The big orc successfully gets past Thalmor’s defenses, opening a wound in the banker’s arm, but the dwarf is made of stern stuff and looks at said wound when the spear is withdrawn, and scoffs, ”I was fighting eldritch horrors when you were a glint in your a!+%#&+ father’s eye. Let’s go, then.” He flicked the dark red blood away and assumed a fighting stance, obviously somewhat practiced.
Thuurvi slips behind Thalmor.
"They're idiots, Thalmor; you were right. We need to retreat."
She chants rapidly in glossolalia, waving one hand, and a warmth fills each ally just a bit in their chests...and the Orlop deck fills with fog.
Thalmor curses in dwarven, "madarikatua..." then mutters, "blast it, woman, how am I supposed to retreat from them with your fog here!" He takes a look at the two orcs who seem to be trying to approach him, and just takes off, withdrawing further into the hold.
A squat orc who was pacing back and forth raises its falchion and steps through the door. It immediately clambers over the crates to the left of the door that are about waist height, moving around one of the taller stacks to engage Omast.
Other orcs can be heard in the stairwell, and the armorless orc wielding the hand ax and dagger enters, clambering over the same stack of crates to the left of the door, jumping down intending to move past Thuurvi as Thalmor moves deeper into the hold.
Let me mark the squares...I just went, 'uh, 50 feet somewhere to cover allies...' :D
Sickened!
"It's not called an oracle's curse for nothing, Thal!" chuckles Thuurvi from somewhere in the fog.
Ah, it's centered on the caster, so 50' radius from where she is.
Several orcs enter the hold through the back of the kitchen, looking down on the pillar and Jacynta, Ezren, and Engineer #3 Mk. II from the other side of the balcony where Tuk is. "Lladd nhw! Dewch o hyd i'r ferch!"
Two of them leap off the balcony into the hold below, neither successfully landing on their feet, both of their falchions clattering away on the ground. One splats flat on his ass next to Jacynta. He wears ceremonial armor, clearly gilded for some long-lost ceremony. The other, covered in spiked plate everywhere except his torso, with a large bull-horn helm on, curses in pain as a spike on one shin goes through his forearm.
Ezren rubs a bit of his leather belt, pulling his left arm across his chest. "Կախարդական զրահ."
"Thuurvi, I can't bloody see again!" Valeros yells as he carefully moves through the mist. An orc screams out in pain before being cut off in a gurgle.
The orc that ran up to Tuk looks down at him, sneering, his eyes narrowing. "Hanner gwallt coch? Tuk?"
"A red-haired halfling? A Tuk?"
Jacynta pales facing down the two orcs in front of her. She glances around the suddenly chaotic storage hold, then back at the frantic allosaurus in its cage.
"Sod it," she mutters, takes a guarded step back from the nearest orcs, and fumbles with the latch on the dinosaur's cage.
The latch pops open, and Jacynta swings the door of the cage wide.
"Yeah, this definitely won't backfire horribly," she says under her breath.
"If you can't see, they can't see, you colossal pinkskin," shouts Thuurvi amiably. "Just stab anything that bumps into you!"
Engineer reaches for the next closest orc, laying a big metal and wooden hand on its shoulder before lashing out with his ectoplasmic fist.
"Perhaps you should have chosen a less-well-defended ship to attack. This will result in the deaths of all your orcs."