The storm is upon you now; it's blowing a gale and pelting with rain. You need shelter desperately.
Desperately scanning the line of hills, Healaugh looks for any sign of shelter.
Tresmeer keeps to the rear. he watches all around, especially keeping an eye on Healaugh's progress.
"Tis loike Dennik. Jess like dere moor storms I bin fetchin' sheep in afore." He sounds almost cheerful.
Wrapping her arms around herself Siobhán walks at a steady pace, a small weak smile the only sign that she agrees with Tresmeer and Healaugh's plan to head eastwards. Her eyes squinting to see through the driving rain in the hopes of spotting shelter she silently wracks her mind for any more ideas on how to get out of the storm as soon as possible.
Upon hearing Tresmeer's suggestion;
Know: Local (1d20+6=11)
Know:Nature (1d20+5=21)
Trying to spot/find shelter;
Know:Nature (1d20+5=21)
Survival (1d20+6=18)
Know(Nat)1d20+9 ?¨ [13,9] = (22)
Spot 1d20+5 ?¨ [16,5] = (21)
both of these looking for shelter
Healaugh and Tresmeer
Everyone else
Despite your keen-eyed gazing, no shelter is evident; Healaugh and Tresmeer are some way in front as you all make your way through the depression between two large hills.
"Not sure I like that sound" Healaugh mouths quietly, standing on tiptoe to get closer to the big farmer. "Best warn others to keep quiet. I can nip a bit closer an' take a look. Likely they'll not spot me if I'm careful. What d'you think?"
Tresmeer looks at the halfling for a short while.
"Foine. Yum go an' Oi'l warn um lessun dere be trouble."
As he turns away, Tresmeer grabs Healuagh quickly, "Yum be roight careful, taint no good gettin' stuck wiv a sword." Tresmeer gives him a worried look before he legs it back to the main group.
Once back with the rest, Tresmeer points back at the halfling climbing the hill. "Us as 'eard fightin' over dee 'ill. Eee's gone to taik a look sneaky loike."
Nodding grimly at Tresmeer, the halfling looks for suitable cover and sets off towards the noise. He moves as silently as possible, pausing to listen and noting any untoward movement from the direction of the sound.
Hide 1d20+7 ?¨ [14,7] = (21)
Move silently 1d20+5 ?¨ [4,5] = (9) (windy - maybe he'll get away with it)
Listen 1d20+3 ?¨ [15,3] = (18)
Know(nat) 1d20+9 ?¨ [17,9] = (26)
'This storm is quite fierce.' Bran says to Siobahn. 'Here take my shirt.' he tells her as he procededs to take off his armor. 'I hope the two of them find shelter soon.' he says with a faint sound of desperation in his voice.
I don't think I have even seen a storm of this kind in all my years. It almost exciting... the sound of howling wind, the rain pelting you as it stings your skin, the lighting and then the wonderous crash of thunder... I now understood why some venerate the Stormlord and his fury.
Healaugh
Hide 1d20+7 ?¨ [5,7] = (12)
Listen 1d20+3 ?¨ [14,3] = (17)
Spot 1d20+5 ?¨ [18,5] = (23)
Move Silently 1d20+5 ?¨ [20,5] = (25)
Know (nat) 1d20+9 ?¨ [12,9] = (21)
All of which are quite respectable apart from the one that would have been actually useful. Sigh.
"P'haps us cun move a bit closer to the 'alfling, if'n Eee wants us we be near fur 'im."
Tresmeer is almost hopping from one foot to the other with impatience.
Healaugh
It looks like a battle between two different bands of Fhoi Myore; one group of a dozen smaller ones wearing a motley collection of clothes stolen from nobleman and rich merchants, the other half a dozen brawny gray-skinned, lynx-eyed in dressed in a more conservative fashion. The smaller ones are fighting with bows and spears; the big ones have axes and polearms, and one seems to have armour as well.
About 50 feet behind the line of the large ones ('yrch' is one name you've heard them called), there is someone lying in the ravine. It looks like a white-bearded old man wearing tattered robes. He twists over to watch the fight, his arms seemingly tied behind his back.
Everyone else
You see Healaugh scramble up the slope to the top and crouch behind some boulders.
Swiftly taking in the scene before him, Healaugh rushes back to the group.
"Battle. Two sets of scum killing each other - big uns and little uns. Messy. Another thing. Human in robes tied up. Want to take a closer look - see if we can help?" he pants.
Temporarily out of breath he plonks himself on the ground and then relays what he's seen in a slightly more coherent fashion to the rest of the party.
You all hear guttural yells of death from the combat. What do you do?
"I not get dis, Healaugh. What do 'Eee mean big 'uns an' little 'uns? Dat man,'Eee one of us mebbe?"
Tresmeer tries to think of other questions. Don't want to get hurt like Conall did.
"There's Fhoi Myore fighting each other Tresmeer." explains Healaugh, with a worried look back up the hill.
"They come over that hill, they'll see us and we're dead for sure. Don't know about the other one, but he didn't look like Fhoi Myore and he was tied. Don't like that."
He looks at the rain-drenched bedraggled group. "Don't know what we do Tresmeer. Lad here's wounded, storm's still strong, battle over the hill. Reckon we still need cover."
'If we just leave them to fight each other there is good chance that whoever is left will come over that hill. And the human...we need to get whoever that is away from those damn faries for all we know he could in up in one of their stew pots.' 'I say that Conall, Siobahn and Melressia continue on. We can stay behind and see hows the battle fairs maybe rescue the human if they need rescuing.'
"Foine."
Healaugh assesses Bran's plan quickly and turns of Siobhan.
"Don't sounds like we've much time. Melisana here says she can use that cross-bow. If Tresmeer can find a safer spot for you and Conall, she can protect you maybe. Thinking we want you out of sight."
He looks up a Bran. "Can you be quiet in that armour lad? Just thinking we sneak up behind that prisoner of yourn. He's not et yet - likely they want him for something. Scum."
As he speaks, Healaugh reaches down and picks up a handful of small rocks. "Might be needing them." he says.
"Ow many of um? If'n dere be more an a few, I be cummin too."
Tresmeer readies to follow Bran and Healaugh. he swings his club a couple of times for courage.
"Seen about twenty. Rest of you be hiding"
More cries of death reach your ears. The din of metal on metal is lessening, but still furious.
Tresmeer stops as if he has hit a stone wall. "Did Eee say twenty? Not foive er six? Err, foine it be."
His eyes are a bit wider and the beard almost hides the flaring nostrils. "Us'll be a bit careful, loike."
Then he carries on up the slope with Healaugh.
"We'll keep low. There's rocks for cover."
"I bledy gunno be a worm under dem rocks, matey!" twenty!
Melisana raises an eyebrow at Bran's rendition of her name but nods in the affirmative when Healaugh offers his suggested course of action for the group. "I'll do my best" she says, loading the crossbow. Healaugh and Tresmeer hurry up the slope, the determined fisherman leading the frightened farmer up to the top.
From their vantage point they can see carnage unfolding. The smaller Fhoi Myore or pucha are inflicting casualties on the grey-skinned ones, but not without losses themselves.
Bran follows the farmer and fisherman up the slope hoping he will be quiet enough as not to draw any attention to them.
"Where be dat man in robes, Healaugh?" Tresmeer scans the area quickly.
Humans. If they were the proper height this would be easy.
"He was behind the big scum line." mutters Healaugh. "Keep down and watch out for the filth. Got a dagger I can use Bran?" he adds.
All three of you spy the bound man behind the line of the larger Fhoi Myore, still tied up.
The boulders rock unsteadily as the three of you peer over them to watch the battle.
"Cun us use dees rocks and climb down careful loike, Healaugh. If'n they turn on dat man, we cun do naught frum 'ere."
"Be then mebbe dere be less'n five of dem?"
"Reckon they're killing each other fast" notes Healaugh with satisfaction. "Still more than us though."
He prods the rock experimentally. "Could roll these down on top of 'em if they spot us?" he suggests. "Bran, Tresmeer - you good at climbing?"
Siobhán agrees to the plan thought up by the men with a tiny nod although concern for the group is obvious in her eyes. Watching the trio leave she heaves a heavy sigh and focuses on Melisana and Conall. "I've never felt so useless in my entire life" She admits in a pained whisper. "There has to be something we can do to help them" She adds with a distinct frown. "Beyond carrying on to find shelter, I mean, what good is shelter if they end up dead?" Slowly her eyes trail over to the direction of the battle once more, silently praying to the earthmother for the men's safety.
Conall had been quiet for quite some time. The pain in his side was indescribable and it took most of his effort to keep putting one foot in front of another. Still when the sounds of battle came to them he tried to think of what he could do to help. The problem was there was little he could think of.. at least nothing that wouldn't cause him to reopen his wounds.
"I know what you mean.. If it comes to it I want you all to leave me behind as if you need to flee i'll only slow you down."
I hope others are taking care and getting hid.
Healaugh risks a quick glance over his shoulder to where the rest of the party were standing before turning his attention back to the bound figure.
This isn't work for the likes of me.
"I cun climb. Gots to get sheep in off dem 'ills." Tresmeer looks to see if Bran can.
"Shall us go, 'alfling?"
Bran nods to Healaugh and hands him the dagger. It could almost serve as a sword to the Halfling.
"Yes I am a able climber. As a lumberjack one has to be."
"P'haps we could jess roll the stones down on 'um from 'ere? If dey is under us den dey be under rocks."
Tresmeer looks at the other two for a decision.
"Squash 'em and pick 'em off as they come up. Like that. Best be making our minds up lads, can't stand here forever."
He pauses. "Likely I can't push a rock myself - I'm quick, not that strong." he concedes.
"Pushing the rock would be the best plan. It offers a distraction and Healaugh can go sneak down and free the man. The two groups may stop fighting and try to rush us, if they do we have high ground and they will be at a disadvantage."
From their vantage point the three shipwrecked souls see one of the two big 'uns speared savagely as his comrade hews off the head of one of his smaller adversaries.
The smaller in stature but larger in number group of Fhoi Myore chuckle grimly as their archers move round to get a better shot.
The large rocks judder uneasily under your feet as you clamber over them. What will you do?
"Gah. Roll them rocks down on 'em" spits Healaugh. "Don't look like there's many left. Watch they arrows lads. Holler if you think they spot me."
Hide [6,7] = (13)
Move silently [10,5] = (15)
or not. Still the storm's still blasting away... clutching at straws.
Tresmeer gives hima few minutes head start then has a go at the rocks. He aims to bring the whole lot down on them and not the halfling.
"P'haps 'Eeee could 'elp us wiv der rocks. Taint fallin' much," grumbles the moorwalker as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Looking at Bran.
One of the archers spys Healaugh, and with a look of anger fires at the halfling!
Short bow attack vs Healaugh (1d20+3=22)Small arrow (adjusted for Strength) (1d4-1=0)
An arrow skims across Healaugh's back, producing a horrid burning sensation. The rest of the Fhoi Myore are still intent on their fight.
Up on the slope, Tresmeer trys in vain to shift the boulders whilst his little friend braves arrow fire.