"Posh, I'm a little disappointed in you. You of all people should realize a map needs a legend."
Rendylyn shrugs. "Well, whatever path we take, it seems to lead down those stairs. I see no reason to delay. Morthos, if your disguise is to do any good at all, you'd best go first, with our other melee fighters trailing you. I shall stay in the rear, to make it easier for you all to protect me."
Rendylyn has put the two bows and two longswords that Morthos isn't using as part of his disguise into the sack from the veil. She hefts it, listing a bit from the weight. "Kid, could you carry this? You can drop it in an instant if there's trouble."
Dargon will follow Morthos down the stairs giving him 10 feet to lead with, trying to stay in the shadows
Kid pauses before accepting the bag from Rendylyn. He briefly considers telling her to carry her own crap, but she's handing him a bag of weapons, something he doesn't have to give back to her, and which would come in handy for the gang once he gets out of this dump.
"Sure."
"Hey Kid. Lighten the load by one sword. Grumblejack should have a weapon."
"Grumblejack? How about a shield? The armor is too small, but you should be able to use a shield, protect yourself from the little guards?"
Posh’s head tilts with interest at Rendylyn’s remark, his good eye gleaming faintly.
"A map needs a legend," he repeats softly, more to himself than to her.
He offers her a faint smile and a small incline of his head, not quite a bow but close enough to signal admiration.
"Well said. One must never underestimate the value of a proper key to the world’s symbols... or to its locked doors."
As the others begin to fall into formation, Posh lingers a moment, glancing from the bloodstained floor to the torchlit stairwell.
"Now then..." he murmurs, "...what instrument best suits a jailbreak?"
He drums his fingers thoughtfully against his palm.
"Not the drum—that invites too much attention. Not the pipe—too easily mistaken for a signal. Ah..." His expression brightens.
"This is almost certainly a lute situation."
With a quiet, precise gesture and a murmured phrase in an elegant, flowing tongue, he casts his spell. A lute of rich walnut wood and deep varnish appears in his arms, seemingly plucked from the shadows themselves.
He gives one of the strings a soft, testing strum.
"Yes. That should do nicely."
Then, with a casual glance toward the spot where the guard dropped it, he bends down and picks up the horn left behind. Without ceremony, he tucks it into the folds of his borrowed clothing.
"One never knows when one might need to play... second trumpet."
Even silence can be music, when played with intent.
Dargon glances at Grumblejack. Welcome to our band of killers Grumblejack. Im Dargon. If I can help you, let me know
Kid laughs out loud at the idea of giving a human sword to an ogre. "Sure, here, whatever you want big fella!"
Morthos slouches a little, his shield in hand. He carries it to aid in blocking some of his face, and he works to keep his visage in the shadows as best he can.
He casually walks down the stairs, keeping an eye out for any guards.
Noticing a guard, he keeps his face angled down while rubbing his forehead with his free hand. His voice moving to a higher octave, a sound the others probably can't believe is coming from him, "Whew! I'm beat. Just got through dealing with those scum. Feeding time and all. They always want to struggle and try to escape. But we gave them what for! That tall, pale-skinned one is such an idiot. Always talking about 'glorious purpose' and all that. I can't wait 'til we put an end to that weirdo. I think his name is 'Porthos', or something like that. I don't know. Don't care either. He'll be dead soon enough along with the rest of the scum. Then they'll be calling him 'Dead-os'. Get it? HA!"
Dargon nods at the empty hall with the door and he comes up behind Morthos and whispers Ill stand next to that door, you open it and see if you see any guards. If you do see if you can bring them here so I can flank one. Ill get Kid down here to crouch on the stairs so maybe they wont notice him til its too late. Maybe if theres guards we can take them out here by surprise. what do you think? He waves kid down towards them.
Good, Dargon is acting like the leader again.
Kid waits to attack the next living thing that comes through those doors.
Dargon nods at the empty hall with the door and he comes up behind Morthos and whispers I'll stand next to that door, you open it and see if you see any guards. If you do see if you can bring them here so I can flank one. I'll get Kid down here to crouch on the stairs so maybe they won't notice him 'til it's too late. Maybe if there are guards, we can take them out here by surprise. What do you think? He waves kid down towards them.
Stowing his shield, Morthos narrows his eyes in thought before nodding in agreement. With his shield stowed away, he opens the door just a crack, peering within.
If he happens to catch sight of any guards, Morthos quietly clears his throat and keeps his face hidden as best he can before finally saying, "We could use a little help. The ogre is giving us fits, and we could use some backup. I guess the stuff is wearing off on him or something, I don't know. He just seems more fired up than usual. I just know if we don't get more help, one of us is bound to be his lunch. And if that happens, well, I'm sure Blackerly will not be thrilled about that. Probably have one of us strung up for it, would be my guess."
At the mention of the name, Posh thinks, "ahh, Sergeant Blackerly, now him I would kill and make a map out of the skin of his back."
Dargon, dagger out, tries to make himself small beside the door
Treesa follows along as silently as she can in the back of the group.
With the door open just enough to be able to hide his face in shadow, "Be ready," he whispers to the others.
Responding to the guard's question, "What's that supposed to mean?! It's me, guys! C'mon! I told you, we need help with Grumblejack. If you don't want to help, then never mind. But if one of us gets killed by the beast and it gets back to Blackerly you didn't help, well, good luck." And with that, Morthos 'the guard' turns and leaves, heading for the stairs, stopping at the beginning of them.
Keeping his voice low so only the others can hear, "There are two guards, the northeast one possesses a horn. Be wary. Eliminate him first if possible."
Treesa waits in the back of the group, silent and out of sight.
Dargon moves right next to morthos, beside the doorway and whispers
Ignore it, like you didnt hear it. and move out of sight of them.
as he thumbs the blade of the dagger in his hand.
Treesa whispers, "Have Grumblejack chase you...."
Raising an eyebrow and looking none too pleased, "I am no fool like these guards, Dargon. I am far ahead of you. Words are clearly no longer of any use. When they come to inspect why I have not responded, they will see me at the bottom of the stairs, with my back turned, preparing to go up. It is obvious what they will do next, and it will lead to their demise. Now, we should prepare ourselves to end these fools."
Looking to Treesa, "Grumblejack should wait upstairs. Odds of his being seen are too great. As soon as he is witnessed, we have lost the element of surprise."
"True. They'd blow the horn before trying to 'save' you"
Treesa backs out of sight.
Morthos says nothing, continuing to act as if the guard had not been heard, remaining at the foot of the stairs with his back turned. And to prepare himself in case the guards do enter, he gets down on one knee.
Good. Bring the fool Blackerly to us. You will have saved us the trouble of hunting him down. Odds are, we would have lacked the time to find him. Thank you, you fools. This is even better than I expected.
Rendylyn lounges on the stairs, picking splinters from the bannister with her nails. "Luring them failed. If we give them time to gather reinforcements, we'll have a dicey fight ahead of us. Either charge them now, or let's get out of this rat trap another way."
Dargon glances at Rendylyn and sighs. she may be right.
He then remarks if that's our course of action, maybe Morthos what if you start walking down the hall with a limp, pretending injury, when you get half way, we all start running down towards them, you pretend to be fleeing us and see if you can get close enough before they catch on to take out the hornblower
"Is there another way out?" Kid asks Rendylyn plainly.
"Up the chimney, down the chimney, out the window. Chimney would be slow, but they'll be a while, and Dargon might disable the door, wedge it with a sword or something, so they have to break it down. Grumblejack might not fit, though. The window is faster and probably larger, but I suspect we can only use it once."
"I'd prefer charging them. Gives us more options."
Dargon glances at Rendylyn and sighs. she may be right.
He then remarks if that's our course of action, maybe Morthos what if you start walking down the hall with a limp, pretending injury, when you get half way, we all start running down towards them, you pretend to be fleeing us and see if you can get close enough before they catch on to take out the hornblower
Rising, and with clear frustration upon his visage, "I shall attempt it, but I gather it will make no difference what we do. It appears this will come down to nothing more than killing our way out. Whatever plans any of you might have had for anything other than that, I would suggest you all forget them. This looks more and more like our only course. And the chimney will be of no use. Grumblejack will prove to be a critical ally in all of this. Possibly. If he remembers he's here."
Gathering his shield and drawing his sword, Morthos moves to the door. "Prepare yourselves. The time is now." Taking a deep breath, he lowers his head and opens the door, limping at a hurried pace toward the guards, continuously looking back as he does, acting as if he's wondering how close the escaped prisoners are to 'catching up', while making his way toward the guard with the horn.
Kid follows Morthos forward, his hands behind his back and his head down, pretending to be one of the damned heading out for his execution. Knowing the ruse won't last for more than a moment, he loads a fist and throws it at the first guard.
As the party prepares to charge, Rendylyn lays a gentle hand on Grumblejack's forearm.
"You've had bad luck, haven't you? Let me change that. I give you the blessing of my god Asmodeus, so you can take your revenge on the guards ahead."
She then points him towards the door. "Go then, Grumblejack! Show us what an ogre's rage is worth!" Her smile widens and her red eye seems to glow as she follows behind.
yes, Ive determined when we near combat No posting til I see a map update.
I want to avoid what happened last time.
Time to help them find their courage, Rendylyn thinks.
The slight teen trots out from behind the others and through the door, her oversized mail shirt clinking as she goes. Her smirk dares them to follow.
Watching the guards cower, Kid smiles. He forgets that he's supposed to take prisoners, and who cares what they have to say anyway. It's killin' time.
Mover 30' into the room, then total defense action.
Treesa steps through the door and then gets out of the way.
As the guards near, "Do any of you have a plan? If so, make it quick."
As the guards murmur beyond the door, unaware of what truly stirs behind it, Posh lifts one hand with the practiced calm of a stage conjurer preparing his closing trick.
His voice drops to a whisper, barely audible over the faint creak of chain and boot beyond the threshold.
"Maestrivan."
There is no flash, no thunderclap—only Posh casting a spell to summon the guard's horn directly to his own hands.
"Yes. Kill them...."
"Maestrivan."
There is no flash, no thunderclap—only Posh casting a spell to summon the guard's horn directly to his own hands.
Posh' great plan amounts to an attempt to rob the poor guard of his one duty in life - to blow the signal horn in the rare case of trouble.
Indeed, this particular guard has never blown a note in fear; he came from a tradition of buglers. His father was a hornblower at the prison, as was his father before him. These were stout, bored men, who in their off hours, when not drinking and complaining about the lack of attractive whores since the establishment of the new monarchy, who sometimes were so disillusioned by the monotony of life that they would bring the instrument to their lips and practice making the signal. This was part of the job, of course, and not just any man could produce a pure note on the horn. It required a buzz and a lung full of warm air. Challenged were the hornblowers, by the cold of winter or during many a drafty night, or when the air was so dry the lips were parched for the duration of the shift. No, not every man could wear the signal horn. It must be one trusted and proven to produce the sound on a moment's notice, when threatened by harm or death.
The bugler clutched for his horn now, while this unfamiliar guard appeared with strange manner and timing, and without the mealtime items with which he would normally be returning.
The guard wraps his fingers around the cold instrument, wondering at the third guard. Meanwhile, a nearly identical signal horn appears in Posh' hand, but from where it was conjured he does not know.
No, something is definitely wrong. That's not the same man assigned to the shift in the cell block...
The guard is struck dumb, unable to act or think!
"Yes. Kill them...."
With his focus directly ahead, "A fine plan," he responds plainly.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------
Realizing they've fooled no one, "Grumblejack, young one, eliminate these fools." Morthos says as he brings his sword around from right to left, in an attempt to take the guard's head off.
Missing horribly, "A minor setback," he simply explains.
Dargon grimaced at the turn of events, they had scant seconds before their chances to escape would be cut short. He decided a risky move was in order and tried to move to place himself in a position to alter the Hornblowers reality and possibly persuade him to not blow the horn. Taking a step forward he tried to tuck and roll past the guard blocking the hall but failed to get the turn right and ended up adjacent to him.
((Plan was to move up one, diagonally past the guard and one further, since this halves movement. but failed acrobatics check vs his CMD which has to be over 10 ;) Leaves Dargon just up one square))
Treesa watches, a little concerned. "Kid, Show us how it's done. That one with the horn needs to die quick!"
She focuses her attention of the guard with the horn, and her innate magic, focusing to lower his defenses.
The horn shimmered into Posh’s hand with a whisper of magic and a smile he did not bother to suppress. He turned, casual as a man retrieving a misplaced glove, and began to walk—calm, steady steps echoing with quiet confidence.
He passed the first guard without a glance, offering only the faintest of nods, as though he had every right to be here.
Approaching the second, he held out the conjured horn between two fingers, as if offering a fine pen to a forgetful clerk.
“You dropped this.”
His voice was polite, even helpful. Too helpful.
“You are going to want to blow it before things get entirely out of hand.”
He smiled, just slightly, and waited—one brow raised in perfect, infuriating courtesy.
It is the quietest lies that make the loudest noise.
With Treesa's spell kicking off the festivities, Morthos produces his blade and takes a swing at the closest guard before he can bring out his own weapon. The attack misses but the sudden realization across the guard's face that something very, very different is happening in Branderscar Prison this day is a reward on its own.
Dargon slinks around the wall through the doorway, revealing to the guards that Morthos is not alone, a realization which causes the guard's eyes to go wider still.
Having first Dazed the bugler, Tressa further hexes the poor bastard. He's completely lost his nerve. As Posh sidles up to him, approaching as casual as a familiar friend, the man can only stare back with an expression of confused horror. The approaching hulking teenager and - oh for the love of Mitra, an ogre?!? Now this man with the cold brass instrument in his hand understands this is likely his end.
Enemy NPCs
Combat Order: Bold may go!
Treesa Lore
Kid Vicious
Morthos the Malevolent
Posh Stemtimple
Grumblejack
Blue, Guard
Dargon Lake
Rendydlyn the Red Waif
Orange, Guard
Kid sneers at the unfortunate man with the signal horn. Fate has conspired against him in every way possible.
Party is up!