"Umm.. You better take point Conner."
Conner jumps down from the flying beast, and moves forward, low to the ground with an arrow drawn.
I'll take the point, of course.
Angel follows Conner, trying to stay somewhat quite..
Conner easily avoids the boggy areas, moving the group away from the safety of the hillock, quickly and quietly, through the twisting maze of mangroves and swamp oaks, to the narrow track beyond. The rutted and ill used track leads from Hommlet to the river road along the Sellen. After a few short minutes travel at a brisk pace, the turnoff for the Blackmire looms into view. The forgotten grand roadway still lays cobbled in spots with black and red basalt that once marked the glorious way to the fallen Chelaxian stronghold.
Now, after years of neglect, the elegant drive is little more than uneven, missing stones marking a rough path broken by brambles or hack-grass tufts, covered overhead by moss heavy trees that lend the way an oppressive feeling of apprehension and gloom. Even in the early day, the sun rising ever higher, here on the ground the light is muted, shadowed, offering little warmth or cheer. In the distance, maybe a long bow shot for Conner or the missing Carlson, the tree lined way opens into an only slightly sunnier expanse, the clearing fields and swampy moat before the walls of the black and gray stoned manor.
The roadway off to either side is flanked by marshy patches opening in random, often hidden bogs. Anyone moving off the track to either side will need to give a Survival check to avoid becoming caught up in one. Movement along the uneven edges will be difficult terrain.
The roadway path offers cover from overhead, and you can leapfrog from bramble cover to scraggly bush if desired, the only point of the manor that could spy you being by the open drawbridge until you reach the end of the lane at the open area before the Blackmire. That expanse is roughly 100' from the shelter of the roadway canopy to the open drawbridge. At that point, the tower, drawbridge, and south wall of the manor will have line of sight on the roadway mouth and any standing there.
Conner addresses the others in a low voice.
Allow me to scout ahead, off the path. I can do so successfully. I will be back in a moment, or signal for your advance up the path.
Conner, with his Boots of the Mire, will move off of the path to the right hand side, and with arrow drawn, will advance close enough to see if there are guards posted.
Conner is able to move slowly and effectively forward, staying to the cover of the trees. He spends a few moments studying the view of the Blackmire from behind a fallen cypress trunk. The walls are strong, dark granite; huge blocks worked square and true, with mortar mixed of grays and reds. Most all of the walls not blackened and scorched by fire are covered in swampland growths; mosses, molds, and lichens for the most part, though a few small trees and plants are making progress rooting into the works as well.
No one seems to be moving about. The area near to the structure is quiet and still. The waters of the moat have leaked and mixed with the bog ponds and sinks of the area, and aside from the hard stretch of the roadway, the rest of the area is murky and waterlogged. Apart from a few islands of trees and shrubs, the Blackmire is an island unto itself.
One item does jump out to Conner from his soggy perch, peeking around the back eastern wall, a few stones and beams perch above the surface, wet with algae and slime. This damage may suggest a breach in the structure that was not seen from the air, hidden as it was on the blind side of the place.
Luke quietly returns.
All is quiet, but there is a breach in the back eastern wall that we could not see from the air. I suggest we advance and try to enter there.
"Lead on," d'Orionus replies with a mischievous grin.
You have three possible approaches to the collapsed area along the eastern wall.
The first is to take the roadway directly up to the manorhouse, then follow along the outside wall around the side. You would avoid the muck but would be on a narrow track hugging the wall single file for your approach.
The second approach would be to back track along the roadway, follow the Old Road for a ways, then cut back through the swamp forest until you get to closest point that the surrounding trees come closest to the stones you saw. You could then most likely hop-scotch your way from the trees to the exposed breach.
The third option would be to climb down from the tree lined roadway into the bog-lake that surrounds the Blackmire and wade/swim to the breach, but that way would embrace rather than avoid the muck.
One bit of possible good news, the wind is starting to pick up a bit, moving the clouds overhead as a breeze from the east brightens up the sky and clears some of the more stagnant stench of the bog from the area. It still feels oppressive and the humidity here is worse than any other you have experienced on this journey, but the slowly rising gusts feel good on the back of your moist, sweaty necks.
"Let's avoid swimming, and time is of the essence," d'Orionus whispers looking at his and Angel's full plate armor.
I agree. To the manor house. Then single-file to the breach. It may be best if Sir Gareth or Angel takes the lead for the single-file approach. I will follow second for ranged cover.
"No problem. I can take point along the castle wall as you wish."
"Sounds good.. Ill take the rear.."
Ok, then, let's move out.
Conner starts up the path.
In single file the band cautiously approaches the Blackmire. Conner is at point until the group arrives at the drawbridge, a slick and mire covered relic of ancient oak and rusted iron banding. A single chain still runs from it's mounting bracket up to the arch above the entry gate, into the drilled masonry, perhaps to a winch behind the parapet. The gateway beyond lies open, the rust iron portcullis propped up against the inside wall, barely visibly protruding into the portal. The air here smells slightly of rotten egg and ammonia, decaying plant life from the thriving morass around the structure. It is eerie and quiet, a few dark clouds moving in front of the sun, casting shadows over your progress. That cool breezes now feels a bit chillier, a cold shiver running down your spine. A strange bird call sounds across the waterway, a plop and splash follows along the path behind you.
Pausing a moment, Conner scans the area for signs of life, or at least, hostile life. Everything has become quiet, the group holding their breathes, trying hard not to twitch, though a creak or scrap of armor and gear still finds it's way into the clouded morning light. The water is still, the breeze slight and weakly foul. The grasses have not been disturbed here after the morning dew, no treads are seen upon the boards. With a slight wave, Conner motions Sir Gareth to cross the bridge and make the turn onto the knee high grasses that grow between the granite walls and the moat's crumbling banks.
The pathway is roughly four to seven feet wide in most spots, a few narrowing to barely two between stone and sump.
Before crossing the drawbridge, d'Orionus gives a sign oto hold and takes two minutes studying a narrow course for him to cross it. He is very comfortable in his patience and ominous looming of the castle.
Sir Gareth waits, studying the planks of the drawbridge, attempting to judge which seem most sturdy to him. He judges the slickness of the wet dew and perpetual swamp sheen, the warp effect of so much moisture and the years of neglect, which boards have worked free their iron nail works, the corroded bindings etc. Once completed, he looks to the group to motion that he is ready...
Only to discover that the group has been noticed by a small swarm of gnats, which are beginning to gather incessantly around party member , Angel, perhaps attracted by her skin soap or slightly different body chemistry. The creatures are not yet thick enough to begin working into her armor, but they are becoming a distraction for tasks requiring concentration or visual focus. She inhales and swallows more than she'd like, pwffft waiting for the signal to move forward.
He moves forward.
Sir Gareth crosses the drawbridge, firmly planting his feet at points he studied to be safe and sturdy. It takes only a few moments to cross the fifteen foot span. Reaching the other side, he takes a moment, noting the high grass along the wall hides bits of detritus from the siege of the Blackmire and years of subsequent neglect. He slowly makes his way forward to a clear spot, roughly ten feet from the bridge, then motions the others to follow.
There by the stones, in their shadow, Sir Gareth feels an unnatural chill, a palpable aura to the place. His skin imagines itchy prickles at unseen stimuli and his body recognizes the place does not want him there. He steadies his nerve, knowing it to be all in his mind. He forces his years of training and experience to bolster his mind and body, steeling his confidence and resolve.
Conner moves forward next to Sir Gareth.
Moves across drawbridge after Conner reaches other side.
Conner moves across, watching his steps as he goes. The boards creak and moan as he goes, a few rivets popping and plopping into the water below. A splintered plank along the edge gives way, splashing into the murk as he reaches the other bank. Sir Gareth moves a little further along the wall as Conner takes his former spot.
Xavorin moves up to cross as well, sacrificing speed for caution. The bridge bounces and creaks as he does so, a few more pieces ending their slow rot as flotsam in the moat, the current slowly taking them along with the flow. Xavorin takes his place at the corner of the wall, awaiting the others moving forward, looking back at D'witt sheepishly. Sorry, panicked, realizing he jumped ahead of the wily gunslinger, glancing at drawbridge, the worse for wear span rocking and bouncing slightly from the rush.
The trio along the wall move forward about 5' further, making room for their alchemist companion. Sir Gareth steps over a chuck of pitted and dented metal, a piece of iron shot possibly used to hammer at the upper works when the manor fell. The surface is coated with a rusty patina, flaking as he brushes whipweed against it in his crossing.
Conner and Xavorin begin to feel the chill of the manor, the walls leeching some of the warmth from them as they fall into its shadow. The bridge quiets as it's movement subsides, the only sounds now are an occasional blurping of the bog, another far distant bird call, and the rising buzzing of the gnats aggravating Angel, pulling part of her cloak over her nose and mouth to avoid the thickening swarm. She looks to D'witt, awaiting his crossing, eager to get out of the open, feeling exposed and increasingly anxious.
With her nerves on edge Angel brings up the rear and slowly creeps across the bridge and joins her group on the other side.. "Such palpable evil resides here.. May the Dawnflower give me strength.." With a white knuckle grip on her sword she falls in line..
D'witt finds himself sweating as much as he did forging his pistols as he makes his break across the well-rickety bridge. The span bows and bends as he crosses, taking what he hopes is a sure and solid approach. . He makes the far side and takes his place beside Xavorin, moving along the wall, making way for Angel. His tail flicks as he keeps it above the grasses, getting an electric jolt as he briefly touches the stone wall, , What the... his mind momentarily flashing with images of fire and flame convulsing in a swirl of darkness, an engulfing void that seems to consume the very life from his tail as the shock washes over him. D'witt stumbles, his tail rigid with paralysis, but Xavorin catches him as he goes to a knee, pulling him back from the edge of the moat. Part of the walkway crumbles, splashing into the mire. D, you ok buddy? He mumbles a thanks as he rubs his appendage, slowly bringing it back to mobility, waving Angel onwards.
Angel pauses a moment as D'witt stumbles, then seeing his signal, makes her dash. . She slips a little as she crosses, the passage of the others loosening years of grime and forming a greasy coating on the ancient timbers. Cracks form in a few of the beams, but they hold and she reaches the other side. Whispering her thanks to Sarenrae, she peers into the courtyard, seeing nothing amiss. She turns to the others, as her prayer is answered and the Dawnflower heeds her call. The chill of the stones leaves Angel, her muscles tingling slightly as she feels rejuvenated. The Healing Light of Sarenrae flashes briefly from her holy symbol, casting back the gloom and clouds overhead.
The Blackmire seems to rumble up in response, the ground surging as moatwash rises over the banks, it's filth in answer to the cleansing light. All are momentarily stunned at the turn, only to realize that it is not the ground moving, but the moat waters are, churning and splashing as a creature bursts forth from the channel, attracted to your passing.
A hard, grimy red shell armors an elongated head formed mostly of writhing tentacles and beady green eyes. Slime and water weeds cling to it's lobster like claws as it rises up on four sets of legs and a splashing tail. The pinchers lash out at it's chosen victim, , attempting to grab hold of it's prey, the glowing Angel. Only by the goddess' grace was Angel at all ready for the rush, the adrenal surge of her blessing setting every hair on edge. She attempts to ready herself as the claws lash out and grab hold, crushing her armor for damage and pull her into it's tentacle swathed maw vs CMD, the backwash of black water and slimy secretions soaking her skin in it's poisons.
Startled by the sudden attack Angel retrieves her dagger from the wrist sheath where it lives and attacks at the soft tentacles..
A gaseous wave of dead fish and rotting algae washes over the group as the creature grabs up Angel, sputtering a spray of foul reek. Angel fumbles for her dagger, dropping her greatsword to the grasses, as she is caught up in the creature's tentacles and craw, stabbing and probing with it but failing to find a spot soft enough to penetrate. The creature lurches back on it's tail, pulling Angel from her feet. She and the creature are locked in a grappled embrace, the light of her goddess fading as the oppressive weight of the Blackmire's shadow again presses upon the band.
The creature's initiative is .
The creature senses it has taken on more than the usual swamp beast or wayward traveler with this band, it's squinty green eyes moving independently on short stalks, surveying the party. Angel is held in it's slimy purplish red tentacles as well as a single bright red pincer larger than her thigh, the other snapping claw clacking menacingly at D'witt, the sharp edges black and green from mire and crusted matter. The beast's thick muscular tail of red and black scales fans out, slapping at the muck, stirring up the already dark and silt-heavy waters. More gnats and other insects stir at the disturbance, forming thickly in the air, attracted to Angel even before the smell of blood, sweat and fear added to the reek. In moments a flying stinging mass forms, trying to locate a source for it's feeding frenzy.
D'witt Initiative Roll
So, the order stands at:
Conner - Announced he is firing arrows at the creature
Creature - Grappled w/ Angel, 1 claw & craw, 1 claw free
D'witt - If I act, 5' left & holster pistol free, draw longsword move, attack standard
Xavorin - unknown
Sir Gareth - unknown
Angel - Dagger out, greatsword dropped on bank
Points at the creature and casts a spell.
Conner will call upon the power of Erastil's Dagger to true strike with his third attack after two arrows flow from his bow at once with the first attack.
LB Att2: 27
Conner will call upon the power of Erastil's Dagger to true strike with his third attack after two arrows flow from his bow at once with the first attack.
[dice=LB Att1]1d20+12
[dice=LB Dam]1d8+4
[dice=LB Dam]1d8+4
LB Att2: 27
[dice=LB Dam]1d8+4
The creature is not flat footed, it acted in the surprise round. I take it you were using the Helm to make the creature flat-footed.