Without hesitation Smoog leaps for the doorway while a little voice inside his head says...
-
"You can look for the box later, greedy fool.
Now is the time to save your scales!"
-
Smoog calls out to his fellow Kobolds below,
"Wait for me, I'm on my way!"
Pork waddles his way to the trapdoor as well
I'd rather not have my bacon cooked...
Fssst scrambles his way down the ladder, seeking safety beneath the earth, hoping this section of the basement connects with the other...
The sensation in her claws drives all competent thought from her mind and nearly causes her to drop the horn. Suddenly very concious of her pack and its contents. Without a thought or word for her companions, she scrambles down the stairs, looking for an empty cask or sturdy table to shield her from debris.
Grick watches in open mouth awe as Fssst's magic takes hold burning and destroying everything in its path and is knocked to the ground as the volcano erupts as if in conjunction with Fssst's spell. I really need to take his skull and bind his spirit, maybe one of the long legs will end him for me
Grick's musings are interrupted by the blowing of a mighty horn. Not even sure of what is driving him, Grick instinctively runs towards the sound and seeing the others flinging themselves through the windows follows suit. Depending on his dexterity to avoid the shattered glass Grick dives through the remains of a window.
An amazing scene greets Grick inside where the others are engaging in a difficult fight an a large ogre. He immediately reaches for the magic of the spirits and calls lightning to strike out at the ogre.
Bolts of lightning smash into the ogre...
But also drawing attention to himself...
Hegh lies in the dark cellar, clutching his head in pain.
But with that pain comes clarity: I need a helmet.
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Sees-Death huddles in the darkness, sitting on top of her upended cookpot.
"Hello, it's me.
I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to talk...
To go over everything...
They say that time's supposed to heal you, but I ain't done much healing.
Hello, can you hear me?
I am in the dark dreaming about who you used to be.
When we were younger and free.
I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell from our feet,
There's such a difference between us
And a plane apart...
Hello from the other side.
I must've prayed a thousand times...
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done,
But when I call you never seem to be home.
Hello... from the outside.
At least I can say that I've tried...
To tell you I'm sorry for piercing your heart.
But it won't matter, it clearly doesn't tear you apart...
Anymore
Hello, how are you?
It's so typical of me to talk about myself, I'm sorry.
I hope that you're well.
Did you ever make it back to Bahamut?
If that's even how it happens...
It's no secret that the both of us
Have run right out of time."
Smoog, you seem to have chosen correctly, as the roof of the bar has been blown off by the intensifying storm. Gorlaug's post-mortem wrath, in the form of the volcanic eruption, is terrifying to behold in the skies above you. Suppressing the inner desire to squeak in fear, you scamper down the stairs to rejoin the others. Behind you, the sacks of produce and barrels of food begin to lift off into the air...
Pork has to suck in his belly a little bit to make it down the trapdoor, but he follows Fsst into the bar's cellar successfully and slams the trapdoor shut behind him (I assume, correct me if I'm wrong.)
Following suit and feeling the building beginning to shake itself apart, Sees-Death throws open the cellar door and races down the thirteen steps to the basement. Down here there is the entire collection of Felix's wine and spirits, that he uses to keep the bar stocked. Even in the desperation and chaos of the current situation you have to keep yourself from whistling at the sheer volume of booze the half-ogre proprietor kept himself stocked with. It'd be enough to keep the whole colony back at Moontower Mountain drunk for hours...if they weren't all dead. The sobering thought brings you back to reality and you resume your search, finding a cookpot and sitting upon it. Unknown to the bard, her self-calming poetic therapy weaves a subtle magic. Truly she has been called Dragontongue by the elders in the past. Everyone within earshot heals for 4 HP from the reassurance of her strange song.
Hegh cradles his head, nursing his injury, while Shieldbearer's body lies on the floor before him, unconscious and barely breathing. After a few moments of Sees's voice penetrating the howling gale of the storm above, Hegh sees Shieldbearer's eyes crack open slowly.
During the fight, Grick had successfully blasted Felix in midair after Flung's javelin exploded. Felix's body was smoking and blackened from the lightning bolt he summoned, though he was still moving when he struck the wall. Unfortunately, the shaman could pay no more attention to Felix because the spirits he called were being empowered by the storm outside, causing the surrounding inclement weather to intensify! Glass from the broken windows is picked up by the raging winds that rip through the bar, slicing across your scales! Take 1d6 damage!
The storm is screaming in Smoog's head. The roof is gone and probably with it that tempting treasure but he is racing for safety.
-
Dodging debris and darting dexterously, Smoog skips two and three stairs at a time to reach the main floor.
-
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Felix reeling from several wounds; his skin still smoking from Grick's electrical blast.
-
Get past him. Get to the cellar. The rock always protects.
-
Smoog grabs Grick and together they follow Thunk and Flung down the cellar stairs. They close the door behind them and seek further shelter in corners or under heavy furniture.
Smoog is able to rescue Grick from being picked up by the raging winds. Together, they race past the groaning Felix under the pile of chairs and down into the basement.
And none too soon. The storm only builds in intensity, and the walls are beginning to come apart upstairs. Only the windowless cellar offers any shelter at all. There's no more screaming or cries for help from the other inhabitants of the oasis - only the howling of the wind and the creaking wooden protests of the bar as it's torn apart.
It's difficult to keep track of time in the near-lightless basement, but you're down there long enough to feel stiff in your limbs before the sounds upstairs abate. Silence falls upon your ears once again, assuming Sees isn't still singing to herself.
Hegh has spent the time whispering to a cask of ale. As the storm subsides he confidently states. Gorlaug wills that we head south.
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Sees fell asleep in the heat of the storm and now lays curled on top of the old spare cook-pot. Lines of disturbed soot leading from the corners of her eyes show she had been crying. Her pack is conspicuously missing from her back, and most creatures of average intelligence will infer that it is under the pot.
The dirge twitches in her sleep, hands and feet fidgeting as if she were running, or warding something off. Despite what is apparently a fitful sleep, she doesn't make a sound. The muscles in her throat contract, but not so much as a moan escapes. Smoog knows better than to disturb her sleep.
To those awake and interested in quiet consultation Smoog speaks...
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"Hegh is possibly addled but I cannot disprove his conversations with our Lord Gorlaug.
Even so, he has identified the most tactically prudent course of action to pursue a splinter off of the main club that hit us so hard.
-
South takes us toward the dwarf, (spits in the dirt) and his necromancer cohort.
Unless a more pressing objective presents itself we may as well cut off that head of our hydra.
-
But before we head out, many of us are worn to frazzled and need to recover.
-
Also, the question of 'Clan Elders' has been bothering me.
All other leaders of our clan have perished.
We eight are all that is left.
In keeping with clan tradition, I propose we select a new Elder Council which at a minimum calls for three members.
Following that tradition we need to..."
-
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Bounding up the stairs as soon as the storm ends, Grick calls back to the others, "dibs on the skull, need it to bind his spirit." Assuming he finds a dead ogre in the remains of the tavern, Grick whistles a happy tune as he begins to saw through the ogre's neck.
"I will not cleave to what we were before. Our traditions were burnt upon that mountain, just as our homes and God was. I will do what needs to be done to preserve and strengthen this pack of Kobolds. The needs of our past count for naught." says Fssst as he lights a dim flame in the darkness of the cellar.
"We gather, for warmth, for protection. Choose a leader, yes, this is needful. But do not call them elders. Choose with a wiser mind than those who came before, as their choices have failed them."
Thunk think no one old. Thunk travel and see tribe of not us that not use old ones. Thunk thump them so maybe not good plan...
Hegh and Shieldbearer emerge from the cellar, and then pause to watch Grick. After a few moments, Hegh pulls out his sword and begins to help Grick.
Hegh and Shieldbearer emerge from the cellar, and then pause to watch Grick. After a few moments, Hegh pulls out his sword and begins to help Grick.
"Yes, yes Hegh, just like that, just slice through the vertebrae, no need for neatness, I still need to skin the skull to prepare it for the ritual. Luckily for us the storm scoured most of the skin off already."
”I thought you, Fssst, would be the last one to turn your back on our traditions but I can clearly see the failure of that system.
If not Elders as we knew them, then some tribunal or collective?
-
Just like a rope with but one strand or a stool with one leg; a group with one leader is vulnerable.
Three can agree more readily than eight and not allow the tyranny of one (blessed be the Gorlaug).
Would you consider a tri-lead clan?
-
Of course we can all voice our opinions about our path and future decisions and I guess any are free to leave on their own accord, but to survive as a clan we need a stable core of strength and wisdom to guide us.”
Gorlaug wills that I, the bortaS, shall lead!
As soon as Hegh speaks, Shieldbearer takes his arm and leads him over to a shiny object in a pile of ash, staring at the rest of the group and subtly shaking his head. Hegh is soon fully distracted, and no longer pays attention to talk of clan leadership.
Pork scratches his nose and grunts
Perhaps we can find another Dragon. Some young spawn of Gorlaug
He shrugs his shoulders
The dirge suddenly bolts up, slides off the cauldron, and falls on her butt with a yip. She rubs the grit from her eyes, smacks her lips and stretches.
Smoog, you know that in your tribe, as in all tribes, the dragon - in your case Gorlaug - was the all-powerful dictator. However, since he took little interest in day-to-day kobold affairs that didn't directly concern him, the tribe was largely left to self-governance. The biggest and strongest of the tribe led the raiding parties and hunters, the cleverest trapmaker oversaw matters pertaining to the tribe's defense, and the biggest blowhard or most eloquent speaker (depending on who you asked) was Gorlaug's high priest that basically bossed everyone around when the other two leaders weren't around.
As Fsst, Thunk, Smoog, and Pork quietly confer among themselves in the basement, with Sees silently listening while lying down for now, Grick and Hegh climb the basement stairs and emerge into the aftermath of the storm.
Ash covers everything, making it look like a snow-covered landscape. Beneath the white, everything is darker from the materials coating them.
In the middle of what remains of the bar is the massive corpse of Felix. It appears that the storm's violent winds used the half-ogre's unconscious body as a wrecking ball to destroy his own bar, hurling him around at hurricane force speeds and crushing everything under his bulk. His body took a huge amount of punishment in the process - it's so damaged that it's a miracle he's still mostly in one piece. Your sword only needs to cut a small remaining attachment of neck to sever the half-ogre proprietor's head.
You curse to yourself, Grick, when you see that the thick skull of the bartender is partially damaged. A wooden support beam punched a hole in the rear of his cranium, on top. Still, it should be serviceable...
You also find a highly unrealistic amount of loot. Everyone can roll for Loot. 6 and below gets you 1d6+5 coins, 7-9 gets you 1d8+10 coins and a moderate item from my moderate magic item list, and a 10+ gets you 1d10+15 coins and a superior item from my superior item list.
In her rush to grab the couldron during the storm, Sees hardly noticed the heavy pouch of copper and silver coin that Felix or his scullery maid stashed in the old rusted cookery pot. Still too drained to do much searching or exploration, she ties the pouch onto her pack and pulls her possessions close, waiting patiently for a consensus from the group.
PHAT LOOTZ
coins
Thunk eventually comes upstairs, getting incredibly bored downstairs. He wanders around smacking things that aren't totally broken with his club.
Incredible destruction. The power Fsst commands is immense.
Thunk see Fsst thump whole town. Thunk want do same. O Shines!
He sees something in a pile of ash and starts to dig it out.
Smoog takes a break from the intense discussion when the cellar door opens and the storm outside subsides.
-
Keeping an eye out for the little jewelry box he saw before, Smoog rummages around in the ash and building wreckage for anything interesting.
-
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”The issue of our group’s leadership may very well just work itself out naturally.
I already have gained great respect for the guidance and common sense of some here.
-
Let us rest here for a short while and eat, heal, restock; before we race off to our next quarry.”
Thunk take your vote to rule Smoog. No fear Thunk keep you safe so you play with toys more!
Thunk says between smashing and searching.
When it seems the others are all making their way out into sunlit field of distruction, Sees follows. While the others kick about the ruins, the Dragontongue finds a relatively private area and strips down. She takes clawfulls of hot ash and scrubs her scales, which are growing dull and opaque. Sometime soon she will moult and soon after she will have other appetites to consider. For now it seems a weight has been lifted, and Sees-Death sits in a bowl of compressed ash with her pack, mending her only set of clothes.
Flung climbs out of the cellar with the others to survey the wreckage and look for his lost spear. "Hey, has anyone seen my spear? I seem to have lost it when that ogre grabbed me" he says while rubbing his injured throat.
As Flung continues to search, he spies underneath the rubble of what might have been the chimney at one time, a badly damaged box containing a purse with some coins and another object.
Thunk have poke stick! Here
Flung gives over the spear
Thunk think world not fear fling and Thunk of Fling no have poke stick.
Pork and Smoog both find magic rings - Pork's is made from platinum, and Smoog's from gold. Spout Lore identifies their purposes, or you can try them on and see what feels different.
Hegh roots around in Felix's pockets and finds a bloodstained, cork-stoppered vial. There's a small tag on a circular gear around the neck of the vial, that can be adjusted from seemingly different settings. The four available settings are labeled Cinnamon Rolls, Fresh Flowers, Rotting Flesh, and Swampy Gas.
Fsst finds a tiny scarab figurine in the dust, as big as your pointer finger. Rubbing it to wipe the ash off animates it, and it opens its metallic wings and flies about five feet off the ground, to the center of the room. Anyone looking at it is temporarily blinded by the intense flash of light the scarab emits. Its job done, the scarab returns to Fsst's hand.
Thunk is too distracted by what he found to pay any attention to the scarab. The length of steel-colored cloth he pulls free from a chest under the wreckage can be used as a cloak or a sash. It provides +1 Armor when worn, and has metallic edges lining the seams that allow it to be swung as a weapon with Reach and Precise tags in a pinch.
If you make camp here, remember to choose which Acorn bonus you get applied to you. It's difficult to establish local time with all the ash in the sky blocking out the sun, but it's morningtime, you know that much.
Sees takes the small Acorn Angreal from her pack and places it on a flat surface, twisting the cap so the stem points to the smooth side of the acorn, activating its healing effects. Their camp was not likely to make much noise, the area lacked the brush for an ambush if there was anything living left, and she wanted to make sure all of her companions would come out well rested. They all deserved it. With the settings made, she turns the acorn like a top, and it remains spinning in the ash. Sees has slept, but not truly rested. She continues to busy her claws with the soothing minor labors of cooking and mending. Any Kobolds who ask will get their clothes washed in ash and mended.
Flung finds a green stone that he immediately is filled with desire for. It's in your pocket before you even realize what you're doing. Overcoming your initial impulse, you take it out again and study it. Plain jadestone, seemingly...obviously enchanted, though.
Smoog rests, mends hit dented and scratched gadgets, puts away the coins he found with the gold ring and searches thru the cellar for a small travel-sized cask of some drink to take with them.
-
Smoog also gets with Fssst about reworking his tools.
The illustrations and diagrams for the Pliers and Driver are available for reference.
-
Thunk find fun belt thing. Or cape thing. OOO Thunk can also thump with it! FUN!!
Thunk wraps it around his shoulders and looks awesome.
Pork examines the strange platinum ring closely, attempting to discover it's purpose...
He sighs, unable to see anything unusual about the ring. Chancing it, he decides to slip the ring over his stubby finger
Fssst gathers up some of the ashes from one of the flophouses from which none of his victims escaped, and pools them into a shallow pit near the center of the outpost. Taking Smoog's tools, he begins to work them by hand, carefully quenching them in the ashes, scraping and honing them with bare claws until they match the designs Smoog requested. He sets the tools, glowing dull red from the heat, aside to cool. Without a word, he walks away.
"Thanks Thunk!" Flung replies in appreciation to the return of his spear. "That's a nifty looking sash you've got there" he adds.
As the others settle down, Flung goes off to the side and looking around him to make sure no one is looking, he pulls out the the green stone and examines it closing while muttering "My prize! My prize!"
Smoog quietly visits each Kobold and hands them a small pouch containing 20 round metal marbles.
Each pouch has a cord or string so it can be hung around their neck or just carried in a pocket.
-
"Please, when we are in a particularly tight spot, I will give the signal, 'Marbles Away!'
-
At that time, throw this pouch at the enemy any where,
I don't even need you to hit them, beyond them would be even better.
Just be sure the bag opens and scatters the contents. I will do the rest....
... I hope ...
Pork, when you slip on the platinum ring, a small orb of white light appears just over the center. The orb lifts upward slightly, wobbling a little, and then it zips off toward the northern horizon. The ring, meanwhile, pulses with a very faint light - so faint that you pretty much have to cup the ring in darkness to tell that it's glowing slightly. You've never seen such magic before.
Meanwhile, all the kobolds heal for half max HP + 8 HP from Sees' excellent roll. The kobolds make such camp as they can amid the wreckage, comforted by the assumption that the worst of the eruptions are over. As you rest and recover your strength, making plans and strategies, your assumption seems to bear up. The ash still chokes the sky, making visibility markedly lower than before, but at least the winds have died down. Apart from the noises the kobolds make, there is no sound coming from anywhere in the wastelands. If the conversation ever dies down, the silence seems to press in on your ears.
Pork snorts as he watches the orb of white light zip off to the north.
Wonder where that light went off to? No time to find out now..
He slips off the ring and put it back in his pack before taking a sip of his wineskin