There is some more rustling, and a tall figure emerges. It is the elderly verbeeg, and he hobbles out of the trees, shielding his eyes from the lantern light.
"Aye, aye, very well..." he mutters feebly, "Lo, I have nary a quarrel with thee, brave ones. Ye are mighty indeed to have overcome my vassals. Let me be on my way, and trouble thee no more."
Ynyr approaches.
"And just what were you doing in the town back there? Was it right to loot a place just because all the people have been gone? And just what do you know about these singings anyway. Is it you having anything to do with it? Is it?"
"Fair words butter no parsnips. Thinking we'll be having a wee chat before letting tha go anyplace." Healaugh sounds stern as he confronts the old man.
"Oh, such singing it is, yes, by the pricking of my thumbs. You are so clever to see how wicked it is. We thought that with the people gone, we could take what we wanted." the old man says in an almost apologetic way. He is hunched and feeble but still towers over Ynyr, so close that the Korrinishman can smell the foul odour of the verbeeg's breath.
He then turns his attention to Healaugh, and looking straight at him as he pipes up, replies to the fisherman, "So clever we are, yes. Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of halfling scum..."
With that, the old verbeeg's form wavers like ripples in a lake and in his place stands a giant out of a child's nightmare, skin the colour of pond weed, great fangs in a leering mouth, horns and a shock of white hair. He raises a morning-star in a terrible clawed hand...
Healaugh's words trail off as the old man turns into a figure of nightmare.
"Eee, Ynyr-lad, should ha' known better than to trust old 'un."
"What the heck?"
Healaugh frantically tries to work out that the strangely changed old man might be.
And has absolutely no idea. By 'eck, he's never heard the like in any campfire stories or in book learning. Tis a mystery to him.
Darvyl knew something like this was going to happen.
Initiative (1d20+4=24)
Nature (1d20+8=23)
"Fhoi Myore!!"
Ddraig and Nechtan
It is a terrible ogre-like creature, called in some lands oni. In their own territory they are known to construct clever lairs with creature comforts and useful servants. Status amongst them is measured by wealth and the number and quality of slaves under an individual's command. Oni often compete to gain the best slaves or most riches. They use powers of illusion to disguise themselves as other races, and some can turn into a cloud of mist and cause victims to sleep with their hypnotic breath.
Battle of the Copse
Nechtan
The Sorcerous Creature
Darvyl
Ynyr
Healaugh
Greylan
Ddraig
The foul giant leers at Healaugh and smashes the halfling with his great morningstar, swatting the halfling aside as a man swats a buzzing insect. "Put out the light, and then put out the light..." the creature mutters eerily.
Healaugh grunts slightly as the blow shoves him backwards.
"Time for bit of singing myself, m'thinking. Get out of way Ynyr," he calls urgently to his old friend.
"Beware the creature's hypnotic breath" growled Ddraig. "None of us will be useful if we fall asleep! And know also that it may transform itself into mist, or may disguise itself as another, so we must be ready for anything. We must end the life of this oni without delay."
The oni laughs, a deep sneering cackle, "Oho! So clever indeed! But you, I have not seen such as you before, little lizard-man. Not like the ones from bogs, flats and fens are you... No, something else...."
"Nor will you see my like again, foul fiend, for you will not survive this night" snarled Ddraig in response.
Nechtan moves forward while assessing the oni and lets loose with his most potent attack against it. Jaws of the Wolf (1d20+8=27, 1d20+7=27, 2d10+5=12, 2d6+4=7, 1d8=4) As Nechtan's claymore bites deep, the oni feels a distracting chill run down its spine.
The oni howls in agony, "You shall be the first to die, little man!" as he smashes into the ranger with his terrible weapon.
"Yeh hit like a lassie!"
Darvyl, now that the fight has begun, finds his courage again. He rushes into the gap (P10) and attacks with both weapons, trying to distract and confuse the monster.
Even with the creature distracted by Nechtan's magical blade, Daryvl's strikes are blocked.
"Begone, insects, lest you trouble me overmuch!" the oni roars.
"Now we'll see who is the clever one, won't we?"
Ynyr steps back to R11 and tosses his beloved magical dagger towards the big creature.
Aggravating Force on Thing. (1d20+8=11, 1d4+4=6)
Ynyr has the grace to look a little embarrassed, but he is still cross. He catches the returning dagger.
"You, you I shall keep alive, you amuse me." the oni says with something approaching bonhomie to Ynyr.
Healaugh looks at the Oni in disgust. "Tha gurt long streak of - words fail me."
Dejectedly he points his wand at the Oni, but the insult just doesn't flow.
"Backing off now lads," he calls over his shoulder and shuffling to the comparative safety of R17.
Healaugh's wand-waving has no effect at all on the oni.
Greylan mutters, "Right, bad breath, I'll bear that in mind."
Magic Missile 1d20+7=22, 2d4+5=12
He retreats further down the path, and his elven sight allows him to still have a good view of the battle as it unfolds. He mutters arcane syllables and a dazzling bolt of energy slams into the oni.
"Laugh that off, monster!" He crows.
Ddraig strode forward and swung his sword.
"Evil such as you no longer has a place in the world" growled Ddraig.
"Oho!" cries the oni, "Fine words indeed, let us see, shall we?" as Ddraig's attack nicks his green hide.
Straining himself to the limit, the Krutne assails the creature with a flurry of slashes.
Twin Strike (1d20+8=22, 1d10+2=8, 1d20+7=24, 1d6+1=7, 1d8=7)
Twin Strike Again (1d20+8=25, 1d10+2=3, 1d20+7=27, 1d6+1=7)
Cold Crit damage with axe (1d6+7=12)
The creature cries in agony, "I had almost forgot the taste of fear, I thank you, little one."
The oni growls and smashes Ddraig Goch back with a mighty swing of its morning-star. It opens its jaws and a fine mist issues forth, making you all feel sleepy, soooo sleepy.
"Sleep now, my pets, sleeep. Sleep that knits up the ravelled cares of day..."
"Not liking looks of this. Seemingly tes up to us to get rid of old un."
He glances down at himself and then up at Greylan's elegant form before shrugging. "Can only try."
"Feel.... strange... Now that's not right is it?"
Darvyl, determined to go down fighting, charges the oni, jabbing with his shortsword. However, just as he reaches the creature, he collapses, unconscious.
Struggling to stay awake, Ynyr focuses all his attention on getting that all-important hit in.
Magic Weapon vs the oni. (1d20+9=13, 1d4+4=7)
Even with all the benefits of his magic, the strange trance he is fighting is too strange and trance-like.
Shaking himself free of the Oni's attack, Ynyr squares himself to try again next time.
Darvyl dozes and Ynyr shakes himself awake.
Putting his earlier failure out of his mind, the halfling pulls himself together.
"Coom on lads! Tha canst do this! For Brigid-lass!"
He points his wand with one hand, while preparing to hurl his lucky javelin with the other, backing up one step.
The oni snarls at Healaugh, "Your words are as the drone of a gnat!"
"Yes! We can do this!" Greylan cries as he launches a further magic missile.
"Or not." as it fizzles out short.
The oni snarls at Healaugh, "Your words are as the drone of a gnat!"