"Ah-ha!" Sajeek exclaims happily as a flash of lightning reveils the keg. He had gone to gather up wooden debris, rope and help drag as much of the sail as he could. The movement and labor helped to fight off some of the chill, but Sajeek knew that he was almost a dead vah shir standing.
Gathering up the two oars, Sajeek adds them to the pile of debris, rope and sail. He looks over at the grouping of others nearby as the get the wounded elf taken care of as best as they can.
"I noticed a keg at the shorline, I think it might be filled with booze. Aside from getting drunk, it might be useful for starting a fire. If we can get it up and out of the shore line," Sajeek says. The beastlord keeps moving around, never standing still for long. "oh, and I noticed tracks near the elf whoose leg smells of poison. So, something else is around. The tracks had to be fresh, giving the storm," the red tiger striped, grey furred beastlord almost has to shout for the others to hear him.
"The keg looks pretty heavy. But it might not be a bad back up. So that Quin can create bread and water for us later and not use up her magics," he smiles towards where he thinks the magician was still sitting. He takes a few moments to rest.
Sajeek's body screamed at him to just curl up on the rocky, frozen group and sleep. He blinks a few times, yawns and then shakes his head in an attept to clear it a bit.
"Does anyone see a spot where we could huddle under the remains of the sail?" Sajeek asks. "I don't see anything that looks like it would shield us from the storm. Not that I can see much of anything."
Revery sits on the ground and points, and says to the others, "I see a cave yonder, a mile hence, but I fear I cannot carry anything heavy, nor can I move quickly or cast any spells. Let us huddle together here for warmth with our sail blanket, and to let our healers regain their energy. Once my soul is warmed again I shall use my magicks to make us all stronger, that we may move us, the wood elf named Syn, the sail and Sajeek's alcohol to the cave. And hope to Quellious it is not occupied by more than a turkey, even against which we would have a great battle before claiming victory, with great casualties."
(hp 3/6, 3 subdual, fatigued, staggered)
Maruusk looks up the beach in the direction indicated, he sees no cave. "I hope you're right about the cave... Even still, the walk would be good."
He casts about for scrap wood. "I can carry some supplies. But, I think we should move now before the cold completely saps our strength. We can bed down when we get to the cave or under cover." He continues to gather wood for a fire... He will carry an armload of wood when they set out.
How will your fire spell fare against a wet canvas tent? Will it destroy it, or just toast it a light brown, Quenaweniel?
"Not sure,it is intended to put on fire living attackers,never tried on cloth or dry wood.The fire it creates extinguishes itself fast thought."
Although Gwendalyn has her arms crossed over her chest, you can see that her hot blush goes all the way down to her bosom at Maruusk's suggestion. "I'm sorry, but instead of maybe twenty minutes, it would take me about twice that to walk so far now. And I just can't picture us all surviving that long unless we rest first and heal up." She appears to be ashamed of her weakness that is holding the group back.
3/9 hp, 0/6 mana, 0 subdual, fatigued, half speed
"Gwen, it will be worse in twenty minutes. I know you are tired, we all are. But, if this Pride is to survive, we need to reach shelter. I can feel the weather sapping my strength as we speak. Soon, the piled snow will appear inviting as a down bed." Frustration at their situation bleeds out in Maruusk's voice.
He hangs his head and then says, "I am sorry. I am...weary, which makes my words hasty."
"Sajeek, is there any shelter nearby? Could we use the sail as we did on the raft? I think that will make everyone, including our new friends, more comfortable."
He waves his countryman over, "Come, let's help them up the beach a bit, away from the waterline, then we can rig some kind of shelter where we all can get out of the wind and cold. Gwen is right, we need our healers to be rested, so we stand a better chance of reaching the cave safely."
He searches the beach area for somewhere more suited to their needs than close to the water's edge. "I'll help Quinn and Reverry, you my friend should help Gwen. Then, we can assist Khae with Syn."
He turns to Sajeek, fear in his eyes. He is only comfortable showing fear to a brother Vah Shir. "Do you see any sign of a better spot to rest? My wilderness skills are less than a grain of sand on this beach..." He defers to Sajeek's knowledge in this area, knowing that their survival might depend on him.
Sajeek stares at the high browed Revery and turns his head to stare in the direction that he points in. The vah shirs ears twitch as Gwendalyn admits that she needs to rest as well. Ears flat against his skull he stares off in the direction of the cave.
Tail lashing, Sajeek angerly squelches his desire to head out to the cave. It was surprisingly difficult, having to take the others into consideration and think about their needs, rather then just his own. Sajeek struggles with his feral nature for a few more silent moments before turning back to the others.
"Then it's decided, we'll huddle under the sail until everyones ready," the beastlord shrugs. Kneeling down, rather the bend over and tear his frozen wounds open, Sajeek picks up one of the oars. Using the oar, he makes sure it's pointing in the direction of were Revery pointed.
Standing back up, Sajeek begins to gather the sailcloth and drag it closer.
"How long do you guess it will take to replenish your magical energies?" Sajeek asks curiously. Ears twitching, the Vah Shir stares back out towards the cave. 'Revery said he thought about a mile,' Sajeek thinks, muzzle twists as a slight frown takes shape. He hopes that the ground was as broken as the shore. The Vah Shir was moving about slowly trying to avoid injuring himself.
Quinaweniel's spell is launched (no channeling check required), but its effects are limited for it is an offensive spell meant to boil the blood of a creature and destroy it from within. Blossoms of ember illumination are seen and then quickly die in the wet wood.
Tired eyes are held open through a sheer force of will as the siren song of the cold lures you each into an eternal sleep. Though you have escaped the waters there is no reprieve, since it appears that the winter-locked land seeks to destroy you just the same. Far too little time has passed (10 minutes), before the effects of the frost are experienced in full (fort save vs. DC 17):
Revery: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21 (3/6 HPs, 3 subdual, fatigued, staggered)
Gwendalyn: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10 (3/9 HPs, 2 subdual, fatigued, half speed)
Subdual Cold Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Quinaweniel: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20 (1/4 HPs, 0 subdual, fatigued)
Maruusk: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16 (6/9 HPs, 5 subdual, fatigued)
Subdual Cold Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Sajeek: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11 (1/10 HPs, 5 subdual, fatigued, unconscious)
Subdual Cold Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Khae is too still. As tough as the mountain stone of Kaladim, he continues to breath, but only barely (unconscious).
Syn remains unconscious, but his situation is far more dire. If he does not warm up soon he will die.
Sajeek joins the ranks of the unconscious as well.
The storm rages on.
"This chill wind will kill us all!" complains Revery. He starts making suggestions, not being good at giving orders, as he looks around for a few dry pieces of wood. As he is doing this, he says, "Maruusk, could you pull the sails over next to the cask and try to make a tent? Quinawenial and Gwendalyn, could you bring Khae, Sajeek and Syn close together near the cask for our huddle tent? I'm going to try to open up that cask and see if I can figure out how to use it, the wood, and the sail, to make a fire that lasts for at least a few minutes. The alcohol should have enough energy to warm us all, if we don't burn it all too quickly. If you find any small pieces of sail, bring them over here, please?"
He carefully goes over to the cask and looks (and feels) to see if there is any obvious way to open it.
(hp 3/6, 3 subdual, fatigued, staggered)
Wilderness Lore (untrained) for severe weather, vs. DC 15: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21 Success + 6 = 7
As they talk and get little done, Sajeek collapses bonelessly to the ground, and that's when they notice that Khae isn't just waiting quietly -- he's out cold too. Gwendalyn is happy to follow Revery's suggestions, easily (albeit slowly) carrying the barrel of whiskey and the bodies of the unconscious, one at a time. "I've got this, Quina. There may be older, drier driftwood under the bushes, where they overlap the shore. But stay close! And help Maruusk if you don't find anything right away." The towering Halasite gently places the booze, Sajeek, Syn, and Khae where the intelligent Erudite indicates. Then she turns her attention to re-making the tent, since nothing else will matter if they don't cut the wind.
3/9 hp, 0/6 mana, 2 subdual, fatigued, half speed
Revery finds a large cork bung in a hole in the side of the barrel. Twisting it loosens it a bit and releases a jigger's worth of the potent whiskey.
Soon the group forms and is able to coax the smallest of fires out of the liquid, wood, some deadfall, and Quin's magical energies. The wind is too violent to permit the flame to get any larger without worrying about the safety if the group, or the sail that shields them from the elements (+4 to fort save vs. the elements continues).
Even the small flicker of fire does something as it provides a beacon of hope and staves the cruel edge of the chill (fort checks vs. the elements progress from every 10 minutes to every hour).
Moving deeper into the trees will open them up to further dangers, but it will permit a larger blaze.
The worry of the fire is its potential to reveal the party's presence, and reveal it it has. Unseen cold reptilian eyes gaze down from on high to visually dissect the survivors.
Time passes and Gwen is able to rouse the cleric, and between both of the healers they are able to see to everyone's injuries (all full health, no subdual damage, full mana, fatigued. Gwen maintains the movement restriction).
^ inserts a post between the last and next-to-last paragraphs, since that's when it was written ;)
Blissfully ignorant of the danger above, Gwendalyn luxuriates in the small warmth from the tiny flames, as it collects in the sail tent. After making sure that Syn is close to the fire, she puts her own feet toward it. "Ah!" The frost-bitten barbarian grimaces as the heat hurts so good.
Quinaweniel followed the female barbarian,helping her whenever her feeble strenght allowed her to. She was still uneasy at being forced to use her arms for tasks other than hiding her chest, but realized that was no time to worry for modesty.
Like the other woman in the group, she kept her arms crossed on her bosom and her legs tightly closed once everyone was around the fire at their camp.
Even thought the situation of this improvised party was slightly better than few hours ago, she is still terribly scared, and apart from being grateful to the two healers, she remains mostly silent.
what the time?
Gwendalyn sighs with relief when the wood elf rouses from her and the dwarf's ministrations. "So, Sin. Nice to see you back in the land of the living! What's your story? How do you know Kay?" The barbarian woman guesses at the pronunciation of their names.
"I suggest moving to the cave, a brief battle with the turkey or whatever other denizen it contains, and then some more rest," says Revery, forgetting to thank the healers for their life-saving ministrations.
"Whoever can carry the cask shall receive a strength boon from me," he adds. "It looks damned heavy."
Though it is the middle of the night the flashes of lightning give momentary glimpses of the world around you with startling clarity. Sadly the storm whips ice rain into your eyes with such velocity that you can barely see your own feet. It is impossibly amazing that Revery had seen as far as he claimed; perhaps he is addled in that oversized melon that rests upon his thin shoulders.
Syn blinks a few times as he fights to find his centre. His handsome visage is a mask of caked blood. Clearing his throat a few times he glances around with eyes that are distant cousins of lucidity. He responds in the elven tongue with surprising aplomb.
What follows is a few sentences of gibberish followed by more blinking. He smiles and gives everyone a thumbs up before glancing down at his shattered leg and passing out again. The wound on his leg is looking much worse as the poison seeps deeper into the surrounding tissues.
Muscles are sore from cutting a swath through the trackless undergrowth. Lungs burn from the exertion. Legs and ankles are sore from near constant falls. Sheathed in sweat. Exertion keeps you as warm as you have been in days. The one that carries the barrel has a worse journey than any of the others, but they can be reassured by the sloshing of their barrel-
chested friend. It is an uncomfortable trek, but you all stoically make it through without incident.
It takes hours and hours to ferry all of your belongings to the cave. With the trees stealing much of the intensity of the lightning flashes it gets darker quicker and you can already see the beginnings of the black.
The entrance to the cave is claustrophobically tight. Such a low entrance will provide a measure of protection against attack and a smaller opening for the cold air to come in through. No one has braved the soot-stained entrance yet. If anything resides within you will be at its mercy flat on your stomach squeezing through the tight space.
Heal (Treat Poison): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8
Channeling (Inner Fire): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22
Since she's going to go slowly anyway, Gwendalyn decides to load up and carry as much as possible. So, she takes the incoherent wood elf single-handedly. It'll be less jostling since she can't move fast, and she'll be right there in case he gets worse and needs emergency healing; it seems to make sense, and he appeals to her nascent maternal instincts, with how cute and helpless he is.
In order to keep a watch on Syn, and avoid damaging her ice-weakened feet, and keep a watch on their stuff, Gwendalyn waits at the cave entrance when she finally gets there. She does her best with her meager resources to stall the spread of the poison; but when she isn't looking at Syn's leg or pacing to keep herself warm, she's looking at the entrance. Staring dully at it, a worm of a thought slowly squirms its way into awareness. She waits for the others to get back from their last trip to the shore before mentioning it.
"See that soot?" Gwendalyn points at the entrance. "Someone else thought it was a good shelter too. Maybe they're still there -- or maybe something that ate them is. Either way, I think that I should go first, since I'm the biggest. And you should cast that spell that shields you, Quina... just in case. And I could use that spell that you cast on the cask bearer, Revery." Arms crossed over her chest, Gwendalyn winks at the Erudite before looking longingly at the barrel of booze.
However, the young shaman doesn't dare imbibe until they're safe. She's been instilled with a lifetime of warnings against mixing alcohol and cold, and while she doesn't always heed the words of her elders, she's much more respectful of their example -- and in this case, their actions are consistent (except for the ones missing some joints on their fingers). So instead, Gwendalyn casts a spell that they haven't seen her use before, making herself tougher.
12/12 hp, 10 AC, 6/8 mana, 0 subdual, fatigued, half speed, Inner Fire
Status:(HP:6/4)(AC 13/tch 13/ff 12)(Sub dam:0)(Conditions:Fatigued)(Mana:6/8)
Quina has never been so weary,no surprise given what she had to go through in the last hours and her already not-so-heavy frame.
The traveling back and foth to the beach took its toll,and now the little elf's legs are aching beyond words, and she is breathing heavily.
When the group finally stops outside the cave Revery suggested,Quina takes sometime evaluating the danger of entering an unknown cave probably inhabitated in the middle of the night,but they all need rest and shelter.
The elven girl nods at Gwendalyn's advice."OK Gwen.I also think you should go first,i'll shield myself.What of the others?"
Quinaweniel casts Minor Shielding.
Gwendalyn nods back at the much smaller and much older elf, then looks around at the others. "I could use some backup, just in case. Who's going to come in right after me? Does anyone else feel confident about fighting naked? I will give you the same spell that I cast on myself."
Revery breathes heavily as he sits on the rocky ground.
"I'm no warrior, obviously, though I have a bit of magic that can be used in a fight. But my immediate concern is the lack of illumination. If you think it's dark out here, you will be completely blind inside unless we can fashion a torch. I suggest we huddle here under the sail while I try to create a torch, using tightly wound canvas and whiskey. If we have no light I don't think it's a good idea to go into the cave."
It might be a safe place to reside, but the entrance is too narrow to permit the entry of the barrel.
Fluffy snow calmly navigates the storm, calmly accepting the beatings the winds dole out as they seek a place to sit down. In short order your tracks back to the shore have been obliterated. Finding your way back will be simplicity itself, but a measure of luck is now yours as it will be more difficult to track your movements.
Khae is a tireless force for moving armloads of raft, his part of the sail, or whatever someone else might need help with. As Gwendalyn works on the poison it is only a few moments before the dwarf takes a knee to lend assistance. Her methods spark a sort of genius in the dwarf as he has an epiphany.
Heal (poison) 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26
Syn breathes easier and sinks into a deeper slumber, but this time it is restful, rather than simply his body shutting off.
Sajeek is gradually awakened by the almost foreign sensation of of warmth creeping back into his bones. His eyes slowly open, and a deep, rumbling purr comes from the Vah Shir as he closes his eyes and dozes.
At the sounds of the others beginning to stir, Sajeek opens his green eyes, yawns and stretches. He stops as the wounds on his back make themselves known once again. Before he can say anything or apoligize for suddenly passing out, the healers work their magics and his wounds are nothing but a fading memory.
The young beastlord is tireless in his efforts to find the cave that Revery had pointed out. It had seemed to take an eternity, but they had made it to the cave. While carrying the assortment of wooden debris from the raft, the oars, rope, the sail, and the barrel of whiskey certainly slowed them down, it gave them a chance at surviving.
Muscles sceaming in protest, Sajeek sets his armload of gear down and stands back up with a sigh of relief. After he stretches, the vah shir kneels down at looks at the mouth of the cave. He turns and looks back at Revery.
"How in the name of the spirits did you see this from where we crashed?!" Sajeek asks, clearly amazed. "My thanks to whatever spirit guided your eyes Revery." The beastlord smiles and nods before looking back at the mouth of the cave. Calling it a entrance was a bit of a stretch.
Sajeek listens as the others talk. He reaches out and runs a clawed finger through the soot. Bring it closer to his nose, he sniffs at it, wondering why fire would have shout out of the cave's mouth. If it was fire. He ponders of a few seconds, rubbing the soot between two fingers. He glances back at the others and rejoins the conversation.
"I have claws, and being naked doesn't bother me, so I'll head in with you. It might be better if I go in first, mostly because I cannot heal anyone or cast any spells. If I could, I would gladly let you go first and have keep my muzzle shut," Sajeek grins up at the large woman. "But, if you want to go in first, I'm not going stop you. However trying to claw at something with you in the way, might be a neat trick, depending on how tight is in there." the vah shir chuckles and looks over at Revery. "I really like the idea of being able to see were I am going, so I am all for waiting for Rev to make the torch
Revery goes to work immediately trying to craft a torch from wood, sail, rope and whiskey. He attempts to make it so that it will hold together as long as possible after being lit. Observing how the liquor soaks into the various materials, he hopes to learn the most effective way to make this device.
"If anyone has made a torch before, now is the time to offer advice or aid," he says.
1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Wilderness Lore (make a torch): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17
"Torches are so common and cheap, I never needed to make one before -- but I'm okay at improvising..." Gwendalyn trails off, considering the problem, before turning her attention back to Sajeek. She opens her mouth, shuts it again, and looks back at the pile of stuff. "You know, maybe we should each take an oar. Just in case fists and claws and knees and whatnot aren't enough."
The practical shaman reconsiders. "Or actually, I don't even need an oar; any big chunk of wood is good enough for me, if more want to go in there. What do you think, Maruusk? The more the merrier!" Casting Inner Fire on Sajeek, Gwendalyn actually looks fairly cheerful at the prospect of tackling the unknown again, but this time on *her* terms and *her* timeline.
"I'm afraid my skills are more useful in a library or similar environment,and i don't thik we'll find any 'round here. But i never trained in physical combat,and i'll need protection from both front and rear in such a crampled space. Apart from that i can only shoot at enemies from a distance now."
Maruusk stirs from the area by the flames. At the sound of an action plan, he nods his agreement. "Clubs abound, and I think we'll manage the weather better in a cave than out here, regardless of the fire." Standing and stretching, muscles screaming, he grabs a length of oar, and takes a few practice swings. "Crude but effective." Looking over the remaining pieces of wood, he says, "Too bad we have no spears. Without armor or clothing of any sort, even a turkey could do some damage to us, unless we keep it at arms length. We'll have to be fast, should we find resistance in the cave. If we pause, we could very likely die."
Hefting his club, he moves to join the others.
A hiss is the only warning that proceeds the attack.
As Sajeek examines the soot, it appears as if a blaze was lit just inside the mouth of cave not that long ago, Gwendalyn inches her naked body through the claustrophobic entrance of the surprisingly large cave using the flickering light of Revery's torch to stab through the velvety thickness of the darkness.
The torch is enwrapped by hemp rope doused in whiskey, since the sail is too thick to tear without an edge and several minutes of patience. The flame will not burn near as long as a traditional torch, especially in this storm, but it will do to provide illumination and a conflagration if one can get out of the wind and have it mate with the deadfall the party picked up en route to the cave.
It is only luck that saves her as the slumber of the cave's occupant had slowed its response to the interlopers, having it launch its retort without the use of its normal ambush tactics. It instead rushes forth and grabs her hair and starts painfully yanking her in to its fetid lair. The riptide goblin is surprisingly strong for such a small creature as it attempts to drag her head free of the tight entrance and pierce her skull with the pick it holds in the other hand.
Grapple: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12 (successful grab, awaiting results of incurred AoO before the grapple is resolved)
Hold: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
There is an advantage, the creature is yanking her in, which will soon (next round) open up the entrance for Sajeek to enter behind her.
This creature stands barely three feet tall, its humanoid body enwrapped by a simple loincloth. Its greenish-blue skin is the perfect camouflage for ambushing tactics in the trees or high seas.
Though her position is not optimal Gwendalyn can launch an elbow in response to the attempt to pull her scalp off (AoO incurred).
Though the angle is not good (20% concealment) the rest of the party can launch one ranged attack at the monster. Only one of you can fit through the entrance at a time, but there is just enough room to fire around your companion (next round another can enter taking 1 move action to navigate the entrance).
Such an entrance sucks as an attack, but you see the advantage as a defender.
Gwendalyn sees the slightest flash from the other side of the chamber. A bit of lightning had peeked through another part of the cave.
- Riptide Goblin (resolved)
(tag PC actions)
AoO (slam): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14
...for 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5 damage.
Gwendalyn screeches as something pulls hard on her hair. "Ow!" The offender reminds her of a gnoll pup, except stronger, uglier, and not furry -- so it's really different in every way, except for being small and nasty. But Tudan taught her how to defend herself well, not only against monsters in the countryside, but also the kind of two-legged predators that prowl taverns and alleyways. She grabs her hair, yanks the goblin in, and throws her right elbow across its face.
Blinking stupidly the riptide goblin tries to reorient its thoughts to time, person and place, since it has already forgotten algebra and its last meal. A rivulet of blood escapes its right nostril as the barbarian's hair escapes its grasp (AoO successful, grapple has been broken).
(tag PCs action)
MA: Get in the cave.
SA: Attack goblin with club. 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2 Critical miss
Gwendalyn calls back, "Quina! You come after Maruusk! This is perfect setup for you!" Squirming the rest of the way inside, Gwendalyn drops down to the smooth cave floor, where she takes a backhand swing at the goblin with her big chunk of wood. It doesn't work.
hp 12/12, AC 10, mana 4/8, fatigued, half speed, Inner Fire
Revery panics for a split second after realizing Gwendalyn is being attacked, but considering all that they had been through, survival becomes more important than the question of their mortality, for the moment. He is able to pull himself together and concentrate on an attack.
He tries get a line of sight on the attacker and incants a spell, Shallow Breath, targeting the little creature.
Fort save for half damage and no other effects (DC 19).
1d4 ⇒ 2
and -2 to STR and DEX for 8 rounds.
(fatigued, Mana 13/16)
Ice crystals lance through Gwendalyn's tissues as her feet collide with the chamber floor (critical failure on strike) convinces her hand to launch her club deep into the chamber. While she had considered attacking, the lack of the club makes it difficult to brain the goblin.
Offal-laced and fetid-infected air assails the barbarian's nostrils. Flesh has rotted in this place, been devoured and expelled into this very same chamber. It is a disgusting thought, but feces will burn and hold an ember for a long time. As long as you can stomach the smell you will have likely have a fair volume of material to use, if your nostrils can be trusted.
While the cave remains cold it is nothing like the cold outside. The stone perfectly cuts the wind and that alone makes this surprisingly large and easily defensible area worth killing for.
The creature claws at its throat as the enchanter's magic seeks to close the goblin's air passage.
Fort save vs. DC 19: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8
It is not even close. Only a bit of breath can be retrieved at one time, and the creature's eyes widen with fear.
Quina enter the cave as soon as possible crawling between her companions,scrathing her naked body all over with the dirt and rocks.
Even thought she cannot hold a moan,she manages to enter the cave,only it isn't safe yet.
She takes some distance from Gwendalyn,positioning herself so she can target the goblin leaving her allies out of the spell path.
"Beware of my fire projectile."
MA:enters cave and moves to a good spot to cast spells
SA:casts Burst of Flame on goblin
DC 17 fortitude for half dam
Quinaweniel does not proceed into the cave mouth since Gwendalyn's body remains within and Sajeek is the next in line to move forward (next round). She may try to push the vah shir out of the way, but that is something she will need to take up with him.
Fort save vs. 17: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
Wisps of fire dance upon the creature's flesh as his blood boils hot enough to ignite. It is this conflagration that causes the monster, whose tendons were shortening due to the heat, to fall back (critical failure on fortitude save) screaming and trip over the pile of dry firewood thus triggering the hidden trap.
Under the snow, 'neath the makeshift chimney, the trap's teeth spring shut with impossible force, tearing the creature in twain.
Bear Trap: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (3, 5) + 3 = 11
The rusted bear trap had come closed with a ringing finality that none could argue with. Burning goblin is not a pleasant smell, though at least he was polite enough to drop his pick before he caught flame.
The cave is yours.
(end of combat)
Two pieces of goblin, their ragged bones garishly revealed by Revery's torch, simmer and sputter as Quinaweniel's spell runs its course. The bits of illumination cause shadows to dance on the erratic stone walls.
Though there is only one place that a bear trap could be hidden, this place feels much less safe than it had moments prior. Maruusk sees an opportunity to ply his trade lest someone trip over a wire and kill everyone present. Then again no one knows of his nefarious vocation, so he has to decide if he will reveal it, or just let them go wandering off on their own and possibly find the traps for him. Such a decision might involve a great deal of screaming and arterial fluid.
All can search for traps, but only rogues excel at it (include a search check if you are searching for traps).
Each of the party can move into the cave without incident, including all of their supplies, though the barrel will need to remain outdoors.
"Ow!" Gwendalyn's icy feet hit the ground, and while her arm starts to follow its planned path, she suddenly cries out in pain (again) and loses her grip on the improvised club mid-swing. It flies across the cave, and that's when things get weird. Gwendalyn is accustomed to blood and violence, but not like this: first the goblin scrabbles at its throat, suffocating on dry land; then its blood ignites from within, and it trips on its own trap that tears it in half. The shocked young woman stands there stunned for a few breaths, then stirs back to life. "Out of my way. I need a drink." After all that she's been through, this is finally too much.
With shaky hands, Gwendalyn loosens the cork bung and lets a little whiskey into her hand to swallow once, twice, and again. It burns down her throat and she replaces the cork, feeling the false warmth and true relaxation spread. Leaning on the cask, head bowed, she thinks about what just happened. So that's what Quinaweniel's spell really does... no wonder it's bad at lighting wood. But it also couldn't breathe! Who... The statuesque Halasite stalks over to the mute healer and clever shapechanger, jaw and hands clenched but eyes misty.
"One of you stole that thing's breath." The tall shaman gestures at Khae. "If it was you, then thank you." She turns and chops the air in Revery's direction. "But if it was you, then after all that we've been through together... you need to trust us." She turns and begins moving things into just inside the cave entrance, focusing on the physical exertion, mind blank.
Quinaweniel hears Syn complain that this is not the room he ordered. He will definitely not be staying here another night unless he get a complimentary dinner. The momentary diatribe is festooned with snores and gibberish. His colour is much better since the healers set upon his wound and got the bulk of the poison out, though the young wood elf will have a few choice words for the dwarf about the cleric spending far too much time sucking on his shattered leg wound when he comes to.
Khae drags the barely lucid wood elf into the cave and immediately sets upon the crucial task of getting things warm. There is no subtlety or conservation in the dwarf's action as he kicks in all of the goblin's dry tinder. He considers the books, but leaves them in case someone might want them, and instead tosses in bits of his what was once his sailing vessel instead. Smile up at Revery he beckons for the torch to be put to good use.
Blood-stained metal teeth drips a coagulating rhythm onto the goblin's cooling corpse. At least for the moment the iron predator's seemingly endless hunger has been sated. It is a garish scene, but you have all been trained to expect the horrors that are part and parcel of your respective vocations. It is a wonder how the small creatures ever got the trap in here, for it looks to easily weigh over 100 pounds and would take incredible strength just to set.
The fire blazes to life filling the chamber with cheery warmth.
You had never felt a cold like this before this series of events, but that is nothing compared to the agony of your body finally thawing out, the intensity of which steals your breath, but in short order you find a measure of potentially-alcohol assisted comfort (remove fatigued condition from all and Gwendalyn's movement restriction).
Standing at the fire pit you have a bit of a glimpse of the last two areas of the cavern:
The ceiling drops down lower here and it immediately becomes apparent that this is the creature’s privies. Large mounds of offal and frozen streams of rank-smelling urine are smelled long before they are seen.
Though this place is hardly ideal it is perhaps the most welcoming place you have ever been. Even warmer than the fire, and the shelter is the ember of hope that has caught within your breast.
Gwendalyn doesn't have the attention to spare for the number of sleeping areas, as her feet heat up. Mostly immune to the cold, she got unlucky, and now the ice in her feet is starting to thaw -- and with it the nerves. "AAAAAHHHHH!!!" The young woman screeches in pain, lying on her side, clutching the tops of her feet protectively. For all of her strength and healing magic, despite everything else she can do, the talented shaman has suffered a perfectly normal weakness that every Halasite fears, and can only wait it out.
Maruusk stumbles into the cave behind the others, seeing the goblin cut in half, he stares around their new home. Searching the cave, he finds the clothing. "Hey, there's..." His sentence is cut short by the pain that lances through his heads and feet. His muffled howl echoes through the caves on the heels of the cries of pain from the others.
"By the Spirits, my hands and feet are on fire!" At least that is how it felt...
Once the pain subsides, he says, "There's clothes here... Not sure if we can use it, but it will be better than walking in the snow naked."
"Also, there are three beds here. That could mean more trouble if they come back!"
Revery rests his slight frame in the ever-so-wonderful glow of the fire, realizing it is a short-lived luxury, in all likelihood. His flesh goes through the pangs of despised warmth like everyone else's, and he tolerates it without complaint. It is a good pain.
When Gwendalyn admonishes him for some perceived wrong, he responds, "My dear Gwendalyn, it was I. Now please explain to me how I have illustrated a lack of trust in you and others..."
He is unsure if it is the nature of his magic, some Barbarian "honor" thing, or something else yet.
"It was just... well..." Her hands flutter, and then she exhales forcefully through her nose. "...not fair. I felt like you were keeping secrets, but I haven't told you all of the spells that I can cast either. It just hadn't come up yet. How about we all share our abilities, now that we have a chance?"
The young shaman looks around at the group, and her mouth twists in a brief smile. "Hi everyone, my name is Gwendalyn, and I'm from Halas, so I'm tough. I'm also a shaman of the Tribunal, and they've graced me with a bit of magic: the ability to heal wounds, to bolster health, to cure disease, and to briefly blind. I like to sew, and also to brew potions. And to drink brews. And there's more to me than that, but I think that's enough for now. Anyone else?"
Sajeek leans against a wall, hands clenched into fists, as he began to thaw. He wasn't sure how long it took, but pain seemed to increasse with every heartbeat. The Vah Shir was half tempted to flee the fire and allow himself to freeze again. As the waves of pain begin to retreat, he flexes his fingers and toes, and any thoughts of letting himself freeze were forgotten.
Trying to breathe shallowly until his nose adjusted to the stink, the vah shir stalks through the cave, after the three beds were noticed, not going to wait for two more goblins to sneak up on them.
After he makes his rounds, he returns to the spot he had been leaning up against. Trying very hard to not think about how dirty his fur was, he leans again, watching his raft-mates.
The predators green eyes reflect the torchlite as he stands motionless, eyes tracking movements.
Revery stands and begins to look for large stones to put in the fire. They might be useful to help them sleep tonight, and to warm the cave more evenly. He avoids the two demigoblins lying on the floor.
"I'm sure we all have secrets, and I don't expect anyone to reveal all of theirs to me, just as I shall not reveal all of mine to you. But if you are interested in survival, I can tell you, as I told you just before you bravely entered the cave, I have a bit of magic that can be used in a fight. That spell I cast, and another which creates a magical bodyguard for me. This last one I cannot cast at the moment because I am missing a key ingredient. The other spells you have seen. I can cast any of these very quickly, but such an act drains my energies much too quickly, so I reserve that trick for emergencies. I am a jeweler and a sculptor, and I have various and sundrie knowledge of random things, with special interest in magic of course, and magically constructed creatures. I am somewhat... embarrassed, I will admit, that most of these skills and knowledge are pretty well useless out here. At least the spells seem to be of some use, otherwise I would be just a talking brain."
He is probably confused because of his condition,better not telling him what the real situation is for now
Quinaweniel thought hearing Syn complaints,but the large halasite woman took all of her attention immediately after.
She waited for Gwendalyn and Revery to have settled their debate about trust;Gwendalyn isn't wrong after all.
The elf herself isn't sure who she can trust after what happened to her,she isn't even sure of how much time has passed.
"Same for me Gwendalyne and Revery.I think i told all you needed to know,and you just saw what i can do to contribute to our survival.For now i'ld say we just keep surviving all together."
She looks toward the other areas, and turns away in disgust at the small cave filled with frozen bodily wastes.
"Saw the sleeping area and filthy clothings Maruusk.They aren't what i was used to wear but we don't have the luxury of choise;and we better wacth out for possible friends of that little freak.It wouldn't be bad to wash a bit these cloths with my summoned water before wearing then however"
Apart from the occasional foray around the room the party remains within close proximity of the warmth of fire pit.
No traps are discovered, by those that move furthest afield, but it is only because of dumb luck. Depending on the whims of the fates is not something that generally aids in one's longevity on the spinning surface of Norrath.
Khae either communes with his deity, or spends his time tending to his patient, ensuring that the unconscious wood elf is close enough to let the heat seep into his tissues, but not long enough for his flesh to char. The pick is gathered up, using the sharp edge he works to slice through the sail and lengths of rope, to make a better splint, rather than the crude one he had fashioned on the fly.
Heal: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25
Syn breathes better once the splint is replaced with something more comfortable and efficient.
No stones are found at first glance, but portions of the cave have been excavated, so you imagine there to be a pile somewhere. Glancing closer at the offal you realize that under the layer of filth are a significant number of large rocks and stone chips.
There are enough outfits to garb everyone, though the sizes and styles are far from optimal, as is the significant quantities of filth that stick to the fabrics (please include a description of your ill-fitting clothing in your next post).
Aside from the clothing the cave holds:
- 9 copper pieces
- 21 gold pieces
- rusted dagger
- a half dozen animal skeletons
- half a goblin
- two mouldering books
- a surprisingly sharp pick
- the other half of a goblin
- rusted bear trap
- pile of feces
The dwarf returns with two outfits and starts the process of pulling them first onto the elf and then himself. Syn ends up dressed in the finery one would expect from a prince, complete with high pants and a ridiculous amount of frills. Khae wears a portly woman's wedding dress, to which he laughs and laughs about before moving off to fill his growing tummy.
You are dehydrated and starving, but it takes all your resources to stop from purging what little bits of bread you have in your stomach after seeing that Khae has taken to cooking the goblin flesh, using the beartrap as a makeshift spit.
With 7 members of the group eating Quin will need to get to work to keep everyone fed (no channeling checks required for casting outside of distracting conditions).
At the smell of the cooking goblin, Sajeek clamps his teeth together, forcing himself to not retch. Not that there was much in his stomach, other then a bit of bread and water (not to mention the sea water he had ended up swallowing). As the smell of cooking meat begins to over power his disgust, He pries himself off the wall and heads towards the filthy pile of clothing.
"Well, beggars can't be choosy," the vah shir says to no one in particular. Squatting down, the young beastlord moves through the pile, trying to find something to that will fit. Sajeek pulls out an assorment of clothing and moves back to where he had been standing.
The young Beastlord looks at the stained trousers and the long sleeved shirt made from sailcloth. His green eyes move from the filthy garments to look at the mismatched boots that he had found. Aside from the toe bones he had shaken out of the right boot they seemed servicable enough. The battered longcoat coat made out of a reddish, almost velet feeling material, must have once been part of fine set of clothes. Stained, (several knife stabs in the coats back), battered, and still smelling faintly of liquor, Sajeek adds it to the shirt and trousers. Finally he tosses in a hooded cloak. He had held the stained cloak up to the fire light and noticed a bite mark that looked rather much like that a shark would leave after bitting into some one. Tossing set of gloves that almost matched, if the owner had a left hand twice the size of his own, he gather up the rest and ewalks back to the pile of clothing and drops it there.
"I'm not sure water would really help matters that much, Quinaweniel," Sajeek chuckles as he walks back to his pile of mismatched clothing. "Actually, I don't think soap would really hep matters." He stares down at the clothes.
Using a claw, he cut a hole for his tail and slowly begins to get dressed. Ears laid flat agains his skull, the vah shir begins to cloth himself. Using a bit of rope, he ties it aroung his waist to keep the loose fitting trouser in his frame.
"I hate wearing clothes," Sajeek complains quietly to himself.
Revery is reluctant at first to don soiled clothes, but the fear and memory of that cold forces him to get over it. He gives up on the rocks for the time being, noting that the shards might be used for carving. Or weapons...
Regarding the clothing, he says, "Perhaps tomorrow we can wash them in the seawater, and dry them over the fire. Then they'll be much better, I'm sure."
For the time being he looks for any large flat pieces, preferably the thicker of the cloths, and sits next to the fire. "Who wants first watch, to keep the fire going and to warn of more intact goblins? In the morning we'll have many more options, such as washing clothes, gathering wood, surveying the area, and working on figuring out where the hell we are and how to get back to civilization."
Digging through the piles of clothes, Gwendalyn finds herself tossing aside garment after garment as hopelessly small, until she comes across an animal hide that had been shaped into a crude (but sturdy) tunic that came down to her knees. Time in the goblins' filthy cave hadn't done it any favors, but it probably hadn't been much better to begin with. "@#$%ing ogres," Gwen mutters under her breath.
Feeling awkwardly large when surrounded by such small clothes, Gwen ties a small pair of breeches into a kind of loincloth and covers her cleavage with a long-sleeved shirt tied around her chest before putting on the fur "dress". Fortunately, her feet are fairly petite for a Halasite, so she's able to find a pair of men's workboots that just barely fit. All told, with her hair wild from the sea and wind, she could only imagine that she looked every bit as "barbaric" as Southerners pictured her countrymen.
The poorly-fed giantess's stomach growls at the smell of cooking meat, then turns over at the sight of it. To distract herself from Khae's horrifying culinary experiment, she sets herself to thoroughly examining her new home. The primitive latrine is actually fairly ingenious; the rocks from the goblins' excavations would maximize the surface area of liquid waste for the fastest possible evaporation, while the solid waste would remain on top for easy harvesting to burn when dry. If you don't want to go outside and don't have any drainage, then it would be hard to do better. The thought starts an itch at the back of her brain.
Continuing her inventory, Gwendalyn observes the smooth ceiling that matches the floor and contrasts with the walls. She tries to picture the creatures clinging to the ceiling while chipping away to smooth it out and make the chimney, and shakes her head in disbelief as her imagination fails her. It must've occurred that way naturally, somehow, and they just made a firepit beneath it.
Which brings her to the entrance. The skeletons under the ambush shelf indicate that the riptide goblins ate their prey right there, where they caught it. Is that why there's soot? But no, if they wanted to cook their food, it would be easy enough to carry it over to the firepit; and after going to all that trouble of shaping it out, why make a fire somewhere else? And speaking of, what did they burn?
"Uh, hey, guys? Guys! Over here. Where's the remains of the fire that left that soot?" She points at the ceiling near the ambush shelf.
The stench of filthy burning goblin and worse burned goblin hair fills the chamber and even Khae cannot bring himself to partaking of the cooked flesh. He simply prods the corpse further into the fire and stokes up the flames higher.
The bear trap begins to glow, which is nice since you can imagine it is retaining and maintaining some residual heat. It may never work again as a trap, but you have a perfect platform for a cooking spit. If it cools and you prise the jaws apart and wedge them that way with something that doesn't burn it would make an even better stand to place food, if you ever get food that has not been summoned by magic.
The exhausted dwarf tucks his dress between his legs, lays down and is assaulting you all with deep booming snores within seconds. His is the sleep of the innocent as he is out instantly, fully trusting you all with his life and seemingly asleep without a care in the world.
Syn is out cold. It takes Gwen to get close to realize that he is still breathing. The breaths aren't shallow, they're normal respirations, but next to the dwarf it is like he's not even there anymore.
Depending on how high the floor was before it was shaved down to smoothness, also taking into account mounds of stone chips to stand upon, it might have been possible to simply swing at the ceiling whilst standing on the ground. No matter what the work on the cave was a major undertaking. Hides like this one are few and far between. You imagine that the other two residents of the cave will not give it up without a fight.
Sajeek glances at the soot near the entrance, but sees nothing out of the ordinary about it.
Wilderness Lore: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10
Gwendalyn, Revery and Quinaweniel all glance at the soot, and while the two women see nothing untoward it is the erudite that recognizes the spread.
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 71d20 + 12 ⇒ (16) + 12 = 281d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
There are now two implements for cutting rope and sails material, should that be needed.
The snow continues to drift up outside, perhaps by morning's light it will have covered half of the cave entrance.
(awaiting the description of the clothing from Revery, Maruusk and Quinaweniel)