The sweet smell of tea and her direct attention snaps Themp back to reality. He smiles back at her almost as a reflex, gallantry taking over his expression as he finally scans the room he is in.
As he sips his tea, the scoundrel can't help but notice the unease among the gnomes.
Mot nods his great furry head at her as he downs the last of the chaw. "Aye lass, tha Keengs Lahk thay es. Goood fer swimmen fer mahn an treee an geh-nome too!" He stresses the hard 'gee' sound in Gnome while flashing a toothy grin at the cowering group.
The Thaleniel thief recalls that the first four were not nervous around Mot until he said something. Likewise, the rest of the gnome tribe did not run at the first sight of the highlander. The Urlghain brogue is always easy to notice. Themp wonders if these gnomes have had a bad experience with others from the Urlghain Highlands. Judging by their anxiety, this bad experience was recent.
The gnomes closest to the highlander suddenly exhale forcefully, and their tense posture suddenly relaxes. To the unobservant, they appear to be completely at ease. They regard Mot with calm, expectant eyes.
The gnomes who suddenly relaxed hold a gaze that is more resigned than calm. It is similar in tone to the attitude of the first four gnomes when they stood back to back against many vegepygmy. These gnomes are preparing to defend themselves.
The dryad chuckles. “King’s Lake? That’s a funny name!”
After a puzzled glance to her fellow gnomes, the female leader smiles up at the druidess. “We don’t have much, but we might have something that could help you help us. Is there anything you need?”
Tensed up about the gnomes' attitude towards Mot, Themp can't help but let out a quiet sigh of relief when they relax. His mind was so troubled by the prospect of conflict that he finds himself answering to the dryad before noticing who he is talking to.
"They haven't really told us how we could be of any help...", at that point, it finally hits the scoundrel who he is talking to and he can't help but straighten out on his improvised chair before continuing. "...to them and you, พระคุณของฉัน." He finishes with a respectful nod.
Then it hits him. That's exactly how the gnomes looked during the fight. Are they preparing to fight again? Here?! Wheeling on his chair, he turns his whole body toward the gnome leader.
"Is anything wrong, friend?"
Mot chuckles as he stands up and stretches above his head, shoulder blades cracking with the effort. "Weeel thar ae few thengs ah dinnae need!" The Urlghain indicates some of the small odds and ends of gear and chitin plating haphazardly strapped over his own armor. With sausage-fingers he begins to unclasp some of the buckles and leather belts.
The dryad smiles beautifully at the name from Themp, but the lady gnome leader is quick to respond to his questions. “You remember the vegepygmy, archer? They’ve taken our home. You can help us by taking it back.” In the deliberate way she is saying this, she also seems to address the gnomes fixated on the highlander. “And there are a lot of things wrong, first among them are my people’s lack of manners...” A few sharp phrases in gibbering Gnomish cause most of the tribes folk to fidget guiltily. “Sorry. Your big friend reminds us of a monster near the lake.”
But the awkward moment passes as Mot rises to stretch, and bumps his head on the ceiling again. As he lowers various things once strapped to him, the curiosity of the gnomes overtakes their caution, and in moments, they are turning over the arms and armaments, though the chitin seems to be drawing the most interest. All of the items are too big for the little folk, but they seem excited nonetheless. A few run empty handed into the smaller tunnels, and slowly drag wooden crates back to the common area.
“An archer?” Ariella looks over Themp, and notices the bow and his supply of arrows. Oddly, she seems to sniff the air in his general direction. “That bow has been away from its tree for a very long time. I can find a newer one with more spring in it, if you want to trade…”
Nme'an sips his tea and observes the goings on before him. He is, for the moment, quietly bemused that the gnomes have met another highlander and found him distasteful and dangerous, though he knows that danger may become real if they meet this person. For the moment he tries to recall whether any highlanders made up the Prince's party.
In the mean time, Nme'an finishes his tea and sets it gently aside before starting in on business.
"We thank you for your kindness, Bi Ariella. We have been in or near danger at all times these past few days so it is nice to have a chance to rest," he says. "But, as nice as rest is, the five of us have come from the south on an urgent mission. We are in search for a way to cure our king's unnatural sickness and we are on the look for a group of our warriors who we think passed this way some thirty days before us. They would have looked somewhat like me, dressed in metal armor. Our king's son was the one who led them and we are to try for his safe return."
Glancing over to the gnomes' female leader, he continues, "We think both our tasks lead us to the mage tower surrounded by a small lake to the north. We, so far, have heard warnings of evil and madness about the tower and these gnomes here who we helped fight off a group of vegepygmy, have offered us a safe way to the lake in exchange for helping reclaim their home."
"Other than perhaps a bundle of arrows for myself and healing potions for our group, what I believe we need most now is knowledge, wisdom, and understanding. Firstly, what of these vegepygmy and their violence against the gnomes and what part can we play in ending it? But mostly, what can you tell us of the stone tower and those within? And, forgiving any rudeness my questions might imply, if the tower is as dangerous place as we have been lead to believe, why have it and its masters, whomever they are, been allowed to remain to seed misery for the people of the forest?"
"คุณเป็นคนใจกว้างมากเกินไป", whispers Themp with a beaming smile at the dryad's offer.
Nme’an doesn’t recall any highlanders that traveled with the prince, but then again, Prince Titus and company left in haste and didn’t hold a ceremony to explain their sudden departure. No high-ranking Urlghain Dawnflower knights come to mind.
The dryad gestures that Themp should hand her his bow. Ariella and the gnomes listen intently to Nme’an’s words. At his last question, the gnomes look up at the dryad. Noticing all the attention, she nods with a pleasant smile. “Me, my tree-sisters, the centaurs, the nymphs, the mephits, and even the pixies bound the ancestors of these wonderful gnomes to a sacred pact. They are not allowed to enter the tower, for both the ridges in bark and the light of the stars foretold the calamity that would be brought by their innocent curiosity if they were to tamper with the magic stored within. And they have done a splendid job at keeping that promise!” She casts a smile down the gnomes, who return happy grins. She straightens with a graceful and grave tone. “But that promise was bound before we knew there would be trouble. We do not know who is in the tower, but your hearings of evil and madness are close to the truth. Only one year ago, the lights at the tower base flickered on, and slowly, the dwellers of the wood saw things that should not be seen. Things that were supposed to remain forgotten.”
“I cannot venture too far from my home, so the pixies and mephits flew to the tower to put an end to the corruption. But strong winds pushed them away. Other mephits tried to swim, but were pulled under by strong currents.” The dryad sighs sadly, and takes a sip from her own teacup. “But we, and these brave gnomes, have kept the badness from reaching the southern mountains. So at least there is that...”
The gnome leader speaks a moment after Ariella trails off. “That,” she points at the bare eastern dirt wall, entangled with roots and laden with heavy stones, “was a tunnel to our warrens. Ariella blocked it to keep the vegepygmy from following as we fled. From our home, there is a tunnel that leads to the edge of the jungle. Using that tunnel will be quicker for the feet used to flat square stones,” she grins playfully the paladin. “And to get there, you’ll need to get through the vegepygmy hunters, their chieftain, and destroy the mold that creates them. We reached the chieftain’s lair once, and learned that our weapons cannot destroy the fungus…” as she trails off, many gnomish eyes turn to the three bundles of sleeping gnomes on the tables across the room. “We lost many in the attempt, and we do not know what will kill the mold spores.”
Mots smile grows ever wider for the beautiful dryad. "Mahbe, mahbe." He nods agreeably. "Boot purrhaps yoo dinnae haev access tae ae beg enoof..." He leans towards the woman of the wood. "...sword."
The druidess smiles at the berries and feeds one to Shark while the others talk .
Beorae finally speaks up, pretending to ignore Mot's waggly eyebrows. "What have you tried for killing the mold? Fire? Ice?"
"So... you know of the history of the tower, then?" Nme'an asks Ariella, still trying to learn all he can about the dangers he and his companions are likely to soon face. "And these things that were seen... Are you speaking of knowledge or dark magic or monsters and demons and the like?"
Nme'an gives the dryad a slow, thankful nod at her descriptions of the forest's struggle against the evil in the tower. "On behalf of the Kingdom of Vyren, I thank you and your friends for your efforts. Though my people and yours are separated by distance and obstacles, it is my hope that my companions and myself will be able to demonstrate that thanks more fully in the coming days."
"I was lead to believe we were to help take back your homes, not assault an enemy stronghold," the Knight Apprentice responds with some concern after the Gnome leader speaks. "Though we are taller than you, we share the same methods of injuring enemies," he adds, building on Beorae's question. "We use swords and bows and claws and fire and some small amounts of magic. If those did not work I too am unsure what we might do that your people did not."
Nymphs are an even rarer sight than dryads, but for a different reason. It is said that their beauty is so perfect, any creature that walks and talks is stricken blind when they behold a nymph. Sometimes, the blinded are even driven mad, unable to comprehend her purity of beauty. Often claimed to be the crowning conquest of hundreds of traveling storytellers, these solitary, beautiful creatures are not cruel, and serve as guardians to the nature’s purest places.
Mephits are small humanoids with leathery wings and horned heads. The details of their appearance varies according to the elemental plane they call home.
Perhaps the best known of the fey, pixies fly by their wildly-colored gossamer wings, led by their insatiable curiosity. They speak very quickly and tend to get overexcited. Like all fey, they have a command of befuddling magic, confusing or charming their foes and eluding them. Their arrows, sprinkled with pixie dust, are rumored to deliver such magic from a distance.
The druidess has heard that some fungi are slowed by cold, or sunlight, but not really killed by it. Moreover, this fungus might not even respond to those two. There was a thatcher in Deeproot, and among his tools in his cart, sat a clay jug of strongwine, labeled “For Mold”. In her youth, she thought it to be a joke about the grief involved in mold eradication, but now she wonders if it wasn’t…
Ariella is referring to her fellow dryads as tree-sisters.
Centaurs are mythical creatures, said to have the body of a horse, and a man or woman’s torso sprouts from where the horse’s neck would be.
Nymphs are creatures of legend, the stuff of far-fetched tales. They are always creatures of perfect and terrifying beauty, as the stories go.
Mephits are little bat-people with an affinity for one of the natural elements.
“It’s true, I did see his huge sword chop a vegepygmy in half,” one of the male gnomes obliviously states. Ariella covers a grin and snickers, shaking her head at the wild man.
The dryad affirms her historical knowledge of the tower with a nod. “I was a mere sapling when it was built, but I remember. The lake was nestled in rolling, green plains, with open sky above. Men and elves and dwarves gathered to learn Ithalgol’s teachings in magic. How the mountains have grown since then…” she sighs, recalling fond memories. “The things we saw are creatures not made for this place, but I do not know where they come from. But I think you answer your own question; does dark magic not bring monsters into being?”
The gnome leader wears a frustrated expression at Beorae and Nme’an’s questions about their attack. One of the male gnomes, the one prone to joking, interjects, “I was there. I’ll tell you what happened. Twenty-six of us snuck through the jungle, since we were outnumbered, as close as we could to an opening to our captured home. Then, we had to fight our way in, and their strange click-speech raised the alarm for the rest of the vegepygmy hunters out in the forest. By the time we reached the room of mold that births these mean plantfolk, we had just a few moments to destroy the fungus patches. We didn’t have time to sit and think and experiment. Then the chieftain showed up, and we ran. I carried her,” he points to one of the invalid gnomes, “and only six others were all who escaped the attempt. We don’t know of fire or ice will hurt it. Fire sometimes hurts plants, and sometimes doesn’t.”
Russet Mold is a fungus that infests living creatures, incubating vegepygmy spawn for twenty-four hours before the little wretches come clawing out, killing the host. If a patch of russet mold senses a living creature close to it, it will release a cloud of spores to infest a new host. However, that is its only form of attack. Russet mold grows only in dark, damp places, and falls into a hibernative state when exposed to sunlight. Extremely resilient against weapons and the elements, the only known ways of purging russet mold for good is to pour on acid or alcohol, which will kill it on contact. Some powerful healing spells have also been known to kill a patch of russet mold.
“Well, don’t use arrows or pokey weapons,” adds one of the dozen gnomes.
“I still think we can teach them to love,” says another.
“What if we sang to them?!” a third excitedly pipes up.
Soon the entire crowd of gnomes start shouting every possible solution that comes to mind, each one more nonsensical than the last. The din grows louder and louder as they argue with one another.
Nme'an stands, agitated at the ruckus breaking out in response to his question. "Can we please have some calm!?" he shouts above the ruckus. But then something one of the Gnomes said earier causes him to consider. He ignores the commotion for a moment and seeks out the Gnome's leader.
"One of your people spoke to me of learning to understand the vegepygmy instead of killing them. What did he mean?" he asks, moving close enough to the leader to be heard.
"Ho HO!" Mot booms as the group starts to chatter. He smiles unabashedly at the dryads head shake before turning to face the mob of gnomes. "Ah thenk yoo mahght bee oon tae soometheng weth thah!" Methodically he begins to unpack his bagpipes while stamping out a steady beat on the wooden floor.
"Mooshroom keng dubba doo dubba die!"
"Whack foul tha daddy o!"
"Whack foul tha daddy OH!"
"Thars whiskey en tha jar!"
After belting out the chorus he inflates and strikes his pipes in one deft movement instantly filling the room with the melodious sound of screaming bagpipes.
Even while he sings and plays something niggles at the back of his mind. Something about mold...
Beorae tries to focus in the growing din of shouting and "music."
Thinking back to her mother’s lessons in her craft, the druidess remembers that alchemically distilled alcohol kills off the “little beasties” (as her mother called them) that she theorized to be the cause of infection. Beorae supposes that this living mold could be a creature between plant and “little beastie”, and strong alcohol might kill the fungus on contact. The idea is an educated guess at best, but definitely worth a try. Presently, she sees no container of alcohol in the crates dragged out by the gnomes.
“He meant that we saw that they were smart enough to use tactics, so we tried to settle their aggression peacefully with talks. After three tries, we knew it would not work. So we fight and run,” the gnome leader explains though the noise.
The gnomes cheer at the sound of the bagpipes. Even Mot's traveling companions, who have heard his abrasive music before, notice his stomps and pipes fall to together as the lively beat and melody tugs at feelings of courage and valor. The highlander is clearly making progress as a musician.
“Whiskey…” Beorae mutters to herself. When the Highlander starts singing about whiskey, it sparks a memory in the druidess’s mind. After a moment, a smile crosses her face and she snaps her fingers.
“That’s it, Mot! We need alcohol to kill the mold! Does anyone have any very strong drink?”
"Now is hardly a time for drinking, Bi Sevenstone," Nme'an loudly replies from across the room.
Many of the gnomes shake their big-haired heads at Beorae’s question. Then the male gnome who walked with Nme’an back to the great oak steps forward. “I do! I make wood alcohol! But it is back in the warren, in one of my rooms. Hopefully, we can find it before we run into the mold.”
“The last time our tribe led an assault, it was from the surface…” the gnome leader thinks out loud. “And when they hunt for us it is on the jungle floor…” She grins up at the paladin, and points to the maker of spirits. “He can guide you through the tunnels. I will lead the rest of our tribe above ground, and draw the vegepygmy out of the jungle and the warren. Then,” she slowly claps her hands once, motioning the tactic, “we catch them in the middle.”
"I'm very glad you all have come," smiles Ariella. "It is good to see hope in these fine folk again."
Mot pauses his revelry for a quick moment beside the dryad. "Aye, boot hope es nae tha oonly theng ah caen poot en people, lass!" With a knowing grin and a shuffling hop, so as not to hit his head again, the wild man launches back into it. Singing and dancing all across the room. Over his shoulder he shouts to Beorae, "Aye, wea dooo need soometheng to dreenk!"
The dryad maintains a calm, polite expression toward Mot’s comment. The lighting is too dim for the men to notice, but the observant among the half-elves and gnomes see the pale blossoms in her hair tinge slightly pink.
Olp shakes his head at the highlander’s demand for drink.
Themp graciously sets the bow down on the stool he was sitting, gesturing the dryad to it is hers to take. Not a second passes after he recovers from his deep, offering bow, the whole room explodes into chaos and chants the street rat can't help but find uplifted by.
"I think this is the perfect time for drinking!" laughs off Themp as his feet join in the fun. "Kill the mold with it, you say, Red? What better strategy than to fill ourselves with what kills the mold, then, dearest knight?"
"Alcohol will kill the mold?" Nme'an asks, looking to Beorae for confirmation. "If so, then perhaps we have our answer. Ariella, if you could please clear the way while we ready ourselves?"
Ariella picks up the heirloom bow from Themp’s seat, flashing a smile to the scoundrel. Muttering a strange language to the ceiling, two arms-length roots suddenly sprout from the dirt overhead. She reaches up and touches the one of the roots with the unstrung bow, and the root coils around it and pulls the bow into the brown soil above. The remaining root she takes hold of, and gently tugs it free as one picks an apple from a tree.
Carefully bending the length of root into an arch, the dryad sings softly to it in a tongue not made for the mouths of men, elves, or gnomes. The melody is soothing and elusive. Her hands slowly work the dirt-covered wood, as a potter’s palms work clay. After a few moments, she pauses in her song to answer the paladin’s request.
The earth begins to tremble at the casual wave of her hand, and as a few dirt clods fall from the ceiling, the bare side of the eastern wall begins to move. Thick roots wrap around the large stones and pull them aside, and thinner roots act as a mesh and pull away the dark brown dirt. As a black tunnel widens, many of the gnomes scatter to the smaller holes, though the first four met by the Thaleniel champions stand firm and hold up their weapons.
In moments, the deep rumbling fades, and a large gaping tunnel leads into silent darkness. The gnomes emerge with wooden staves in their hands, their eyes trained on anything that might step out of the black. Presently, nothing does. “Home is about a mile that way,” says the tribal leader, pointing down the newly-formed tunnel. She turns and speaks over the rest of the gnomes in their own tongue, gesturing to the tall folk and then the large passageway. Many of them nod.
As the female gnome speaks, Ariella turns to Themp. “Making a new bow will take me some time. Taking time to do things right is best. If you are in a hurry, it will not be ready. The sun may be set before I am finished.” She holds out a wooden hand. “Pull my arm with the hand you pull the bowstring.”
After outlining the strategy in the gnomish tongue, the gnome leader turns to Nme’an and company. “Ready when you are, Nmeyan.” While many gnomes still move to the music blaring from the highlander, most seem antsy to get the attack underway.
"One moment," Nme'an tells the Gnomes. He threads his way carefully through their ranks ending up beside Themp. The rogue's eyes are wide as he looks up with a mixture of curiosity and horror as his bow is confiscated from him, or they are until Nme'an speaks.
"I have no doubt a bow made by a dryad will be fine indeed and well worth waiting for," the Knight Apprentice says to Themp while giving a polite half-nod to Ariella, "but until your new bow is ready you may use this one," he unslings his captured magic bow from its resting place on his armor and offers it to Themp. "It is sturdy, surprisingly accurate, and has no odd qualities as you feared it might," Nme'an comments.
Ariella watches Nme’an’s offer to Themp, and quietly sniffs the air. “I am using magic to make this bow, but it will fade once I am finished. If you want a bow as magical as that one,” she points to the bow now in Themp’s possession, “the process will need more valuable materials for the magic to stick.” She smiles as she continues hold out her arm toward the thief.
Hesitantly, Themp complies and slowly pulls the dryad's hand. Astonished by its sturdiness, he keeps pulling until he is using all his strength.
Ariella’s hand remains firm until she has an estimation of the thief’s strength. “Easy, I’m going to let go…” she warns, slowly releasing Themp’s hand. She promptly turns her attention to the root in her hands, and resumes her soft singing.
The gnome leader approaches Nme’an, and holds up a small horn, that looks to be made from a predator’s tusk or fang. “I will blow this when we join battle with the vegepygmy. It will draw more of them to us, but it will also signal you to root out the mold. When you are done, meet us on the surface, where the fighting will be fierce.” She puts the horn to her mouth and gives a small toot to show what to listen for.
Many of the gnomes now spar to the beat of Mot’s blaring music, waiting for their leader to take them topside.
“Wait, so… do we have any strong alcohol? What are we going to kill the mold with?” Beorae asks. “And we’re going to need some light…” she says, picking up a stone from the floor, making it glow with magic.
“Strong enough to blind you!” smiles one of the male gnomes, pointing down the big dark tunnel. “It’s back in the home. I’ll have to show you where I store it.”
"Well, okay! First to the alcohol, then to the mold." Beorae calls Shark to her side and moves to the edge of the tunnel entrance. "Let's do this."
With one final blast on his pipes Mot roars out in agreement! "AYE! FERST TAE THA AHLCAHOOL!" Deftly pirouetting, he stows his pipes in one smooth motion ending in a strong pose, flexing for all to see.
Moving back to his companions he stops by the dryad one last time before they set out.
"Ah woold, tha Ah had ae wae ta thahnk yee,"
"Foor yoor genroosety o' puure semplecety,"
"Ef nae moore thahn ae wee floower,"
"Ef oonly twer wheth-ehn mae poower!"
The big man smiles largely, holding out an empty hand to her as if offering a gift and nearly falls over in shock when a soft amber glow ensconces his meaty palm. The energy quickly dissipates to reveal none other than a single rose!
...a rather ugly and poorly shaped rose, as if hacked from a piece of wood, or perhaps made from clay like a toddler. But undeniably a rose nonetheless! Ever the opportunist, Mot quickly recovers and continues to offer the gift as if he meant to all along. But a quick eye would notice the swift glance of appreciation towards the heavens. Where presumably, Cayden Cailean resides.
"Well, thanks, paladin. I will try to make the most of your offer." Themp accepts with a curt, grateful nod.
"เราจะเป็นอิสระที่บ้านของคุณอีกครั้งเกรซของฉัน" he says, addressing the beautiful dryad.
"Say, if you stay between me and the plant creatures, I'll do my best not to hit you. What do you say?" the scoundrel can't help but play at Nme'an as he slings the bow and moves beside Beorae at the threshold.
“Oh...” Ariella smiles sweetly as she takes the crudely crafted rose. Grimacing for a second, she pinches off a strand of blossoms from her head, and drapes the flowers into Mot’s meaty calloused palm. She tucks the unshapely gift into her own hair. “Thank you,” she grins.
She nods respectfully at Themp’s promise. “Taking in the gnomes was no trouble, but it will be nice not have to maintain a constant barrier for them. I will keep this tunnel open after you succeed against the vegepygmy.”
The roots that led down into the common room disentangle, and the gnome tribe streams up the path and onto the jungle floor with cheers and whoops. As the passage closes behind them, the tall folk hear the tribal leader call back, “Listen for the horn!”
The Thaleniel champions follow their gnome guide into the dark passage, their steps lit by the light in Sevenstone’s hand. The earthen walls are dark, soft, and damp, quieting their moments as they creep through the winding corridor. After about twenty minutes, the maker of wood alcohol shushes the group and holds up a hand.
“We are very close. Just around this bend is are the commons of our warren. The way to my lab and alcohol is across the open area, then to the right. I do not know where in our home these vegepygmy are, so be quiet, be careful.”
Olp breaks his silence. “I will sneak up and look. I need no light to see.”
Mot follows after the group, tucking the strand of flowers in the birds-nest mess that is his own hair. His grin hardens somewhat as his mind settles into searching...
...and destroying.
Unslinging his greatsword, the Casns warrior takes quick quiet steps into the underground.
Without a word, Beorae reaches a hand out to Mot and the light in the cavern winks out briefly as she casts her Light spell on the Highlander himself.
Setting down the now-dark rock, the druidess reaches into her bag and pulls out her two vials of Alchemists Fire, putting them in her pockets for quick access. Then, quietly, she rubs the Pearl of Power between the fingers of her left hand, focusing on her Entangle spell for a few moments as she does so.
She gives a brief nod to the others to let them know she's ready.
Nme'an readies his sword and shield, the former of which begins to itself shed light from its blade, then nods for the Gnome to scout forward.
As Mot yet again lights up, Themp dresses the elven cloak up and draws his borrowed bow.
The barbarian’s movements are quiet, though his glowing form offsets his stealthy efforts. All but Nme’an and the grey tiger notice a distant clicking-speak, dampened by the soft earth walls. Olp secures his longspear to the back of his armor, and hefts a one-handed spear taken from his first tangle with the vegepygmy.
The gnome hangs back with the others as the only deepsighted creature among them stalks forward into the black.
A moment later, Olp treads carefully back to the well-lit group. He does not speak until he is close enough to whisper. “I saw three plant people. But there are many holes leading away so there could be more. And mold grows thick on the walls of the big room. Bringing light and loud armor will give us away. Shall I try to sneak to the…” he turns a questioning look to the gnome, “opening on the right, across the big room?”
The maker of spirits nods, regarding the kobold with an appreciative look, “After the far right opening, turn right, then left. Look for stoppered gourds about this big.” His little hands make a round shape about the size of an apple.
Olp commits the directions to memory, but raises his yellow draconic eyes to the tall folk for a decision.
"I don't like the idea of Olp going in by himself..." Beorae whispers. Wish I had a spell for seeing in the darkness! "But we also don't want to attract too much attention. Or... what if we made a distraction while Olp gets the alcohol?"
Olp shakes his head. "Big room is not big enough. If they see you, they will see me."
"Unless they chased you down one of the smaller tunnels, and then I sneak through."
"Go then. We will remain hidden here. If you need help call out and I will be there," Nme'an says.
"Can you see well in this darkness, dragonkin? I would offer to accompany you, but I can't even see you..." whispers Themp at Olp, who is just outside the light.
“Very well. At least, take this spell,” Beorae says. She reaches out with her long arm and casts Guidance on the small dragonkin.
The kobold nods his thanks to the Sevenstone, and then vanishes into the dark, around the corner.
The next few moments pass quietly.
Sharper ears pick up sounds of what could be muffled combat: sudden steps on soft earth, sharp breaths, and the scrape of leather against wood.
The druidess easily picks up the sounds and her eyes flash to Nme’an and Themp with worried urgency. “Hear that?,” she whispers.