Ingryd looks around and her brow raises.
"Why not make an eel pie? We passed eels, butcher them and bake a pie. Add some apples, pears, potatoes and radish with a bit of honey"Ingryd says as she points with Ennui.
"Let's free the fairies, and smash whatever stands in our way"
Scram gave the soft-hearted bear an unfortunate nod NO. Slowly the thief hand-signed the slitting of a throat, which made no exception whatsoever for itty-bitty fairy throats. They would all die, without mercy, this time.
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"Are you talking about that rotund sow covered in chocolate," Raseri asks Ingryd, having a feeling that she was just as complicit in this unholy confectioner's plot as the goblins. She'd been looking for something delicate and explosive looking to center one of her more potent spells on.
"Should we come back after we deal with the hag? If we do something now, won't she be alerted and maybe flee again" Lutheal questions the incendiary tactics.
"So Pixies are bad..." he says as she looks at her shorter compatriots unsure about the pixies, but she sighs.
"I'll go with what ever you all want"
"Pixies?" Raseri blinks in confusion before looking back out over the disturbing scene and spotting what she'd missed before.
"Oh, I see them. I don't think they'd be keeping them in cages if they were helping willingly," she observes as she tries to recall what she knows about pixies. She knew something, didn't she? Raseri's expression grows increasingly worried as she realizes that there's a massive gap in her memory.
"I have an idea that might collapse their cages," begins Gunnar, then he adds, "We have freed pixies before, on the airship. I would hate to see these remain imprisoned here."
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Scramsax remembered the pixies, too. Remembered their tiny-tongue wagging raspberry warcries before a snowball fight that nearly straight-offed a sucker. Remembered also the dim-witted, elderly pixies who invaded Stalker's Retreat just before opening day, eating all the cucumbers and clogging the spa vents with sparkle dust. But especially Scramsax remembered the Pifflesneed riddling ghost-pixie that turned his fingers into voracious, blood-thirsty worms.
Not to mention the freaking glitter that got stuck on everything.
If she hadn't gagged herself in a pre-emptive defense against fart cocoa and other fart cocoa-esque edibles, the thief probably would have said something cold-hearted like 'They're better off dead' and pointed out the sorry looking nourishment basins in the corner of the cages which could only contain one thing...and it wasn't jolly.
"Do we let them out before or after we break everything? If we do it before, they might get caught up in that," Raseri says, a nagging feeling that she's missing some important memories coming to her. She'd given up memories before, and there is always a hole, but she remembers actually giving them up, so why does it feel like she doesn't remember giving these up at all?
How to reap maximum chaos and destruction upon the manufacturing scene in the chamber below? Much more practical and immediate than shifting through memories that even under the best of circumstances can be misleading or shaped by the varied and potent tricks of the mind.
And so your gaze sweeps across the cavern one more time. Taking in the colorful gruesome and disgusting behind the scenes display of festive catering supply. The pixie cages are quickly ignored. Certainly the fey would sew chaos if freed, but most would be killed in an initial blast. The spider corral could be a better opportunity. Surely the spiders would relish a bit of freedom and a couple of dozen angry, vengeful, arachnids could create quite a bit of trouble for their handlers. Still, you can't be certain how spry the spiders still are. Have they been completely tamed into submission? Do they even recall what freedom tastes like? Your own experiences in such matters leave you skeptical of any real eight-legged support.
Looking at the giants, you offer a quick internal shake of your head. To big, to dumb. Better to just kill them out right, but the things are notoriously hard to bring down in a single blow. To much fat and muscle surrounding tiny brains and tiny hearts. They'll need to be dealt with, but maybe after a bit of softening up.
So you turn to the machinery. There you spot real potential. Scramsax mentions the candy cane processor. Surely full of a multitude of poisons and sickly substances that if released could strike down a good many of the goblin drudges and their officious supervisors. Then there is the slurping, guzzling chocolate sump sucking filthy cocoa from the sewage pond up into its whirring glurping interior to eventually spit out delicate candies destined for brightly wrapped boxes. Blasting that particular device would spread a slick layer of boiling hot chocolate across a good section of the chamber. Anyone within scalded, then encased in thick layers of quickly cooling chocolate.
Finally, you turn to contemplate the most diabolical and largest piece of equipment in the entire cavern. The churning fruitcake batter mixer with its grim vat of candied toes, cinnamon spiced eyes, and nutmeg infused livers. But it is the burbling glass orbs filled with enough pure grain alcohol to drown Zobeck entirely that truly catches your eye. Especially since only a mere twenty paces away burns the hellfire furnace that bakes the dense cakes into something suitable for use as a castle foundation or cannon shot. High quantities of heat and fire mixed with highly flammable alcohol and candied body bits could make for a most spectacular explosive display. A display likely to create additional destruction as it rolls through the cavern.
You ponder your choices. And then a little girl comes charging into the cavern. Her obnoxious voice piercing the air like nails on slate. Each snotty sentence punctuated by the snap pop of chewing gum.
Numerous ideas and strategies for destruction are pondered by the hidden heroes. Potential allies weighed, approved or rejected based on various past encounters, if remembered. But for one halfling of a certain nature, the time for talk and pondering the grand scheme of things was well and rightly tossed into the icebox of leftover battleplans. There to molder and rot in the forgotten recesses of memory.
Indeed, the abomination filling the cavern below required only one thing. Annihilation by any and all means necessary. So it is that out of seemingly nowhere the figure of the young gum smacking Violet strides into view demanding her right to taste treats, push buttons, pull levers, and poke the fuzzy, wuzzy spiders. The goblin help all seem to shrink back from the curly haired waif and her constantly expanding and popping face. Work grinds to a temporary halt as a massively broad shouldered bugbear, strides from a little side office. A rat tail whip hangs at his side, an mini abacus is tucked in his pocket, and an oversized clipboard is carried in one hand.
"I thought we agreed no more damned promotional tours until after the next shipments were completed!" Roars the bugbear, a thick finger tapping at the clipboard. "Somebody get that wart licking, pain in my ass from Marketing down here. Just because that bug-eyed Mickey friggin' Pifflemiser went to business school, doesn't mean we can have kiddie's trompin' through the line every blasted day. I'm going to have this out once and for all." A half dozen hobgoblin supervisors cringe and cower near the fuming bugbear, eyes glancing toward the exit at the top of the stairs across the way. Those goblins nearby hurriedly scurry and scamper as far away as they can get from the plant overseer.
Meanwhile, a splash of water, a dapple of soil and a dash of fertilizer are quickly tossed together with a single magical bean. A handful of moments pass. The little jar starts to quiver and quake as it emits a tiny shrill hum. Seeing the bean is nearly ready, Scramsax tosses the thing toward one of the funnels of the candy cane coginator.
Seeing Scramsax already acting, Raseri shrugs and points out the glass vessels filled with what is undoubtedly an insult to brewers and distillers from all around Midgard to Gunnar.
"Shatter the glass. I think that will cause the most havoc and destruction," she tells him before putting her own god-given magics to use.
Gunnar targets his own Shatter at the critical juncture of the pixie's prison (Arcana check 25 to locate) in an attempt to break open the cages and set them free!
The bean slipped out of the stupid clutz' fudgy fingered grip as if the halfling had never thrown anything in his/her entire life.
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Her face turning a bright red that has nothing to do with the blinking factory lights, Scramsax watches with utter embarrassment as the bean barely clears the edge of the ledge everyone is standing on, bounces off a goblin's head, plinks the side of a passing dandruff cart, plonks onto a supervisors clipboard, and finally flops into a mass of troll dung waiting to be scooped into the Rocha Refactorator.
A few more awkward moments pass with nobody looking the halfling directly in the eye. Then a series of yelps, squeaks, and shouts erupt from the area below where the bean made its final, feeble landing. The cause of the commotion is the sudden rapid emergence of a cheerful, brightly lit, sparkling, twenty foot tall fir tree. Glimmering ornaments of jolly snowmen, plucky elves, holy angels, and brightly dressed soldiers dangle from the branches of the tree. Light shines and twinkles from strands of red, yellow, blue, and green gemstones that wind and twist up and around the entire tree ending in a brilliant glowing white diamond at the top.
A goblin's screeches are cut short as the roots of the tree drive through his chest and begin to suck the moisture from his small body. More roots quest outward in need of immediate moisture and sustenance. The quick moving tendrils wrap up another half dozen goblins and one supervisor before the surprised and startled workers finally fall back out of reach.
Then things get weird. For seeing the utter corruption of the bright, cheerful, happy holiday it symbolizes, a shiver runs through the tree like a call to arms and rallying of the troops. Suddenly, the various ornaments begin to animate. Their tiny bodies swinging from limb to limb and hustling along to join their various kin and kindred. Those with wings begins to buzz and swarm protectively around the tree, while those on foot begin to pluck some of the lighted gemstones to drop into catapults or hand off to waiting angels and flying reindeer.
A heralding trumpet sounds the charge and a flight of angels take off toward the nearest gaggle of befuddled goblins. Gemstones drop among ole Molly Holly's non-union workforce and burst with bouts of tiny fire, lightning, acid, and ice. More cries of pain and shouts of fear erupt from the workers as they once again scramble for cover.
Another trumpet blast. The catapults unleash their first flight. Bright gems fly in every direction, including back up onto the ledge where the Narg Nasty Six suddenly find themselves included in the tree's holiday assault. Fire, lightning, acid, and ice burst onto the ledge forcing folk to find cover even as wizard and priestess unleash their own magics upon the shocked and awed workers of the manufactorium.
Pixie cages burst in a fusillade of iron shards and pixie dust. Those surviving the blast immediate take flight to find cover or their own revenge upon their captors. Across the way, the great glass globes containing firewater that would curdle the stomach and pickle the mind of the hardiest Barsellan dockside drunkard ripple with cracks and burst. Gallons of the highly flammable liquid slosh across equipment and onto the floor. A washing river of the stuff flows directly toward the super heated flames and metal of the fruitcake oven.
Somewhere an emergency whistle blows and bells ring warnings grinding the entire production line to a stop while frantic goblins race about in panic ignoring the harried and bullying hobgoblins. The bugbear chief grinds his teeth and points at the bubble gum snapping violet.
"Someone toss the brat in the vat, shut down the furnace, sop up the hooch, and then get me a bloody AXE!" He hollers glaring at the bright tree.
Gunnar blocks an incoming ornament with his shield, its fiery burst expensing itself harmlessly on Sylvia’s sturdy surface.
"*mrmmhph, rmph...hrmhrm.*" came an untranslatable muffled wisecrack full of satisfaction and delighted giggles. The muted jewel thief was quite happy to see the shower of gemstones bring to life one of her favorite old dreams, until they started exploding.
Yet for the alley cat with preternatural reflexes, time slowed as the blue turtle-dove gem lashed its 8-tiny reindeer forward into the rogue's face. At the last possible microsecond, Scram turned letting the merry gift jingle all the way home.
[dice=Dexterity Save]1d20+2
[dice=Energy Type]1d4Gunnar blocks an incoming ornament with his shield, its fiery burst expensing itself harmlessly on Sylvia’s sturdy surface.
Raseri is no stranger to burns, having worked long hours in a forge to earn her keep in Zobeck when she was not acting as a sword for hire to the Zobecker merchants and nobility. She grimaces the pain away as she targets the bugbear next. He's the one giving orders, so he's the one that needs to be put down first.
"Luthael, do you think you can set that hairy brute on fire," she asks.
Ingryd feels the familiar frost cover her fur and chuckles.
"Well lets see what you too can do!" She says flying into a rage and rushing to the nearest goblinoid to thrash
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Luthael is stunned by the massive melee instigated by his companions. Had the forgotten that they were looking for the hag and dragon eggs? Now, they needed to clear a room of goblins.
Then, as he looks to reply to Raseri, he catches an iceball to the face. Such indignity. After wiping the ice from his face, he sends a bead of crimson to vat of flammable liquid to try to end this combat in conflagration.
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Ennui summons forth a loud sigh as Ingryd charges down the stairs and into the fray.
"Goblins. Are such creatures really worth bothering with? You kill one and six more pop up elsewhere crafting another half baked scheme destined for failure. Why spend the energy? I mean...mmfffphhh..."
The hammers words are muffled by goblin brain as Ingryd slams the weapon into a pair of hapless workers still attempting to pat out small fires burning on their aprons and puffy hats.
Gunnar brushes aside the tiny festive explosive devices and calmly watches as Luthael starts to reply to Raseri's request but instead suffers a direct iceball hit. The prophet's calm facade melts faster than marshmallow on oven baked sweet potatoes. The full fury of Khors in quickly unleashed upon the chaos filled manufactorium.
Luthael's fireball strikes the high octane rum ball alcohol. A wave of heat and fire fills the entire half of the cavern. Toy soldiers are instantly turned into tiny flaming candles burning upon a blackened smoking wasteland of fir branches. Secondary explosions erupt within the gruesome fruitcake batter mixer and the nearby one. Several dozen goblins and their hobnobbing supervisors are instantly turned into ugly, crispy cookies, burnt on the outside, still chewy on the inside. All quite dead.
Great globs of super heated fruitcake batter come flying through the air. One mass shatters the spider corral, sending the creatures scattering in every direction. Although plunges upon a trio of goblins engulfing them in a partially baked gooey tomb. More great globs of batter splatter around the party, landing with loud splorks, splats, and splurts.
Those few living workers and managers remaining in the area are busy putting themselves out, picking themselves off the ground, or fending off the few remaining angels and sleigh born bombers, many of which were also doomed within the massive fiery retribution of Khor's holy prophet.
Raseri had raised her arms to shield her face from the heat of the conflagration. Unfortunately, it also keeps her from seeing the glob of half-baked, charbroiled fruitcake batter until it is far, far too late to do anything about it other than grit her teeth and take the hit. The air's knocked from her lungs as it slams her into the stone floor and nearly envelops her. As she tries to pull herself free of the morass, she realizes she's stuck.
"This bodes ill," she mutters as she tries again to free herself.
Scram avoided the pasty mire like Tiny Tim's insurance premiums, hiding a sneaky cracker of her own among the flying festive ornaments...
Luthael squints with practice as the judgment of holy fire blasts around him. He casually dodges the glop of fruitcake and asks his companions, "are we done here now? We've a hag and dragon eggs to find, right?"
Stuck in the flaming goo, Gunnar steps out of the goo by using Heimdall's Escape (Misty Step) and sends a chill up the spine of the nearest living enemy (a goblin perhaps).
frost damage and disadvantage on next attack
"I'm stuck" She says as she leans down to lick the batter and see what it tastes like.
Raseri pales as she witnesses Ingryd tasting the godsforsaken "batter" that she knows has bits of goblin in it among other unsavory things.
She--She must be mad! The thought echoes in her mind as she feels her stomach churning. No one had ever accused the Thorsdottir of having a weak stomach, but bearing witness to that was enough to make her noxious.
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Ack! Oh by the GODS get it off, get it off. This glop is ruining my whole look! Aiieeee! The shouts of Ingryd's shield pierce the air with the high pitched panic of one who abhors all things that might mar its appearance. Both Luthael's blade and Raseri's spear can be heard chuckling quietly over the shield's distress. However, all gasp in sudden horror when the bearkin decides to take a healthy bite of the clinging, candied organ filled batter.
By Thor's Thundering Flatulence! The prophet's blade shouts at the barbarian. "Did you not see what was floating in that stuff?"
Raseri feels the spear shiver in disgust. Ugh. I think I'm going to be sick. Gods, Molly Holly's fruitcake is the absolute worst. A fully baked one can even dull adamantine. That's just going to sit in her gut for decades. The spear shivers again.
And indeed, as Ingryd chews the overly sweet, firewater infused, bits of frog bladders and goblin eyes she feels her own system, pickled as it usually is, begin to revolt. Sweat breaks out across her brow and her teeth start to ache. Her stomach decides it would like to join the gladitorial gymnastic games and does a series of flip, flops, twirls, and somersaults as she bites down on a partially baked salamander liver that squirts forth its still gooey innards. Tasting something akin to chewing tobacco mixed with peppermint schnapps and burning dog hair, the bearkin's eyes roll into the back of her head as her entire system begins to twitch and flop within her glop encasement.
Fortunately, Scramsax sends a sling stone slamming into the goblin sneaking up on the sick bearkin's side. The stone strikes with a loud crack that makes the bells dangling his red and green boots jingle jangle as he is thrown from his feet to land dazed and drowning in a smoking pile of batter. While the goblin's bells ring, no one hears the halfling slip back into the darker confines of the tunnel.
Having no interest or perhaps a better knowledge of Molly Holly's infamous old time holiday treats, Gunnar quickly removes himself from the potentially deadly batter and sends the fury of the north lashing out a hobgoblin just coming around the Firefruit Truffle Press. Lashed with sudden chills the hobgoblin staggers back behind the machine.
Also stuck within gripping batter, Raseri has an excellent view of not only Ingryd's increasingly sickened form, but of the sudden whirling flashing lights and alarms that erupt following the fiery conflagration of only moments ago. Fire burns everywhere among the equipment, the workers, the supervisors, and the various products. One of the hill giants staggers to his feet, hands slapping at the flames as they devour his holiday pompadour, the copious hair oils madly feeding the flames.
The priestess is the first to spot the dozen new arrivals stepping through the large doors marked 'Shipping and Distribution'. Clad from head to toe in red, green and silver rubber suits, one of them waves a signal. Moments later great quantities of a sour smelling whipped soy curd gush from a series of pipes and nozzles mounted in the ceiling. In a matter of seconds the stuff floods the chamber dousing most if not all of the fires. Visibility it reduced to near nothing as the oversweetened whipped, soy mist fills the air and sucks away much of the air needed to breath. Those not clad in the rubber suits begin to thrash about grabbing their throats and choking as the oxygen is quickly absorbed by the slimy cream.
The new arrivals, armed with nozzle spewing tanks of the same foul smelling, fire retardant add to the carnage as they begin to systematically work their way into the chamber putting out any remaining fires regardless of whether they burn a living creature or not.
Raseri holds her breath as the foam pours over her and tries to steal it from her. Perhaps it might have succeeded if not for the fact that the priestess was also a skilled smith and had spent more than her fair share of time trying not to choke on the smoke from her forge. She knows she has to get out of this sticky mess, and she is short on options.
Well, short on subtle options anyway, and the priestess has never been good at subtle.
A pray to Thor, asking for the strength to free herself is answered by the crack of thunder.
With the veil of fire-retardant goo saving Scram's retinae from the horrors of orange zoomba faces, the thief patiently waited for any threat to show itself...
Ingryd coughs and sputters as she looks at the others and then laughs.
"Don't eat that" She says as she then begins to move.
The prophet ingests a breath of toxic cloud and croaks, Cough. Cough. "Let's go." He staggers back into tunnel from where they started following the thief.
BOOM!
Raseri's spell bursts forth from the priestess coating Luthael and Gunnar in a fine spray of putrid fruitcake batter. The effort leaves her free of her gooey cage, but receiving glares from her companions.
Adding insult to injury, a candied newt tail hits Luthael in the cheek causing the prophet of Khors to gasp in surprise and lose the breath he'd been holding. Racked with a coughing spasm at the oxygen depleted air, Luthael stumbles backward and once again encourages everyone to fall back into the relative safety of the tunnel.
Tucked safely behind the protective barrier of Khors' prophet, Scramsax pokes her head out of the tunnel for a moment. Through the creamy haze, the halfling glimpses a hobgoblin waving a clipboard and shouting at someone beyond her sight. The hobgoblin disappears into the spray just as the snap of the halfling's sling fills the air.
The sling stone misses, bangs off some bit of metal beyond, pings a second time and then shatters a World's Greatest Inventor coffee mug owned by the now deceased Lester von Grumbleswitch. The loss of the gag gift given by Lester's co-workers two years ago is not mourned by the little goblin's ghost. He'd always hated the thing and its implication that his ideas like the Grumbleswitch Toilet Incinerator, Lester's Lightning in a Can, or Mr. Grumble's Ergonomic Rumblechair were failures. Given the blueprints for these and several other Grumbleswitch inventions are now so much ash and soycream goo, the world will never know.
Ingryd manages to pull herself free of the clinging batter, and while her burning hatred and rage for Old Molly Holly and those like her keeps her system from completely shutting down, that bite of fruitcake batter seems to have taken up residence in her gut, sitting there like a river stone causing her stomach muscles to contract and spasm in alarming ad disconcerting ways. But Ingryd with clenching determination she tamps down any immediate concerns and strides free of the putrid batter where she both sees and hears the coughing, waving prophet sound a retreat.
Raseri picks herself up and stumbles sheepishly towards the exit.
With his allies free, Gunnar looks for another foe to freeze—especially if any inhibit their retreat. He then heads back into the tunnel and the relatively fresher air.
frost damage DC 17 Constitution Save to avoid
Chaos continues to erupt throughout the cavern as the Factorium Accident Response Team sprays more oxygen depleting fire retardant into the chamber and the remaining surviving workers, suppliers, and supervisors frantically try to escape. The flabby, bean-fed, chocolate coated sugar fairy from earlier staggers through the foamed cream, two of her equally large sisters in tow. Thinking safety might reside in the comforting confines of the cocoa pool, the trio make haste toward the stairs and the tunnel leading back toward the chocolate chamber of gastrointestinal horror.
The lead glum face sugar plum is gobsmacked by a well aimed ball of ice from Gunnar who quickly disappears back into the tunnel, following on the heals of Ingryd, Raseri, Luthael and Scramsax. Fortunately for the dwarf, the fairy had left her glasses in her locker under the rather dubious belief that they made her face look big. This prevents the fairy from spotting her attacker before her shivering form begins to rumble its way up the stairs.
"Must've b-b-b-een one of the lit-t-t-little soldier s-s-s-nipes." She stutters with cold and glancing back toward the smoldering top of the dreaded solstice tree.
After traveling what she thinks is a safe distance away, Raseri turns, red-faced, to look Lutheal and Gunnar in the eyes.
"My deepest apologies. I did not think it would spray like that. I can clean that off," she says while demonstrating on Logi. She casts a spell that takes off the smearing of batter and other grime, leaving the spear as clean as the day it was first forged.
Now we are being chased by sugar plum fairies. Luthael sighs and moves such that the bottom of the stairs is just barely visible enough to target their hunters with a ball of holy fire.
Then, he retreats down the tunnel as fast as his legs can carry him.
Gunnar chances a glance back and sees the sugar plump faeries lining up to get into the hallway just as Luthael envelops them with holy fire! For the moment, the dwarf just goes down the hallway, though he waits to see if they form a single file line he can take advantage of with a lightning bolt!
Seeing the tide of the fight splash a bit back the other way, the thief nodded approvingly at the massive fireball the Prophet had just unleashed. And what goes better with a plasma sphere slowly climbing to maximum entropy than throwing stones at farty faces? The answer is nothing.
After the masterful attack, the masked hoodlum wasted no time in putting stone walls, chocolate saucers, and expired calendars between herself and the encroaching trio of wayward sisters.
Ingryd will attack the nearest Fairy.
Not realizing the potential threat trundling up the stairs, a red-faced Raseri steps further back into the tunnel and proceeds to clean her spear offering the same to her batter splattered companions. Much to her surprise, Gunnar begins the all to familiar chant to initiate a blast of lightning.
Luthael ducks around the corner a fiery prayer already forming on his lips. Moments later a flash of red-orange light reflects off the tunnel wall quickly followed by the whoosh and boom of holy fire erupting nearby. A few seconds later the smell of burning gingerbread, dog hair, and bean curd come drifting into the tunnel briefly making noses wrinkle and eyes water.
Screeching screams erupt from the broad shouldered, scantily clad trio as they are enveloped in Khors fiery embrace. Despite the direct hit, the fire retardant offers some minor relief as the flames are quickly squelched after the initial burst. A burst that quickly draws the attention of the F.A.R.T. crew. Rubber suited figures quickly start to rally toward the stairs, nozzle squirting even more soy foam into the vicinity.
Meanwhile, Scramsax pokes her head around the corner. The halfling quickly lines up a shot and plants a stone directly in the forehead of the lead fey. The smack of stone on flesh cracks in the air followed by the whump-splat of much more flesh hitting a much larger area of stone as the super-sized fey lands on her rotund backside, eyes blinking furiously in a dazed stupor.
They second fey looks up with shock seeing the halfling duck back into the tunnel behind Luthael and sees the snarling, steel wielding form of Ingryd charging back down the stairs. The elder warhammer slams into the fleshy form becoming momentarily lost within the folds of flab only to reemerge with an even lower set of expectations that it held before. Flesh ripples and blackens with each blow. The fairy snarls and lashes out with a fleshy fist that lands a glancing blow across Ingryd's chin while the bearkin ducks away from the follow up right.
The third fairy grabs her reinforced elastic bikini top and drops what appears to be an oversized striped peppermint candy into the makeshift slingshot. With a quick snap she fires the hard candy delight into the mouth of the tunnel where it cracks against the stone. The hard outer shell of the candy shatters releasing the soft gooey and fiery concoction inside. The nutmeg and peppermint spiced fireball explodes forth catching Luthael and Scramsax in its sticky burning grasp. This causes an even greater sense of urgency among the fire suppression team.
Sugar Plump #1: 74/125
Sugar Plump #2: 67/125
Sugar Plump #3: 105/125
The thief backflipped over the fireball effortlessly as another solid stone rolled down her arm to nestle in the sling's cold leather. Scram cautiously turned the corner looking for a clear shot...
...before scattering deeper in the chocolate fountain room, and away from Invictusol.
Luthael barely ducks near the tunnel wall as the candy explodes in a ball of fire. He shakes his head as Ingryd heads down the stairs to fight the fairies. He had hoped that they would just be able to wound them enough, so that they would focus on cleaning up their broken factory than pursuing them.
He slings a small ball of sunlight at the fairy in melee with Ingryd and retreats out of range of return fire.
Addressing Raseri and Gunnar, the prophet asks in exasperation, "Ingryd is now in melee with three, fireball wielding fairies. Are we fighting or trying to extract her?"
"Do we have much of a choice," Raseri asks, well, sighs really. "I'm not weak, but she is thrice my size. I don't think even all of us could drag her where she doesn't want to go." Despite her words, she hesitates, looking from the tunnel entrance to Luthael.
"Ingryd's tough, so I think I can do this first," she says before taking the Khorsman's face in her hands as she cradles Logi in the crook of one arm and healing his wounds.
Gunnar maneuvers into place so he can see the combat, calling to Ingryd, "When you are done playing down there, come back to the tunnel! We have places to be!"
Tapping his foot impatiently, Gunnar waits.
Ingryd huffs and retreats, joining the others as she withdraws shield up and hammer ready to swing should a fairy seek to strike her.
"Seems you've been spared. I suggest taking the Charity and run" Ingryd says with a glare and grin.