeping a close eye on his companion.
Twisting out of the grip of the writhing vines, the kobold wades forward, and as he does so, he shrugs the coil of braided leather into one hand. Holding the handle at one end, he tosses the rest into the air and lets a crack of the whip ring out in the canyon. Seeing the thief pull himself halfway up the dirt wall, and the knight holding the rope, the kobold’s free hand pulls a pinch of sand from a belt pouch. With a mean grin, he sprinkles it with a gesture and an arcane word. “Somnus…”
As the sand leaves the kobold’s claws, another kobold warrior catches up, clutching a spear and taking quick steps to avoid the ensnaring plants. He passes the first kobold and waves his spear challengingly at Mot with a shriek. By the draconic curses echoing from the hole in the dirt a few more kobolds are still impeded by Beorae’s spell.
At the other end of the trench, five kobolds swarm out of the hole, immediately slowed by the rubble and spikes sticking out from the ground. One among them wears no armor, only cloth and bone fetishes, but holds a wooden stick in one claw. He gestures toward Olp. “Bahvit tol gein! Krii praan!”
The kobolds shake their spears as they pick their way toward Olp, though one of them stays, standing between Themp and the unarmored one.
Upon the completion of the magic spell directed at Themp and Nme'an, the two kobolds find their legs wound tightly by the writhing vines at their feet.
Olp sees his kinsfolk move toward him, and he looks indecisively at the rope, the Thaleniel champions, then back to the fellow kobolds. He keeps his back to the wall, opting to stay clear of the fight.
At the kobold's command, Themp feels a strong flutter in his stomach and his vision blotches out. Holding tight to the physical feel of the rope in his grip and the wall beneath his feet, he vigorously shakes his head back into consciousness.
As soon as his vision clears, he sets out to continue his climb.
In a few strong pulls, he is up by Nme'an's side. Only then does the number of kobolds inside the trap seem clear.
"Red, Mot! You're surrounded!"
"Grab you bow. We will have to protect them. Pick a common target!" he urges Themp.
He takes aim at the closest Kobold and let's loose another arrow.
Beorae keeps moving toward Nme'an and Themp, the rogue clearing the top of the cliff as she reaches the rope. Gripping with both hands, the druidess braces her feet against the perpendicular walls and begins hoisting herself up.
Mot glares at his foes surrounding him, but the still present pain in his side cautions him against his normal stratagems. Yelling across the trench he starts to move towards the rope, "Effen yoor goona coome lizard man, best coome naow!"
The kobold nearest to the rope jabs at Beorae as she approaches...
...but an arrow sticks in his back and he misses horribly! He bares his tiny teeth, with plenty of fight left.
“Mirol!” the drum-toting kobold shouts back to the ones entangled, while he himself is unable to escape. Seeing the other warriors spread out from the other side, he adjusts the drum at his side. Immediately, hard knuckles begin rapping out a sharp, lively beat on the tight drumhead.
The kobold in front of him drops his spear in the twisting branches, and pulls a loaded sling from his belt. Springing loose from the hold of the green, he reaches the edge of the roots and vines. Meanwhile, one more kobold, better armored than the others, appears in the entrance from the tunnel, fighting his way through the overgrowing roots. He also clutches a sling in claw.
The kobold with a wand walks along the edge of the trench, and frowns as the druidess climbs ten feet into the air. With the free claw, he gestures and shouts, “Butyro!”
Thick grease begins to ooze out from the threads of the rope, seeping through Beorae’s grip.
Two kobolds move to cut off Mot’s escape, and another hefts his spear and aims it at Nme’an in retaliation.
The overcast light is still too bright for their eyes, though one of them manages to poke the highlander’s leg. The spear-thrower fumbles his spear before it leaves his claw. The wooden shaft clatters at his feet.
Slowed by his wounds, Olp takes unsure steps to the middle of the trench, his eyes fixed on Mot’s attackers and keeping a short distance from combat.
Beorae regrips the rope and clambers to the top of the pit, pulling herself onto the landing. Still prone, she reaches a hand out to Themp's foot and casts Guidance on the rogue.
The suddenly growing number of enemies and the beat of the drum sparks the tiger into action. He sees the wand-carrying kobold gesture toward Beorae and instinctively opens his maw, large fangs glistening in the sunlight, and lets forth an ear-splitting roar at the creature who might threaten his companion.
Themp looks down at Beorae to check if she needs any help climbing, but soon enough she is lying at the lip of the trap. As her hands touch his foot, a sudden sharpness of thought overwhelms his mind. He runs up to the middle of the border of the hole and in one fluid movement, he wields his bows and fires an arrow at the kobold Nme'an attacked.
Nme'an shifts back from the edge of the trench so as to give himself a larger margin of safety when Mot begins to climb then fires another shot at the Kobold he wounded.
Moving the last few feet to the hanging rope the Highlander leaps and grasps. Strong arms begin pulling the hulking man up.
The arrows of Themp and Nme’an glance off the ground, missing their target by inches.
Even though the slick, conjured sludge coats the rope, the wild man takes hold of the line and pulls himself up. As he does so, a kobold at his back takes a stab, but misses.
Clambering up the dirt wall, the Casns warrior lays flat on the ground at the edge of the pit.
The scalemail jingles when the armored kobold dances through the teeming plants as he nears the drummer, who struggles to keep the rhythm as vines creep up his bound legs. Spinning his sling, the armored one lets fly a stone at the tiger above the pit.
The stone sails high. Another kobold hops free of the ensnaring vines, and loading his sling, whips a shot at the thief.
Themp feels a harmless tap against his armor and the rounded bullet falls to the ground.
With one claw continuing the lively beat, the drummer kobold drops his whip as he attempts to free himself of the vines, but to no avail. He resorts to picking another pinch of sand from his belt, and weaves a magical gesture as before, and directs it at the nearest foe: Themp Namor.
“Somn- draaf…”
But the spell fizzles in the kobolds claws when the twines interfere with the spell casting.
Shaken by the tiger’s roar, the unarmored kobold presses his back against the pit wall, and shrieks “Yolmah!” gesturing at the intruders clustered together. The three warriors closest to the rope drop their spears and pull sealed clay jars from their belts, and hurl them at the knight, the highlander, and the druidess.
One clay jar breaks across the paladin’s chest, exploding in fire. Another sails over the barbarian, scorching the earth behind him, though the blast singes Urlghain skin. The last clay bomb aimed at Beorae bounces off the dirt wall and explodes at the feet of the three kobolds, who cry out at their burns. One of them, who already suffered an arrow in the back, falls to the ground, unconscious. While the druidess and the tiger were not hit directly, the two nearby explosions burn them somewhat.
The unarmored kobold lifts his wand at Themp when he sees his encumbered ally fail. “Mico!” A small white dot of light beads at the wand tip, before it zooms directly at Themp. When it touches his forehead, it flashes brightly right in the thief’s eyes.
A kobold approaches Olp, spearhead leveled at the captive’s gut. “Tum!” he barks harshly.
Olp frowns, the command from the warrior having the opposite effect. He glances up to the four Thaleniel champions at the top of the pit, and moves to the wall where Themp stands atop.
The kobold spear jabs when Olp moves, but the warrior misses.
Olp is trying to join the Thaleniel champions in escape!
The druidess reads Olp's movements clear as day. With some urgency in her voice, she moves toward the rogue and says, “Themp, quick, drop a rope!”
Reaching Themp, Beorae places a hand on his shoulder, casting another round of Guidance.
Seeing that the bulk of their party has made it to relative safety, Nme'an switches focus to from covering fire to disrupting the Kobold's leadership. Ignoring the painful flames clinging to his armor the stalwart knight apprentice says his short prayer and fires at the nearer of the Kobold mages.
For
"Mot, my spare bow is with my pack. You can use it to attack from afar..." ...as long as it doesn't wind up in a river afterwards.
"Son of a...!" exclaims Themp as his visions clears.
At Beorae's plea and noticing Olp's desperation, Themp quickly rummages his pack for his silk rope and tosses one end of it towards the helpless kobold.
"Nme'an! Mot! Cover me while I pull him up!
Grunting the Casns rolls over and pushes himself to his feet. He inhales sharply as one of his wounds reopens and begins to seep blood. Reaching around the Paladin he grabs the shortbow and a handful of arrows, eyes narrowing as he scans the trench looking for a target.
Nme’an’s arrow punctures the kobold mage’s chest, and his claw clutches the wound. But he does not fall yet. The flames continue to burn over the paladin's armor, and begin to dwindle as the fuel burns away.
The drumming kobold twists himself free of the vines, and hurries out of their reach, keeping his movements in time with the drum beats. “Wah zey!” he calls. The kobold behind him trudges through the entangling roots and vines, not quite clear of them. Another kobold reloads his sling and looses the shot at the rope-bearing thief.
The smooth metal ball strikes Olp’s rescuer in the chest. The one pierced by Nme’an’s arrow moves closer to the drummer, and gestures to the knight, “Mirol!” while with the other hand, he pulls a flask from his belt. The two remaining throwers of alchemical fire likewise regroup closer to the drummer, untying the slings from their belts as they move. When given the order, they send two stones in the direction of the knight.
One of the shots dings off the smoldering heavy plate that covers the half-elf, but the other comes straight for Nme'an's eye! A reflexive twitch lands the bullet along the side of his head, leaving a bloodied ear.
"Vax!" the spear-wielding kobold cries to Olp. Choking up on the haft, the warrior moves in and tries to take the defector's knees out from under him.
But Olp turns defiantly and catches the swing before it can connect. His attacker tries to use Olp’s grip against him, and jerks the weapon downward to bring the traitor low.
Recognizing the move, Olp releases the spear and grabs hold of the rope. Straining his thin arms, he tries to pull himself up, but with little success.
Beorae grabs the rope and gives it a tug, but her grip is loose and the rope flies free. Regripping the silk rope, she tries again to help lift the little kobold.
Mot instinctively draws the bow and releases an arrow towards the drummer, growling under his breath; "Yer ooff beat, boyo." Without thinking the big man begins to hum a battle tune of his own, one remembered from his adolescence roaming the highlands.
Seething from the presistent burning liquid, Nme'an uses the last of his healing power to reverse the damage caused by the Kobolds' attacks.
He then lines up the perfect kill shot on the Kobold leader but just before he fires Mot roughly pulls his spare bow free...
...causing the shot to fly high and embed itself in the far wall of the pit.
As Olp clears the lip of the trap, Themp picks his bow up and fires at Mr. Shiny Light.
The kobold in scalemail is able to avoid the vines long enough to move onto un-enchanted earth. Behind him, another armored kobold doggedly trudges his way out of the hole, still in the thick of the entangling plant matter.
Olp lays flat on the edge of the pit. With his escape imminent, his attacker lobs his spear.
But the crude weapon sticks in the dirt wall. Three slings let fly a hail of stones at Mot, Shark, and Nme’an.
The shots sail wide or bounce off the dirt wall, much to the frustration of the kobolds.
Watching the druidess pull up their kinsman, the drummer shakes his head and points at Beorae, with a pinch of wool in his claw. “Stupefacio!”
The unarmored mage unstoppers the flask in his claw and drinks deep. His wound begins to close as he drops the flask and pulls an orange one from his belt. “Yolmah!” he commands, with a mean grin on his pointed face.
Hearing the flying bullets and commands shouted, Olp stays low to the ground, crawling away from the edge.
Nme'an takes aim at the leader again, this time without Mot's rough hands jerking him about.
for
Feeling the onset of a mind adjustment spell, Beorae concentrates on her Druidic training and focuses inward, protecting her consciousness until the spell breaks against her will.
With Olp now clear of the wall, Beorae moves back to Mot, drawing the wand as she does so. Placing a hand on the Highlander, the druidess says, “Hold on," and channels healing energy from the wand.
“We might want to move back, guys…”
A string of flowing curses mixes itself in with Mots battle hymn, his voice gaining volume with anger and the renewed vigor from Beoraes healing spell.
Clear blue eyes search for a target until they spot the magical-looking Kobold... and the brightly colored flask just drawn forth.
Snaggle-teeth part in an evil grin matching that of the little lizard mage as the Highlander draws a bead on the little orange flask.
Cursing his missed shot, Themp takes aim instead at the nearest kobold, the one who attacked Olp on his climb.
The kobold holding a wand and a flask twitches when Nme’an’s arrow sticks from his stomach. The arrow from Mot’s borrowed bow pierces the kobold’s wrist, with enough force to continue into the mage’s heart, pinning the flask clutching claw to his chest. He collapses to the ground, dead. Themp quickly dispatches one of the warriors with a shot to the neck. One of the kobold’s in scale armor works his way to the edge of the entangling area, and behind him one more kobold warrior in simple leather carrying a sling clambers out of the hole. They both concentrate on escaping the vines.
The other armored kobold spins his sling and fires at Mot. His lesser armored comrade follows suit.
One of the bullets flies overhead while the other hits Mot’s arm that extends the bow. The drummer seethes at thief and druidess, who both would not fall victim to his magic spells. Stepping carefully between the spiked ground, toward the open hole that is not teeming with vines and roots, and scatters dust once more with an incantation. This time, however, he directs it at mage-killer Mot. “Somnus…”
Not really given a command, two slingers aim their shots at two different targets: Shark, and Nme’an.
Both whizzing bullets find their mark, and the warriors take a step toward the drummer as they reload.
Beorae pulls a vial of Alchemist's Fire from her pack and lobs it directly at the drummer.
“Focus on the drummer!”
Mot begins to draw another arrow back, but as he does the drum-wielder spouts his vile incantation. The Highlanders eyes lose focus as the mammoth warrior rocks back and forth on his heels. Like a mighty cedar tree separated from its roots Mot Casns topples...
Noticing that he still has a rope attached to him that the Kobold could use against him, Nme'an rounds the corner of the pit back towards the others where he picks up and stows his shield. He then backs off from the pit pulling up the rope as he goes so as to deny the Kobold the easier way up.
Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Beorae's excellent toss and says, "I have more of those if you need them..."
Seeing Mot collapse but unable to get to him in time, the druidess sends a command to Shark, directing him to rouse the big man.
Shark pads over to the Highlander and, after a quick paw in the face, gives a sharp roar at the unresponsive lump of a man.
As the flask's content splashes over the drummer, Themp takes careful aim at him and lets another arrow sail.
Mot turns a smile upon his mother, a woman of grace and beauty. Nearly the same size and roughly the same shape as his father, the Leader of Clan Casns, she bends over to check on the boiled breakfast haggis as it simmers over the cook-fire. Motty idly scratches at his chest and is just about to say that he's hungry when his mother turns to him, smiles, and ROARS!
The Highland warriors eyes snap open and his once again clear gaze stares straight into the blue sky overhead. Remembering the strange sensation as the drummer spoke and waved his little claws about Mot realizes that the drummer did... did... something to him and is thus directly responsible for the burgeoning feeling of homesickness that is nestling deep in his hairy gut.
Lying flat on his back the brute of a man opens his mouth and lets forth a primal roar of his own, as anger and no small amount of confusion mix in his simple mind. For a full six seconds the call rings out as the Casns slowly clambers to his feet, thinking about what he wants to do to that miserable, and none-to-talented, drummer in the trench below.
Liquid fire bursts over the drummer and the warriors nearby, all of them yelping at the burns. Through the flames that lick at kobold scales, the drummer cries out again when Themp’s arrow finds its mark. Despite the chaos, all in the trench go silent for a moment after the roar of the highlander, though the drummer looks truly out of sorts.
Swift of foot, the kobold newest to the fight dodges the vines and hurries to the edge, not quick enough to escape them completely. Slowed by his armor, one kobold in scalemail is hampered by the tenacious plants.
The armored kobold free of the vines moves along the wall of the trench and whips a stone at the druidess.
The smooth bullet hits her hard in the gut. The kobold in front of him also looses the spinning stone, but at Themp.
The bleeding and burning drummer winces as he beats his drum, his other claw weaving a magic spell with an utterance.
In seconds, his wound begins to close, and his blackened scales are soothed back to their deep red color. Invigorated, he shrieks for the two slingers in front of him to attack Beorae and Themp. Continuing the lively rhythm, he steps a little closer to the unobstructed hole in the trench. The flames continue to scorch his scales.
But both slingers are still disoriented by the explosion, and their shots miss horribly.
Spotting his prey the Casns squints menacingly and starts his roar anew. Walking away from the trench he continues to scream as he deliberately counts out five paces.
Practically ripping the lance from the leather bindings that secured it to his armor, rippling muscles tense and roll as it's gripped furiously in battle-scarred hands. Finally running out of air, his lungs reinflate like a forge-masters bellows and the voice, like Highland Thunder, screams out a battle cry;
"CHARRRGEN SPEEEEEEEEER!"
With near inhuman speed the warrior launches into a sprint back towards the edge of the trench. Powerful legs pound the earth into submission as Mot Casns tells physics to shove it up it's ass and leaves the earth behind.
Nme'an moves up beside Beorae giving her access to his inventory of throwable weapons and takes aim at the drum carrying magic user only to have Mot leap back into the fray.
"Sisi tu akapanda nje ya huko..." the half-elf curses as he shifts his aim to the more heavily armored stone throwing Kobold.
What?! You're still alive?!
Surprised by the drummer's endurance, Themp shoots yet again at the mage.
As soon as the arrow's tail crosses the bow, Themp notices, on the corner of his vision, Mot making the awe-inducing leap into the pit. Completely speechless, the scoundrel freezes in place, fearful of what might happen to the highlander in these precious few moments of his fall.
Beorae takes a moment to regain her wits after getting the wind knocked out of her. Feeling out of sorts, she takes a couple steps back from the ledge. Placing a hand on her side, she channels healing energies from the wand to counter the effect of the bludgeoning rock.
She looks up, and for a brief moment it's as if the world is stopped in motion. Smoke and flame pour off the breastscales of the drummer in between beats of the kobold's sinister rhythm. Themp and Nme'an's bows thrum from loosed arrows still in flight. And there, unpredictable as it is glorious, the crazy, unstoppable Highlander sails through the air, sunlight catching on the lance as it tilts toward its target. And just as quickly as the moment began, Mot plunges back into the pit.
The point of the lance sprouts through the back of the drummer, who slumps dead before Mot lands from his leap. The rover’s boots are pierced by the spiked floor.
Simultaneously, two arrows stick between the steel armor scales of the unentangled kobold, and he reels back. One more arrow might put him down. Asserting command, he gestures to the hole where roots and vines do not grow and twist. “Votivut!”
The lesser warriors spring into action, picking their steps through the spiked floor and giving the towering highlander a wide berth. But the chargin’ spear in Mot’s hands has a wide range.
The one ordering a retreat steps in close to the wild man, trident in claw and hate in his eye.
The last two kobolds finally escape the entangling vines, and hurry to follow their comrades.
Nme'an tries to draw a bead on the Kobold near Mot. He fires and...
for
...misses as he overcompensates to avoid the Barbarian.
Mot glares at the drummer skewered on the end of his lance. As the fleeing Kobolds try to flee, the Highlander whips the weapon around like a staff and attempts to strike at a foe.
Noticing the withdrawal, Themp shoots into the cave, hoping to stop the kobold's flight.
In the same movement, the Highlander swings the lance above his head whipping it through the air as fast as his tiring muscles allow. He aims the tip at the larger, more heavily armored dragonkin and attempts to clobber him with it.
Sensing that the end of the fight is near, Beorae moves toward Themp. Once his arrow is loosed, she approaches the rogue and channels healing energies from the wand.
The highlander’s lance swipes over the armored kobold as the scaled warrior moves in. Quickly the lance becomes too unwieldy for close-quarters, not to mention the kobold still stuck on the end of it, and Mot lets it fall from his grip. Quick as lightning, his meaty hands wrap around the handle of the greatsword over his shoulder. He brings down the heavy blade, and bits of metal fly when it crashes down onto the kobold’s scalemail, cutting into the dragonkin muscle beneath.
Themp’s arrow plants directly between the escaping kobold’s shoulder blades, and the warrior falls at the entrance to the tunnel.
With a snarl, Mot’s foe jabs with his three-pointed weapon.
But the prongs catch in his chainmail shirt.
The other kobolds hurry around the towering Casns to escape through the tunnel.
The other armored kobold makes his way through the spiked ground, trident out and baring teeth at Mot.
Worried that the fleeing Kobold will seek reinforcements, Nme'an tries his best to down them before they reach the tunnel. He takes aim at the larger dragonkin that moments ago took charge and let's fly another arrow...
for
"Mot! Don't let them escape!" yells Themp as he lets yet another arrow sail through the air. In the heat of the moment, he barely notices the sudden physical freshness.