Vengeance of the Downtrodden (Inactive)

Game Master DM Mooshybooshy, "the Foolish"

Retzack? There's a question list. You can't just ask whatever you like and have the move work for you. Anything off the list, and there's no guarantee of an answer, let alone a truthful one. You can check the move "Charming and Open" to see what they are.

Juuuust making sure you're aware.

Oh confound! Alright, sry, got caught up in the moment. Alright, edited.

Smoog gets restless waiting for the ceremony to conclude and heads down to the kitchen to check on things...

Retzack nods at Greas. "You are of course correct, as always, wise Greas. We can't be expected to leave so many alone for so long without expecting them to blow up -something-. Let's just hope they haven't done anything too wacky like try to find the wine cellar or something.

And, but though we shall be hasty, we can not be too hasty. Sees? There is a minor detail to complete. Unless you would rather wait until the perfect moment, though, alas, in hectic times such as this, one can hardly promise a peaceful rest, let along a picnic of wine and cheese along a moon-dappled coastline."

Again the diamond ring is in his hands, presented forward.

"Shall we?"

Sees stands to exchange rings with Retzack. "Of course, darling. There is no rest for the wicked. Greas and Oadir can check on the festivities downstairs. Surely we have a few private moments to get better acquianted.

Yeah, yeah, alright then. I have no power in this but I've seen enough weddings to know my way around. Oadir coughs a little, setting on a posh voice.

If you were to exchange rings? He waits for them to stand ready. As we join you in a marriage that is not of love, but may still be in future, would you care to exchange any words of oath? If they do, he waits.

Then I hereby declare you husband and wife, you may do however you please. And on that note Oadir is outta there!

He then rushes downstairs, looking upon the group of mischief makers trying to, or having succeeded in getting into the alcohol supply, as he shouts: What in the Nine Layers of Hell is going on here?! Those drinks are to be sealed away for the BIG celebration! When we've taken the town, THEN we can drunk off our asses! And that's a promise!

Oadir stands, ready to take on the full brunt of the disappointment among the troops.
Let me know what roll is required, I just figured somebody had to do something. Oadir has been sitting eager to do this, but he wanted the ceremony to proceed as it should. No one deserves a rushed wedding, not even a political one.

Retzack stands and exchanges rings: The priceless Diamond of Massiveness to her, and the Stone of Irrationality for him.

He puts it on...and begins to feel more calm already.

'Oooooooooooooooh yeah. Thaaaaat's the good stuff. What was I ever worried about in the first place?'

He endures Oadir's ceremony, wishing the demon had at least put in a little better of a veneer of sincerity in it. Even marriages of convenience should start off on a golden foot.

At the end he, being a goblin of tradition, leans in for a kiss from the female kobold.
'What do they call girl kobolds? Kobold-ess? She-kobold? Koboldette?

As both business and ceremony is completed, Retzack's words follow Oadir's deeds. 'Indeed indeed! There is busineess to be done and a kingdom to be won! We have promises to keep...and miles to go before we sleep. Still, I'm infinitely glad of the words that have been said and deeds done. Truthfully the future will be--"

Retzack seems to stutter over the last word, as if inhaling before finishing the sentence.

"--much better."

Retzack leaves the room and summons his minions. He stalks out, taking stock of the situation.

He endures Oadir's ceremony, wishing the demon had at least put in a little better of a veneer of sincerity in it. Even marriages of convenience should start off on a golden foot.

Here I am, trying to do something nice, given the circumstances, doing my best, and all I get is criticism. Remind me never to be nice to you again. *Puff*

Can I help it if I was expecting something along the lines of "Mawwig.... Wove. Twue Wove, will fowoow ewe, foweveh...." =-3

Maybe my alignment should have been "pit males against eachother for my affection." I'd get hella xp with that one.

The kiss is surprisingly a lingering one. She didn't expect there to be such a difference in kisses. Then again, she had rather caught Fssst off-guard when they kissed.

She's actually disappointed to see Retzack leave.

"I'll leave you two to it." The hood's back up - you don't even know when it happened, but it is. In a flash, he's out of the door. If Thunk asks, the goblin is an ally - a strange one, but allied nontheless.

And an ally that I will need to put my fingers back on when I actually remember.

Greas shows up behind Oadir. He'll keep these lot in line if he must.

When Oadir and Greas enter the kitchen they see Smoog running around waving his arms and yelling at the throng of former slaves...
-
"PUT THAT DOWN... NO, DON'T EAT THAT...
... PLEASE... WE CANNOT GET MORE OF THAT YOU KNOW...
... ...COME ON STOP THAT... GET OUT OF THE CELLAR...
OH, GREAS, OADIR HELP!"
-

>>> What you see....

Oadir and Greas reach the main level to discover that the already-destroyed reception/feasting hall was even messier now that the freed slaves had finished eating. You see one small kobold, barely older than a child's age, clearing tables and stacking plates, seemingly out of habit.

Down the halls, toward the subterranean levels of the temple where you came from, the goblins, duergar, and many of the kobolds are all clamoring around the door, and arguing with Smoog, who is desperately trying to regain some semblence of order. A chorus of "awwwws" arises from all of them at Oadir's proclamation, and the duergar looks surly and chews his beard angrily. "We've drunk all the water, or the harpy-men pissed in the rest! Give us an ale!" he proclaims. His manacle-marks on his wrists are still reddened and fresh; this one looks to have been new to slavery in Estr before joining Tanard's cause.

One of the younger kobold slaves, looking rebellious, hucks a half-eaten fruit at the tiefling from the back of the throng. The apple is skewered in midair by Greas' weapon before the edible missile even reaches Oadir's arm's reach.

Retzack, you are approached by the shambling, reanimated corpse of the bride, her neck making soft grinding sounds as she walks. Her head falls back, and hoarse words emerge from her mouth, tinged with the faint sound of buzzing insects within.

"Master...I can't recall..." her head slumps forward, rolling on a neck no longer able to sustain her adequately. Her bloodshot eye looks up at you through the fallen bangs of her hair. "Were the roses at my wedding red, or white?"

'Awwww, you can't even control your own creations.'
'Be silent, Mellisand! These are...new. I've discovered a power beyond the parlor tricks I taught you.'
'You discovered how to make rebellious zombies? Oh my, how wonderful. I'll inform Elminster he is now second-fiddle....'
'Still thy harpy tongue! Or, thoughts. Whatever. My flock grows beyond the range of the singular. The Viator messenger bugs are just having a hard time of things.'
'And the muscular atrophy? That a new trick too?'
'Oh confound...the Dead Movers simply need to be re-calibrated. The Atlas-axis joint was ever their weakness.'

Retzack stops in hsi tracks and frowns. Tiny winged messengers, the size of dust-motes and barely visible, fly from him to the red-eyed bride. The Dead-Movers along the stabilizing Rectus capitus group of muscles, as well as the large sternocleidomastoid are given impetus to grow and strengthen.

Retzack smiles at the perfect and alabaster unliving thing. "You had red, red roses. Dozens and dozens of them. They represented the blood of slaves spilled so those in your audience could grow soft and not live to their full potential. We only work as hard as we need to, and slavery of the living is a great retardant of economic growth. No society can grow great with it."

He turns, his smile gone as if it had never been. More Viators fly.

M̷ȩ͞m͜͡or̶̢y̴͝ ̷̀͡s͝͏ù̡͢p̶͢p̀͘ŗ́e̷̸s̸s̸̛i̷̶͏o̧͘n͜͏ =̨͝ MO̕͞R͘E͟

Retzack follows Greas and Oadir to the commotion. They handle it admirably and he feels no need to interfere. "I concur, Lord Oadir."

'Why am I calling him 'Lord' now?'
'Hush, dearest. Doesn't the title suit him?'

"The humans are certainly mustering in force. What are your plans for striking at the town and securing our freedom?"

"Oadir, you take this lot. I don't have the way with words I'd need to quell them." He takes the apple from his knife and throws it back at the source. "Don't throw anything you can't hit with!"
Volley: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (4, 6) + 2 = 12
Not rolling damage if I don't have to - doubt an half-eaten apple would be particularly harmful anyway. I just want to make a point by beaning them with the apple.

He sighs as it impacts on the kobold's head. That was going to hurt. They really ought to have known better. He looks back to Retzack. "If you want to know what I would do, I would opt to take out the leadership. Send out groups to stir up rebellions across Estr - it will drum up support, and form a distraction that will draw the attention of the townspeople and the militia. As their attention is drawn and their forces are devoted to quelling the rebellion, a small group infiltrates Headquarters, in order to eliminate the Master of this town and any that would be effective in their place. With the leadership gone, they will be far easier to overrun."

It's only now that he recalls his detached fingers. He'd been managing so well with them gone, and with the events of the day, they had slipped his mind. He looks over at Oadir, noting finally the return of his eye. He knew there was only one who would do that. Greas shows his hand to Retzack, and the fingers that should be on it. "Before anything else though, I would appreciate having my fingers put back. I presume Oadir was your handiwork, and given your work with flesh in general, I doubt this is an issue for you."

I need Sees down here, where'd you leave her, Retzack? Her and Thunk, a quick discussion, but I might be inclined to give each of them a pint, if they want more, they are to go out and get it themselves, preferably together with one of us who is sober.
Which reminds me, Oadir was not completely sober last I checked, since we've done a single day of actual going-ons spanning months now of RP, jeez

Quick Constitution check to see how Oadir's doing: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (1, 6) + 3 = 10

I'll manage to do it myself, but I would like some company. This group is a bit Kobold-heavy and I feel like the troops will follow a Kobold a bit more easily for the moment.

Sees has found a balcony overlooking the dining hall. Looking down, she takes note of the composition of the whole. Mostly Kobolds and Goblins, now all her people through wedlock. Her claw touches her lips. They had always looked so dry and pebbly... Some other races in small numbers, but there was a flock of birdfolk who were keeping to themselves.

Kobold Racial: How do these avian demihumans govern themselves, what do they look for in leadership?

"Outcasts of Estir, we have established the groundwork for a home, taken a great keep, roosted our fledgling dragon, but you are right, we do not have the resources to sustain ourselves for long. We cannot revel in our hedonistic whims just yet. We must root out the pigskins from our town before they rally a counter attack. This will take coordination, and tact. Aside from our Deuregar friend, these are not qualities ale will assist us in. We must stay focused for a few hours more. Would it not be a sweeter celebration to revel in drink and enjoy each other's company, secure in the knowledge that not a single 'good' soul remains in Estir? We've cut your bonds, but we need your help to grind their faces in the dirt."

Parley?: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (3, 5) + 2 = 10

Retzack nods at Greas. "Oh, of course of course. Ah, do you have the missing body part with you? If you do not, I shall need to scrounge to find something suitable. Ah, um, we seem to have a lack of dead kobolds, so which would you prefer? Alas, we have nought but humans in large stock. 'Twould serve, of course, but I can understand the, ah, stigma that such might accompany.

or troll?"

Greas glares. For all the salesman he is, Retzack isn't good enough to convince him by any means. "Retzack. If you would look at my other hand, you would notice it is holding my detached fingers. Fingers I would like put back. I do not know about you, but I would think a matching set of fingers would be more conducive to the things I need them for, no?"

Retzack looks to where Greas is pointing and his eyes focus on the disembodied fingers as if for the first time. "Ah! Oh my, -those- are what you wish to put on your hand? Oh dear me I had thought those were some burned, mangled, half-eaten sausages you had gotten somewhere. Oh my oh my, no no no no no. Tsk tsk tsk, those would...they would never work. No no. Too much trauma. Far too much. I would...I don't even know if I could....

Come now, wouldn't you like some human fingers? Or even entire hands! Wouldn't it feel better to have, supple, pink, human hands? Or what about the troll?? Oh, oh course, they would look immense on your hands, much like the croc-o-claw that Eats-Bugs has (and where has the boy gotten to?) but think of the advantages!"

'So you can't help him? My how powerful you are you can't even attach a few fingers.'
'Be silent, wench! I could. It...it would just be really hard.'
'Shirking from hard work? I thought you couldn't sink any lower. Glad to know I was wrong. Y'know what else is hard? All this walking. On your own two legs no less! We really need to find a way--'
'Okay fine fine fine! Just, shut your noise.'

"Then again, they are very fine fingers. It would be a waste to not use them.
I just...I must warn you. There might be some...unintended...side-effects. Perhaps. Maybe. There exists a non-zero chance....
Sure you wouldn't rather have the hands of a human? I could lop your own hands off with hardly any pain at all!"

Ah, um, we seem to have a lack of dead kobolds, so which would you prefer?

I thought we were past the lies.

Greas is quite visibly debating stabbing Retzack again. It isn't hard to understand why. "Goblin, I'm just going to pretend you got confused because of the colour. Because otherwise, that would mean you were deriding the fingers that have let me do some very fine work."

"I will say right now, I do not see any dead trolls here, and I would not take from a living one. Even if there were, I would prefer not to have a finger from one, as at least on my body, they would be terribly unsuited. And as for human fingers, let alone a hand...the further I am from these things the better."

"Nothing happened to these fingers that did not happen to Oadir's eye. And I should imagine that they would be far less problematic to put in place than it, too. Unless you're telling me you can work within one's skull, but not reattach two stray digits?"

"I do not think there is anything out there that has a non-zero chance. So, goblin - either you tell me the problem, tell me the odds, and convince me I don't want the reattachment of these fingers that have served me very, very well-" Yipes. Surprisingly enough after it all, this is the sharpest edge he's ever heard in Greas's voice. "- or you quit the shenanigans and reattach my fingers."

Sees-Death has a strange effect on the gathered slaves. The kobolds instantly fall silent and respectfully listen to her. The goblins chitter among themselves, but they keep it to faint whispers. The orcs hold up their weapons and roar in approval when she comments about grinding Estr to the dirt. The trolls, half-giant and duergar are keeping still, letting the other races do the talking. But the Strix...the Strix are a race of connivers, known for respecting cunning and only cunning. It's not fair to generalize for an entire species, but Strix culture emphasizes wits over brawn. You notice the bird-men have been studiously avoiding being near any of the bigger freed slaves, and have been strictly keeping to themselves for the most part.

From outside you can hear thunder rumbling. A storm is forming over Estr.

"If you want to know what I would do, I would opt to take out the leadership. Send out groups to stir up rebellions across Estr - it will drum up support, and form a distraction that will draw the attention of the townspeople and the militia. As their attention is drawn and their forces are devoted to quelling the rebellion, a small group infiltrates Headquarters, in order to eliminate the Master of this town and any that would be effective in their place. With the leadership gone, they will be far easier to overrun."

-

Retzack takes a minutes' pause and regains his breath. Gathering his strength he makes a monumental effort and stands upright. He addresses Greas, and then seeks out Oadir and gives him the same message. "My friend, we all know that in this time of strife, we must have unity of purpose. Alas, I know my kind, and though we might be filled with sublime zeal one moment, we can be easily distracted and change purpose, or even loyalties, the next.

Note, though, I must do this -my- way. Goblins respect -strength-. Though my darling wife--"

'Oh my but it feels odd to say that.'
'You're telling me!'
'Shut up, Mellisand.'

"--says the pretty words, words are but dust in the wind to the average goblin.

Do not interfere. Do not condemn...openly. I do what I do for the greater good. If you halt my hand, you will forever have to watch your back against these dozen new goblins."

After the deep council, the necromancer stops off in the kitchen and Bart and Lily pick up two heavy kitchen knives, stowing them in their sashes.

Greas clamps his jaw during the process. This. Was. NOTHING. Be it past experience making the pain seem lesser, or just a force of will and outright refusal to show any sign this was more than he could cope with, or something else entirely, he makes it through the process without even the slightest cry of pain. The pain shows, as it would on near any, but it does not give a hint of overwhelming him.

As the pain fades, he waits until the process is finished, and carefully tests the reattached fingers. "Hmm. Not bad." He looks at the...quite visibly exhausted goblin, as he delivers his message. "...you had best know what you're doing, Retzack. If this goes awry, the blame will fall on you." He leaves the room, heading back to the kitchen.

He's greeted with Smoog's support of his plan, and nods. "I wouldn't have imagined anyone else would lead the assassination group. As for your partner choice...Oadir I can at least get to cooperate, but I don't see our new fanatical priest being suited to anything 'quiet' or 'clandestine'. I had intended to take one of the tieflings we recruited, actually. She shows promise." He points out the tiefling in question.

Greas, read again. Oadir and Thunk are to be the big bad distraction leaders while you go do clandestine stuff.

I don't know. It doesn't exactly read clearly to me in that regard.

Those of you inside the Time Temple are starting to feel drops of water hitting them on the head. The freed slaves are looking about themselves in confusion, although the half-giant doesn't pay any mind - it's fallen asleep in the mess hall.

Looking up at the ceiling, you see...stormclouds forming? Lightning begins to crackle among the rafters and strike the steel chandeliers above...

Sees finds time to take Greas to the side. "I need you to play the jealous lover for me. We have a flock of unruly Strix who I can only take hold of if I outsmart them. Recruit them for a clandestine affair, something of the usurpation variety. Take them to secure an asset, something you could potentially wield against me. Get them to think you're out to topple Retzack and I, then we will stage a revelation they will admire us for. Can I trust you to sort out the details?"

--

Down below, among her people, Sees doesn't know what to think of the phenomenon. She has trouble making the connection to magic. She does make the connection between rain and water. "The empty casks, the cloth, collect the water." She uses short phrases in under-common for the mixed audience. She takes a small cask and a bit of deccor and erects a water collection device. They can test the water for potability later.

Greas seems frustrated. "Sees, as you've presented it to me, the plot isn't sufficiently developed. I have been given instructions, but not any idea of how this is actually supposed to progress, let alone work out the way you want it to. So, I'd appreciate knowing the script and the details. If I end up doing something that ruins this all due to lack of information, then this is pointless. Similarly, I need to know this has the foundations to work."

"May I add that I'm supposed to be leading a group to assassinate the leadership? Either someone else would have to lead them, or it just would not happen. This is not ideal either way. Smoog is going for an airship, and has powerful intellect that the Strix may respect. He's also more fallible in the way I suspect you'd need. I believe he's more well-suited to your act. If you're concerned with him acting as a 'Jealous Lover', then it's worth noting that I am not going to fare notably better there, and that there are much more appropriate roles to fill the same needs for the plan anyway."

While I remember, I could do with some healing too. I haven't got potions or anything.
I rewrote this so many times. Let me know if I need to clarify anthing.
------------

As the thunderclouds form, Greas is on alert. This does not happen naturally. Magic is at play here. The black kobold hurries up the ramp Soup-Spoon created earlier to the window, and takes in the area inside and outside the temple. He has to find who's doing this. This is not liable to go well if left be.
DR: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (6, 1) + 2 = 9
What here is not what it appears to be?

"Exactly the wisdom I was hoping for, Greas. Thank you. I'll collaborate with Smoog on the subject." Sees catches Greas by the forearm. "Seriously, we ask too much and expect everything, but it's only because you manage to pull through."
Arcane Arts(healing, double damage): 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (1, 2) + 2 = 5
Healing: 1d8 ⇒ 7

WELP

Retzack sees Sees and Greas talking about something (probably the best way to kill him. Another day, another death plot) and he casually walks over to them. "Greetings. A fine day for a mild rain storm, eh? I was just wondering if you had any plans for bringing the scheming Strix to heel?

What say you?"

Greas smirks. "Hegh was a trial by fire. If I hadn't learned to do these things, then he would have had a much harder life. I'm sure you learned for yourself exactly why I say that."
Aid Sees: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (3, 6) + 1 = 10
Your effect sheet is up to date, right? Because it said you had +2 when aided, and I want that healing.

When Retzack comes in, Greas gives him a curious look. "Sees was just presenting a plan in order to do that. I cannot say I have enough knowledge of their kind to say exactly what would be most effective, but I said my piece on what I was told of it. I'm sure she can fill you in on what she intended."

"I might have suggested employing you in this, but I assumed you would be busy. That said..." Greas turns his attention back to Sees. "Framing a struggle between you and Retzack might be a more suitable thing to do, if this plan of yours is to happen. We go along with Retzack's idea for now, and in time your plot can be fleshed out and suitable preparations for it made, should a final act be needed. It is more suited for a longer game, and a struggle between those seeking to govern is not uncommon. Smoog and I could play at taking sides in the conflict, though I would not suggest letting anyone else in on it at this moment. Does this sound appropriate to you two?"

The bird-men, looking cross, are huddled in a doorframe between rooms where the stormclouds are minimal. Sees-Death immediately seeks to turn the situation to the kobolds' advantage by replenishing their water supply, a clever trick that gets broad support from the freed slaves. With the help of the half-giant and the trolls, the equipment is set up quickly - the slaves are used to hard labor, and are in fantastic physical shape down to the last kobold. It's likely that the less-physically-fit slaves weren't able to escape their masters in the first place and come join you.

After the three-way conversation between the two kobolds and the goblin concludes, Greas scurries up the ramp to the narrow window high up on the wall. Peering outside, he sees that the storm is much bigger than he realized. Dark, ominous-looking stormclouds are gathering rapidly over the city, and the winds are blowing them toward the time temple. The stormclouds are funneling in through the windows, making you duck your head to avoid being blinded by the rain.

The storm is intensifying by the second. Despite this, the thief's keen eyes are able to discern a faint, flickering green light, coming from the direction of the Headquarters building, and stabbing upward into the sky every few seconds.

"We have a murder of crows to harness, darling, and in my experience, they're partial to cunning and prone to backstabbing. If we can ally them to someone they believe to be against our rule, but whose strings we can reliably, and secretly pull, we might impress them by manipulating them into doing something for us. I was only keeping this from you to improve your performance, and because I was not sure they would bite for a post-marital betrayal. As much as the others see you as a thing of shadows and secrets, I know you're partial to half-truths and informed consent. You don't exactly see a betrayal as something that might inspire loyalty like these Strix do. Greas is right, it's a long game, we just need to get it started before they start hatching plans of their own... is that rain?"

Retzack nods at Sees. "Of course, of course. Just keep me in the loop. In addressing the goblins, I will play the "Alpha". When Greas approaches the Strix they will assume he is the "Subtle" and may look upon him with greater favor."

Smoog approaches the small gathering of Sees, Greas and Retzack.
Without listening to what they were talking about when he walks up, Smoog somewhat excitedly starts talking...
-
"I have noticed that those birdmen are having a difficult time fitting in and relating to our merry band of misfits.
Perhaps it is because they feel ashamed at their mutilated wings or maybe they are just naturally peculiar but in any case...
How about I take them with me to the Airship Docks and help them secure a vessel fit for taking them to the skies again.
I am sure they have a wonderful grasp of aerial combat tactics and I could benefit from any education they could provide me on the topic.
Their return to flight status would surely boost their morale and perhaps cement their loyalty to our group.
-
What is this? Is it RAINING INSIDE?"

Greas grins as Smoog enters. "Sees, I think you know what needs to happen here. If this doesn't serve as an example of what I meant earlier, I don't know what will. So, how do you wish to handle this?" I'm basically asking for a full recap on how we're doing this so I don't get confused.

-------

Greas rushes down from his perch, set on finding Smoog and Sees. "Something is being done outside. These clouds are forming across Estr, and the winds are driving them here. There's a flickering green light in the direction of Headquarters, and it's shooting into the sky at regular intervals. Something is happening in that direction, and it seems we need to act. Now."

"I'm leading the assassination team, and I'm taking one of the tiefling recruits with me, at least. Whatever the light is meant to do, my group will address it - it's on our way, if not at our destination. Smoog, I understand you're headed for the airships. How many more teams will we have, who will lead them, and how will the recruits be distributed?"

"While I remember." Greas retrieves the dagger Sees dropped earlier from his person and holds it out to her. It's been cleaned up, and is polished to a sheen. "I believe this is yours?"

Retzack resumes his places in the council of Greas, Sees, and Smoog. "If you are willing, as you lead the Teams of Sneakiness, I am willing to take the rest of the horde and move out in strength, forcing them to send their might against a broad front. Surely this will leave the leadership in the far rear vulnerable?"

I will take a Captain's Role if need be, but I am no General. Right behind the front lines is where I should be. Give me a small group of big, burly men and I'll point them to where they can create the biggest chaos. I'm not sure if we have any Orcish blood around here, but I've found I can communicate with them decently under stressful circumstances. As for the tieflings, any bulky ones should split between the Assault Squads, while the slender ones are to be recruited to the Assassination Crew(s). Yes, we are that much defined by our body type, it's no big deal. Oadir mentions all of very matter-of-factly as he screens the crowd for a few moments to get the few biggest and baddest, he's definitely recruiting the Duergar and sending him to every place he'll see with ale, that Grey Dwarf is going to have the best pub crawl of his life!

Okay I am ready to take 10 to 15 troops, preferably big, hopefully strong, but most importantly durable! Trolls with me, please! You, Duergar, what is your name? Are you ready for all the ale this town has to offer? We're going on a raid!

If Thunk joins in, the number goes up to 20-25, so about half the group, of however many are interested. With Retzack taking most -if not all- of the Goblins this doesn't leave us with much.

"Smoog, take the Strix and secure the skies. I don't want anyone to notice you. Hell, give the Strix the impression that we don't know you're doing this. Don't turn your back on them. Oadir, take the muscle and raid their food stores. Retzack and I can take the main force to crush their seat of leadership. Thunk can decide which force he would like to lead and where."

Sees-Death raises her voice. "For the last time, Smoog, no! We need to focus on undermining their leadership. Go help set up water barrels and get out of my face."
Arcane Arts(healing, double damage): 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (4, 1) + 2 = 7
Healing: 1d8 ⇒ 5

Smoog slinks away from Sees and her verbal admonishment muttering to himself.
Obviously dejected, he heads toward the flock of Strixeez and whispers to them as he passes...
"If she thinks she can keep you from flying again she is dead wrong.
Follow me if you want to get your wings back."
Parley: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 5) = 9
-
Smoog then heads thru the kitchen and calls for Spoons, Ordo and any other kitchen staff to follow him.
"Grab some sacks of food, we have a mission!"
-
Tossing the airship key from hand to hand, Smoog leads his flight crew out of the Temple thru the sewers towards the Air Field...

23 are kobolds,

12 are goblins,
5 are wing-clipped Strix, or bird-men,
5 are orcs,
3 are tieflings,
3 are trolls,
1 is a half-giant,
and 1 is a duergar dwarf

Retzack nods. He takes a piece of chalk and begins drawing on the wall.

"Smoog, take all 5 Strix. You shall be 'Squad Phoenix Hawk,' and take to the skies. Try to infiltrate as far back as you can, targetting their leadership and logistics.

There. I think that's pretty basic. Anyone not mentioned, my darling and capable wife included, may attach thyselves where you see best and act as you see fit. Any questions?"