"You what's interesting? It's almost as if she knew you weren't going to do anything even when toying with you. She's lucky you were the one to find her. Mot would've..."
Suddenly, Themp stops talking, senses alert, concentrating on the inside of the tower.
"Hang on. I thought I heard something."
Beorae's cry for help sets Themp in a wild run.
"They're in trouble!" he shouts back at Nme'an, running at full sprint.
Nme'an follows as quickly as he can.
Mot grips his pipes all the tighter, laughing to himself at Beorae's concern. Had they not encountered no opposition inside the tower? He doesn't say anything, but a smile plays across his face as he himself plays a bright, quick tune.
So sure he is of their safety it takes him a moment to recognize the attacker in the doorway before him. Even as the bolt from their crossbow comes closer than the big Urlghain generally likes such things, he doesn't seem to understand. It's only when the blade swishes towards him that his animal instincts kick in, the biting sting of the wound fully pulls him into the fight. The bright tune squeals into a horrid shriek that itself breaks into a roar of pain as the warrior reacts to the blow.
Skin glowing from the druids spell, Mot winces as he feels the strength drain out of him. Nevertheless he raises his set of pipes high above his head and with a roar brings them down, attempting to clobber the new foe before him.
Olp blinks in surprise, and suddenly the rogue is gone.
Themp flies down the long corridor of the first hallway, reaching the corner just as he hears Nme’an’s heavy armor clank into action. The further he goes from the open doors, however, the stone walls grow darker and darker. The scoundrel remembers that this part of the tower is unlit, and has things he might bump into or trip over.
---------------------------
The grey man in the doorway seems to blend in with the shadows in the room and hallway. Mot’s pipes come down, but the unlight tricks his eyes and the instrument misses the assailant. It is not until Beorae’s hand ignites that some of the shadows are banished. The handful of fire blasts the gaunt creature in the shoulder.
Soft footfalls on stone steps and the clinking of chains echo out from the large, darkened room, followed by an unearthly chanting.
The grey man that is in the dining hall is summoning a creature!
The burnt torturer tumbles from the doorway into the hall, attempting to dodge any attacks while doing so, but his momentum is hindered when he bumps into the open door. He still manages to complete the maneuver and stands before Beorae, with her friends behind her.
In a defensive crouch, he thrusts a short sword at her.
The druidess feels the cold metal gouge her leg as the blade comes away bloody.
Mot still feels the dark substance from the creature's weapon course through his burly form.
"Mot, the one behind you is trying to summon a creature!"
As the gray figure slips away toward Beorae, Shark snaps at the man's leg, following in hot pursuit.
Surprised by the sudden rush, Beorae swings at the creature with her flaming hand as he slides past her.
She takes a step backward from the man, flinging another firebolt as she does so.
The tiger slides past Mot and Beorae's legs and jumps at his target, trying to pin him to the ground.
"Quick!" Olp says as he scampers down the dark hallway.
---------------------------
The man in black nearly takes a handful of fire to the face, but twists and suffers a burn to the shoulder instead.
After delivering a stab to the druidess, the grey creature dodges a flying fireball and evades the tiger's pinning move. He brings down the point of his long knife for Shark's trouble.
As Themp dashes inside, he realizes he'll have to run by instinct and wit alone. The corridors are pitch black.
Sliding his hand on the walls as he sprints, he does his best to remember the layout of the floors, a trick he quickly learned in the moonless nights on the streets as a kid.
It seems the trick is working. So far, the city boy hasn't slammed into any walls.
The highlander tries to whack the assailant again with his pipes but the shadowy creature is too quick.
With a battle in full swing, his eyes narrow at Beorae’s warning. He turns and peers into the dining hall where he can hear the foul chanting, but for the darkness he cannot see the summoner. He cautiously ventures further into the room, and not until he is near a table, his light spills over a startling visage. Another gaunt and grey skinned man focuses on an incantation, armed with a wickedly spiked length of chain. Garbed in black, this shadowy creature has parts of pale skin exposed and pierced with large, painful-looking metal hooks. The hooks join together to suspend the front half of a humanoid skull over the menacing summoner’s chest. From the eye sockets of the bone face dangle short lengths of chains.
The macabre chest piece worn by this twisted creature is the unholy symbol of Zon Kuthon, the Midnight Lord. Envy, darkness, pain, and loss are his domains. His followers will inflict self harm, and seek the injury of others, in his name, and they are often found in dark and deep corners of the world.
Sneering at the shadowy summoner, the highlander growls, “Noo soomahnin’ yer animals heer…”
Rearing back with his pipes, Mot attempts to smack the grey man, to interrupt the incantation.
The pipes make contact with dark cloth, and muffled chainmail jingles faintly from the strike. The grey man casting a spell continues uninterrupted.
Nme'an continues to head back towards the others at full speed. As he enters the darkness he lights his sword.
The burnt attacker spins away out of Shark’s reach, retreating to the shadows down the hallway.
At the moment, the grey chanter with the grotesque chest piece grins up at the big hairy man, his incantation complete. Behind the highlander, chittering clicks sound the many footfalls of an enormous, bristling creeper stalking out from the darkness. It is the shape of a spider, but there is something wrong with this eight-legged creature. Six eyes glow dimly an unnatural yellow, and blood-red sigils in some hellish language trace over the chitin shell of this summoned arachnid.
If this is more of a spider than a monstrosity, defenders ought to watch out for a venomous bite, and the ability to shoot strands of sticky web. Spiders have a special sense that detects footfalls within sixty feet, often used to hunt their prey. This sensitivity also makes it very difficult to sneak up on a spider.
However, this spider seems to be tainted by something else, something more magical than a mundane web-dancer.
The giant spider arches its spinnerets at its nearest foe: Mot Casns.
Webbing shoots out from the bulbous abdomen, below its underside, covering the highlander in strands upon strands of white sticky string. Mot finds his arms, legs, and torso stuck and difficult to move.
The skull-wearer lets out a raspy laugh, and circles his spiked chain once, twice over his head. On the third time around, the dark eye sockets of the chest piece pulse a black-purple light, and the energy flows out through the arms and up the dull iron chains. He whips the cruel weapon down onto the entangled musician.
But the swing is made on poor footing, and the dark purple glowing chain clashes against the stone floor. The grey skinned mage bares his teeth in menace at the Casns.
Nme'an continue running.
Racing in complete darkness, Themp keeps pushing for his friends, using every trick he knows and conjuring any detail he can remember of the place.
Alas, the darkness is too much. He misremembers a particular corner and bumps into a wall, throwing his balance far too wide. In very few strides, the rogue is sprawled on the ground. As soon as he catches his breath, though, he springs right back to his feet.
Beorae calls out, uncertain if her companions heard her, or if the darkness has also muffled her cries for help. She is consciously aware of the sound of her own heart thumping in her ears, racing with sheer terror. "Mot! Come this way! Now!," she yells. The druidess starts to back down the hallway away from the huge spider, but then stops. Spider! "Shark, stay with me, buddy." Beorae then begins a summoning chant of her own.
The tiger growls, ready to attack anything that approaches.
for
The highlander feels himself weakening from the grey assassin’s poison. His great hairy maw lets out a mighty roar as he strains against the webbing wrapped around his large form. With tremendous effort, the white strands snap and tear away and Mot Casns breaks free.
After a defiant look to the grey man with the wicked chain, the big man tries to move back closer to Beorae, putting himself between the unearthly spider and his friends.
This is no ordinary spider. It bears the markings of a lurker from lesser planes of the Abyss, and is more resistant to magic, fire, and the cold. Such a Fiendish creature can only be summoned by those evil of heart and purpose.
“The she-elf summons!” hisses the grey man that brought the terrible arachnid. “Stop her!”
The eight-legged freak throws fanged pincers at the highlander.
The venomous fangs scratch harmlessly over Mot’s silvery breastplate.
Twak!
Beorae feels a sudden stab! Looking down, small black bolt fletching sprouts from her side. The pain from the injury makes it extremely difficult for her to concentrate on the completion of her spell.
The grey man wearing the skull over his chest advances, stopping just out of reach of the highlander. He utters an unholy prayer and calls to the three of them: “You will die here, and the world will forget you!”
Mot, Beorae, and Shark feel fear and doubt sink into their hearts. Can they shake the ominous feeling?
,
Soft footsteps move away from the sound of the fired crossbow, deeper into the shadows.
Picking himself up in no time, Themp jogs his memory harder and sets off again.
The scoundrel quickly reaches the stairwell. In well timed springs, he jumps the flights and hears the commotion on his left. Choosing a stealthy approach, he goes right, towards the darkness.
At the foreboding words of the grey man, Mot’s clear blue eyes widen with fear. But a moment later, the fear hardens into resolve as the Casns recalls the heartening sound of pipes over highland battlefields back home. He throw back a scathing insult. “Yer Mednaht Gawd is ...duuumb!”
His lips press down on the mouthpiece and a steady hum is followed by a squealing, rousing tune. The upbeat music lightens his heart and the hearts of his companions. His stomping boots as drums on the stone floor, the highlander marches slightly backward, so that his broad shoulders block the spider and the grey creature from reaching the druidess or her wee kitty.
Beorae shrieks out in pain, completely losing the spell as her hand dives toward the bolt sticking out of her side. The druidess braces herself against the wall. She yanks the bolt out, a wave of dizziness washes over her and her vision clouds as tears involuntarily well up in her eyes. Her bloodied hand, still wreathed in flame, presses down on the wound and she channels healing energy to stop the bleeding.
"Mot... we need the others..." Beorae moves down the hall back toward where the bolt came from. She sends Shark ahead to clear the path.
Olp’s scaly feet pad up the stairs, not far behind the city-born scoundrel.
A sound, though very distant, he had not heard since the nights down on the docks of Thaleniel -the slap of the small wet feet of street urchins on cobblestone. Themp hears the faint noise nearly drowned out by the clamor of Nme’an’s armor, one level below. With the kobold on Themp’s heels, the thief realizes: the Dawnflower Knight is not alone.
As the roguish young man chooses his direction, the top of the opposite stairway illuminates, casting yellow firelight on a gaunt, tall figure. With pale grey skin, dark clothing, a pair of all-black eyes eerily watch Themp across the corridor. The figure stands like a man, but unlike any sort of race known in Vyren. The grey man shifts to avoid Shark’s snapping teeth.
The little crossbow drops from the black gloved hand, and the open palm flashes out toward Shark’s face.
The big grey cat’s amber eyes narrow at the hand, and his teeth bare to bite it off. The tiger suddenly feels an unexpected stab in the chest from below!
The grey assassin’s blade leaves a bloody gouge in Shark’s underbelly between the beast's front legs.
As the shadowy summoner with the deathly chest piece utters another prayer, the strange spider attacks the towering, musical highlander.
The summoned beast’s fangs manage to nip the highlander’s leg. Mot scoffs at the attack, but suddenly begins to feel the effects of the spider bite.
At Beorae’s cry, Mot twists back in time to see her pull the bloody bolt from her side.
“Hup!” Recklessly turning his back to his foes, the big man’s long strides reach the druidess. For all his haste, his big meaty hand gently touches her wound. “Ah gotcha lassie. Teh good gawds are wotchin’ over us…” Mot frowns. His palm is covered in her blood and the injury did not mend.
“DO ET! HEAL HER!” he shouts at his hand, and amber energy swirls around his digits.
He presses the warm glow to Beorae’s wound, and she feels some of the pain subside.
“Ha!” Mot holds up his hand, looking very proud of himself. Sucking air to fill his large chest, he plays his battle tune with vigor.
Shark roars and instantly bites back at the grey man.
Beorae draws the wand from her pocket and tries to heal her wounds again.
She breaths deeply as she feels her vigor return. She eyes the rogue and listens to the caster’s new spell, trying to determine what he’s doing.
”Mot, kill this one… we need to get downstairs.”
Caught by surprise by the eerie figure, Themp can't help but instinctively shoot at it.
While his aim is somewhat true, the surprise shot fails to carry much force.
Olp rushes up the stairs, raising his spear up at the grey man.
But as he closes in, the poisoner shifts a leg and avoids the puncture.
Mot turns his back to run to Beorae’s aid, and the spider’s fangs snap at him as he goes, but the fiendish monster misses.
Shark’s teeth sink into the leg of his attacker. As the tall grey man avoids tiger claws, Themp’s arrow pierces his shoulder.
Nme’an hustles as best he can in his cumbersome full suit of armor.
The spellcaster is not using the druidic language to cast spells, and she cannot identify the spell he casts. But she gets the sense that the source of his power is not arcane. He might be channeling the might of a deity, and by the spells she has observed so far, that deity does not seem like a very nice one.
The gaunt grey man, cornered and wounded, tries to escape Shark by skirting around the little dragonkin while maintaining his defense against the tiger and the incoming Casns.
Themp sees his target descend the stairs, running in his direction, joining the shadows near where the thief stands. Does he run downstairs, or straight at the archer?
The unseen creature of shadows collides into the scoundrel, and shoulders his way further up the darkened stairs.
Pressing himself to the wall, Themp feels the grey creature brush past, further into the darkness up the stairs.
The red-runic spider arches its abdomen to squirt another stream of white webbing at its oversized prey, and then gives pursuit.
Once again, the highlander is coated and restricted in sticky strands of web.
A rasping voice calls out from the dining hall, now covered in darkness.
“You will not kill him, Mot. Allow me to show you true enlightenment. Approach.”
The enemy who just pushed past Themp tried to make it sound like he moved to the top of the stairs. But in truth, he stands silent, within arm’s reach of the city-born!
Mot whips his head around in an open snarl but feels his feet moving of their own accord, at least as much as the sticky webbing allows. Shock and then anger play over his open features as the Highlander wades into the hall, but with a defiant, and fairly rude, gesture he continues playing the melody as best he can even as he moves like an automaton, but as he begins, his fingers do not obey him and he is forced to silence.
Realizing the strange figure will try to rush past him, Themp does his best to guess where he'll be in the total darkness to try and block his path.
"Mot? Mot!"
Uncertain what to do about the Urlghain, Beorae and Shark chase after their foe. While they round the corner, Beorae uses her wand to channel healing energy into her companion.
As they round the corner, the light from Beorae's hand illuminates the stairs, where she sees the grey man standing right behind Themp. "Behind you!" As she shouts, Shark races past the two and tries to pincer the man by taking the high ground.
"Mot's in trouble up there."
Nme'an continues closer.
Mot pays the spider no mind, and the arachnid bites at him for his trouble.
Themp makes a desperate grab for the creature’s legs as he pushes past, but his hand close around nothing in the dark. He suddenly feels the instinct to twist to his side!
Lucky that he did, too! The stab into his shoulder might have hit his heart! He hears the assassin pad further up the stairs.
Beorae and Shark give chase, illuminating the assassin to be within arm’s reach of the thief! In no time, the big grey cat squeezes up the staircase, and the black-garbed creature stabs at him as he passes.
Shark knows now to watch for the blade, and dodges it as he twists to stand higher on the stair.
“I will help big man!” Olp answers Beorae. The kobold rounds the corner and sprints down the hallway shield first. He skids to a stop at the sight of the spider bigger than he. Golden reptilian eyes narrow as he watches Mot trudging toward the grey man that carries a brutal-looking chain. Olp cannot reach the highlander in time to defend him. His thin, red-scaled frame leans back with his spear, and hurls it at the fiend with the skull chest piece. The throw was far, and he worried it would strike friend rather than foe.
The weapon clatters off the wall and onto the stone floor. With a muttered curse, kobold warrior tucks in behind his round wooden shield, prepared to defend against the giant spider.
Shark’s bite closes on black cloth, but does not pierce the jingling chainmail hidden underneath.
The knife-wielder lowers to a defensive crouch, and whips his blade out at the tiger in his way.
“Hassith!” the burnt assassin seethes loudly.
With a wicked grin, the dark summoner’s skull ornament pulses again with blackish-purple light. He heaves his spiked chain back, over the shoulder, and down onto the highlander, the dull iron weapon leaving a faint violet smoke trail in its path.
"The blessing of Zon-Kuthon is pain."
The spiked links crash onto Mot’s web-entangled form, and the Urlghain feels a wave of darkness pass through his body. Not a sickness, not a poison, this feeling he could only be described as death. The moment passes, the Casns still lives, but he feels weakened by the blow. The grey creature steps back, jingling his chain as a taunt to the highlander. "Will you bless me in return, Mot?"
The spider lunges at Olp, but the kobold buffets the strike away with his shield. He hears skittering and chittering from the foul beast and chances a peek from behind his shield to see that the big spider is no longer there.
Nme’an marches up the stairs, his companions Beorae and Themp in sight. The edge of the light from his sword reaches their feet.
Suddenly, the Knight Lieutenant feels one of his greaves pulled back, toward the bottom of the staircase. Before he can react, the heavily armored paladin crashes loudly to the ground. Looking behind him, he sees the goblin Gixard standing proudly at the foot of the steps. In one hand, his length of vine uncoiled and twitching, and in the other, a short heavy chopping blade. His green goblin feet are wet and muddy.
“Stand fast, knight! Your end is near. Face it with pride!”
Nme'an says a word of prayer for himself and his allies as he rises to his feat and prepares to face the goblin.
"I will keep this one from you," Nme'an tells his companions.
The sting of the blade still burning on his shoulder, Themp lets the bow drop to the ground. In one swift motion, he draws his dagger stabs the assassin.
Mot feels the full brunt of the lash as the enchanted weapon strikes true. Pain blossoms in violent, angry lines across his back and he hisses through clenched teeth. Deep red emotion bubbles up behind his eyes, but his muscles refuse to give way to the call of his animal mind. For the first time the Highlander feels the full weight of his exhaustion, the day's exploits catching up to the warrior. He struggles against the ties of webbing that cover his hulking, armored form, but they too refuse to release their hold on him.
He stands there a moment, breath coming like a ragged bellows. Sweat drips from his matted locks of unkempt hair and a tongue thick with the need for drink flicks out over chapped lips. For a moment, the barbaric Casns thinks anger has left him, however new wellsprings of fiery fury form at the jeering of the servant of Zon-Kuthon. His body might be failing him, but the second son of The Casns of Urlghain still has a spirit of un-cut granite!
Even as weakened arms strain against the hold of the spiders webbing, Mot roars in defiance at the chain wielding foe: "THA JOEY OOF CADEEN CALEEN ES SOOOOOOOOOONG!" Spittle flies towards his enemy as the sound reverberates through the hall, the full force of Mot's anger behind the declaration.
With Themp on the opposite side, Shark lunges at the gray man again with a vicious snarl.
Beorae feels the flames in her hand beginning to wane. I need light… In one swift movement, the druidess drops both her wand and shield, and draws the torch from her pack. She moves down to the bottom of the stairs and rounds the corner to see Nme'an on the ground and the goblin behind him, holding a vine. She turns on Gixxard with a flourish of her fiery hand and defiantly shouts, "เจริญ".
Olp closes the distance and tumbles between hairy Urlghain legs to stand between Mot and the dark magician. He lifts his shield against any incoming attack, covering himself and any threat to Mot’s knees and feet.
However, the skull-wearing worshipper of Zon-Kuthon stands agape at the battlecry of the Casns. A pale, scarred hand touches his mangled ear, and the grey creature’s eyes narrow in realization: the mighty roar of Mot Casns has momentarily deafened him.
The cornered grey assassin is focused more on saving his own hide than inflicting harm, and deftly dodges Themp’s dagger, and Shark’s teeth and claws.
Down the stairs, Gixard sneers as the paladin turns to face him. But quickly that look changes to confusion as the vine in his hand springs to life! Coiling up his arm, the vine begins to sprout small tendrils, and the goblin shakes his arm wildly to free himself of the treacherous weapon.
The druidic magic is tenacious and lively, and in a moment the proud little warrior strains uselessly against the bonds of the writhing green vine.
Spinning away from Themp’s knife, the trapped grey man tries to tumble past Shark and free himself to the hallway at the top of the steps. The big cat sees an opening as the assassin departs!
The footfalls of the fleeing grey man fade to silence.
Those with sharp ears can hear that the grey man has nearly reached the end of the hall, near the dining area.
The deafened grey man pauses, rubbing one ear while eyeing the Casns in malice. The hateful gaze drops down to Olp as he comes tumbling through, and with silent bared teeth, the sado-masochist reaches forward with a pallor hand toward the small warrior.
The kobold jerks away from the hand and keeps the round shield between himself and the summoner. Snarling, the skull-wearer slinks away back into the dark.
Mot gets the sense that the deafened grey man is hiding just on the other side of the extinguished hearth.
Gixard wriggles himself free of the vine, but does not yet let go. He snaps it in the air in an attempt to subdue it, and then whips it toward Nme’an!
The grasping vine is very uncooperative, but the heir to the Bogtoe tribe manages a trail of loops and waves with his cord-like weapon. Nme’an’s sword gets twisted from his grip, and as the knight adjusts his shield accordingly, the vine snaps that from his hand too. The glowing longsword and the half-elf’s trusty shield clatter to the ground.
“What now, Sir Knight! Admit it, I am better than you!”
Gixard regards the Dawnflower knight with a haughty expression, raising the point of his short chopping blade at Nme’an. The twitching vine in his hand begins to creep back up his arm, and with a graceful, effortless flourish, the goblin avoids the vine’s attempts to ensnare him.
Shark snaps at the retreating coward.
"Kila mtu! Kujikusanya chini ya ngazi!" Nme'an calls out in Elven while he draws his warhammer and advances on the Goblin.
The goblin again struggles with his impromptu whip and only just has time to look up before...
for
...catching a teeth shattering hit to the face.
"When I duel someone we fight to first blood," the Knight says. "Do you surrender?"
"Everyone! Regroup down the stairs!"
Glad the strange assailant is gone, Themp hastily picks up his bow form the ground as he sheathes the blade. There are still dangers below to be dealt with, not to mention the assassin could come back any time.
Speaking of which...
"Red...?" he draws Beorae's attention "Where's Mot?"
Olp peers into the dark after the grey man, and then turns to look up the highlander. With his free hand, he pulls at the stretchy webbing, trying to help Mot break free.
Most of the white strands are out of his reach, and he shrugs, realizing his help was not much use.
"Leave him. Follow me back to the others. You need to go back. Remember the big one, Craig? We stronger together."
Tugging at the edge of Mot's rubbery vest that coats his chainmail, the kobold hurries down the corridor, back toward the voice of Nme'an.
Beorae's jaw clenches when the goblin shrugs off the vine. Knowing that the grey man has retreated, she calls on her companion. "Shark, attack!" Instantly, the tiger tears around the corner at Gixard.
Themp's question about Mot makes her heart stop for a moment. "I… I don't know. He was up in the hallway when Shark and I came down here, but then he started acting strangely."
The druidess stows her healing wand, but leaves the shield for the moment. She finds the pearl in her pocket and rolls it around between her fingers, concentrating on her Faerie Fire spell. As she does so, she feels the divine magic of nature emanate from the small pearl back into her hand.
"The darkness up there is going to be a problem. We'll need as much light as we can get."
Mot's wild look rips itself from foe to Olp and with a snarl he strains once more against his bonds.
But the webbing proves too strong for him in his weakened state. Teeth bared in helpless fury he turns and follows his diminutive companion back down the hall as best he can.
The goblin’s bloodied face sneers up at the paladin. He spits a tooth that tinks off Nme’an’s steel full plate. “I have not yet begun!”
Before he can retaliate, a large, grey tiger bounds up to his side and chomps down onto his armored shoulder.
Indistinct incantations echo down the corridor, coming from the dining hall.
Gixard curses in his native tongue and springs between the knight and the tiger, landing a few steps higher. The vine in one green hand curls and twists on its own. “Is this how you duel, Sir Knight? Two against one?!”
His short chopping blade flashes out to find a gap in the half-elf’s armor.
But the sharp, angled knife clangs harmlessly against the armor that protects Nme’an’s knee.
The entangling vine tries to coil up the goblin’s arm and shoulder.
This time, the bog-born creature is unable to escape the moving vine as it tightens around his body.
"If you had wanted a proper duel..." Nme'an replies as he moves to flank the Goblin. "...you could have said so and saved me the trip down and up these stairs!" He grips his warhammer with two hands and swings...
for
"And if you did not want a proper fight, you could have left on the boat."
Flanking with Nme'an, Shark bares his teeth and swats at the goblin with both sets of claws before lunging in with his sharp teeth.
Beorae puts her hand on Themp's shoulder and casts Light on the rogue. "There. He shouldn't be able to get too close without you seeing him first. I can turn it off if you want." The druidess then picks up and stows her shield.
When Themp’s form begins to glow, the light shining from Mot’s body fades away.
“Thanks, Red. That’ll keep that Fetchling from sneaking back unseen. Didn’t think they were real till just now; thought they were the stuff of ghost stories. From a world of darkness and cold, as the stories go. Eesh,” Themp shudders. “Mean and tricky. They can disguise themselves like normal people, when they want to, and the darkness is their friend. I'll watch your back.”
The thief casts a tempted look at the discarded crossbow left by the shadowy creature. He takes a few step towards it, and then stops and presses his back to the wall. Before he knows it, an arrow is in his hand, pulling against the bowstring. He leans around the corner and aims along the wall, down the stairs.
Avoiding the druid and knight is now easy work for the archer, and he releases the arrow when he sees an opening. The bow hums the Sylvan word for swift in the scoundrel’s ear, and he hopes the shot takes the goblin by surprise.
In the dark, Mot hears Olp's scratchy voice. "This way, big man."
Themp notices the dragonkin step out of the darkness. He nods his scaly red snout toward the corridor from which he came.
"I see neither grey man this way, be careful of other side. Big spider is gone."