Irritated that he has yet to make it past the armory door, he swears under his breath.
Morthos then makes his way back into Blackerly's office. "Dargon, have you found anything else of importance? Perhaps a set of spare keys? The key I have is useless. We need inside the armory. It may possess a weapon for Grumblejack. Possibly something useful for Posh. I highly doubt it, though, since he's a gnome."
Morthos gives it another search, wondering if there is a second set somewhere.
As Morthos returns to the office, he finds Dargon scrutinizing a set of papers on Blackerly's desk. Holding up one, he compares it to another under the light of the torch. Then he looks down again at the pages he has arrayed on the desk. It occurs to him that Blackerly is stealing from the prison, and he's been doing it for some time, skimming off the top.
But he doesn't have time to assess the full breadth of this fraud, as Posh's shrill warning can be heard between the open doors on either side of the entry hall.
Kid stuffs several loaves of black bread into the weapons sack and slings it over his shoulder, then drops it on one of the mess tables. He's still chewing something but tries to say, "Zherf tow im habin!"
Grumblejack seems to understand. A quarter of a pig half-eaten in his left fist, he pushes Kid aside and starts toward the door to what you all now assume to be the barracks.
Before he gets there, though, the door bursts open once again and the guard comes lunging forward, sword held high!
Unfortunately for this poor bastard, Rendylyn is waiting for him, and as soon as he steps into the mess she blasts him with an unholy fire bolt!
Those of you who can see into the barracks see at least two more guards ready to attack.
Combat Order: Bold may go!
Treesa Lore
Kid Vicious
Morthos the Malevolent
Yellow, Guard
Rendydlyn the Red Waif
Orange, Guard
Blue, Guard
White, Guard
Dargon Lake
Posh Stemtimple
Grumblejack
Blue, Guard = 6
Flame erupts from Rendylyn's red eye, crackling through the air and briefly engulfing the lead guard's head. She shrieks with laughter as his flesh combusts.
The lead guard is engulfed in flames and dies screaming in a heap. The other two guards grit their teeth but keep coming. They have nowhere else to go!
Combat Order: Bold may go!
Treesa Lore
Kid Vicious
Morthos the Malevolent
Yellow, Guard
Rendydlyn the Red Waif
Orange, Guard
Blue, Guard
White, Guard
Dargon Lake
Posh Stemtimple
Grumblejack
Hearing the scream across the way, Morthos' attention is drawn in that direction and he moves that way, drawing his sword as he does.
As soon as he walks into the room, he finds himself right next to the guard and attacks!
Seeing the chaos of the battle Treesa grits her teeth in annoyance. These guards were simple minions and likely would have served them if they'd had a chance and knew better. Such a waste. "Seriously guys. Just stop. Grumblejack has fed. You don't have to die right now...."
Not wanting to waste a real spell on a simpleton she pulls a simple wool thread and mutters a word to daze the guard in the doorway.
As soon as he walks into the room, he finds himself right next to the guard and attacks!
Morthos moves into the room and looks around. Noticing the tied-up prisoner, he ignores him. Looking to the others, "Where is the screaming coming from?"
The guard standing in the doorway is struck dumb by Treesa's hex. Seeing his friend get immolated, and a small army including that damned ogre all ready to pounce, he looks like he's about to cry. Shaken awake and ordered to get into his armor - fast! - and grab up a sword, he didn't imagine this was what he would be facing.
"Get a job at the Prison," his wife told him. "They make good money and the place is empty. Good job for you!" He had been a laborer before, but his drinking was his constant undoing. At least here at the old castle Branderscar, Blackerly and the Warden would make sure he stayed on the straight path, get him cleaned up, or he might find himself as a tenant instead of a guard. That wasn't a serious threat, they all knew, but it kept his mind from straying too often to the bottle. Now he only drank when he went home, mostly so he didn't have to talk to his wife. It wasn't much of a life, but it was his. Now, more than any time in his life, he wished he had a drink.
Obstructed by the tables and the big dumb ogre, Kid tries to get closer. He doesn't know how many guards are in the barracks, and if there are more than these two he wants to get a piece of that action.
Morthos is about to decapitate the entry hall guard but stays his hand.
Combat Order: Bold may go!
Treesa Lore
Kid Vicious
Morthos the Malevolent
Yellow, Guard
Rendydlyn the Red Waif
Orange, Guard - Dazed
Blue, Guard
White, Guard
Dargon Lake
Posh Stemtimple
Grumblejack
Rendylyn turns her fiery gaze on the next guard--though the door frame makes him a more difficult target--then scrambles back over the tables to let Grumblejack and the others through.
Seeing the fellow in front of him briefly engulfed in flames, the guard that is further in the room drops his sword - no way he's running into all of that! Taking up his bow he draws and arrow and lets it fly at the ogre who seems like the most obvious threat, although any inmate of Branderscar is a serious problem on the loose.
vs soft cover, miss!
The arrow flies harmlessly past Grumblejack, breaking against the far wall of the mess hall.
Combat Order: Bold may go!
Treesa Lore
Kid Vicious
Morthos the Malevolent
Yellow, Guard
Rendylyn the Red Waif
Orange, Guard - Dazed
Blue, Guard
White, Guard
Dargon Lake
Posh Stemtimple
Grumblejack
Yellow, Guard = DEAD
Blue, Guard = 6
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"Now, far be it from me to imply cowardice—" Posh begins, already scooting backward with hurried little steps, "—but one does prefer not to be sandwiched between the guards and the sharp, hurty end of the 'Escape Committee.'"
He ducks behind Grumblejack with practiced ease, brushing nonexistent lint from his sleeve and flashing a tight smile at the ogre's massive frame.
"Do make a nice wall, won’t you? Lovely."
Then, with a dramatic flourish and a clearing of his throat, he begins a rhythmic chant, his voice weaving through the air with unexpected clarity.
"Steel and fury, blood and bone—
This prison breaks, and we're not alone.
Stand tall, strike true, and do not yield—
For freedom calls beyond this field!"
He gestures grandly to punctuate each line, even as he edges a little farther from any incoming danger.
Inspiration may not stop a sword, but it does wonders for morale... and plausible deniability.
------------
Dargon heard the alert, and spun and headed out into the hall. as he moved towards the door, the others were in, he realized that hed just get in the way, so he moved to the Armory door and pulled out his lock picks and looked at the lock, preparing to go to work on it.
With the way clear between the ogre and the guard inside the doorway, Grumblejack hefts the pig over his shoulder and hustles into the fight with renewed vigor.
The frozen figure of the guard takes the glancing blow and clings to life. He is a man who knows his fate, but coming to terms with that is another matter.
Combat Order: Bold may go!
Treesa Lore
Kid Vicious
Morthos the Malevolent
Yellow, Guard
Rendylyn the Red Waif
Orange, Guard - Dazed
Blue, Guard
White, Guard
Dargon Lake
Posh Stemtimple
Grumblejack
Yellow, Guard = DEAD
Blue, Guard = 6
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With the way blocked by the ogre, Morthos calmly walks next to the beast and says, "Grumblejack, if you prefer assistance, you are going to need to step back. You are a useful warrior. I would hate for these fools to get in a lucky strike upon you, and you fall." He raises an eyebrow, wondering if it's even possible to convince the ogre to make room for the others; although, with the horrible treatment he has undoubtedly received from the guards, Morthos would completely understand if he doesn't.
Knowing the the daze won't last Treesa is more concerned with the guard with the bow. She focuses on her hex magic and points to the man. "You with the bow. You can't hit anything with that. Why don't you just surrender? You've seen that we've taken a prisoner. We intend to let him live. Your arrows are useless. Drop them and surrender."
Grumblejack's huge frame blocks Rendylyn's view of the guard in front, but she catches sight of the bowman in back and smiles. What she can see, she can burn. The gnome's jaunty tune makes it all feel like a fun little game to play. Flame sears the air again.
Treesa's words (and Hex) appear to shake the guard with the bow.
I can do this! he thinks. No, I can't! They'll kill us all!
Unable to get around Grumblejack, Morthos and Kid try to talk the ogre into standing aside so they can have fun too.
"Yeah, you big stinking monster! Get the hell out of the way!" chides Kid, undiplomatically.
Having immolated the first guard through the door, Rendylyn works her fire magic again on the guard with the bow, and he is badly burned. The guard drops the bow to pat out the flames, then he drops to his knees and clutches his hands together. "I surrender!" he shouts.
Once the other guard can move again he does the same, although he first takes a step away from the ogre in the doorway. No more guards appear.
Grumblejack, still holding the large shank of meat over one shoulder (which he makes look small), decides that getting into the barracks is too much effort, He shoots Kid a nasty look but then lumbers back into the kitchen and slams the door behind himself.
Besides the guards, the barracks has a few cots and a dozen locked chests containing personal possessions of the guards.
Seeing the guards surrender Treesa shrugs. They had fought, and were badly wounded. They could be bound and locked in, with the one that wisely surrendered when he should. Or killed.
She heads out in the hall looking for Dargon.
"Dargon? Have you gotten the armory open? I'd like a light crossbow if they've got one. This dagger is sort of OK for threatening. But unless I get some sort of enchanted belt for strengthening I won't do much hurting with it...."
Dargon was kneeling working on the lock to the armory. He felt tumblers clicking into place and said I think I got it
Once he has the time to apply his craft, Dargon has no problem with the Armory door. There is no light within, but once you solve that small problem you find this armory to be in much the same neglected condition as the rest of this crumbling fortress.
Inside are six spare sets of gear for guards: chain shirt, heavy steel shield, long sword, and longbow. There is also a single functioning crossbow and a rack holding a dozen more leather-wrapped clubs. Further, there is also a stockpile of 240 arrows and 40 bolts in fourteen quivers. Many of these items bear the mark of Talingarde somewhere on them.
There is also an assortment of weaponry that the guards have confiscated over the years. These weapons are jumbled together and obviously little cared for. They are also unmarked and thus resalable. That assortment includes: a shiv made from a women’s metal comb (treat as a dagger), a heavy mace, spear, quarterstaff, battle axe, rapier, great sword, trident, glaive, and a whip.
Kid realizes he went too far calling out Grumblejack, and he starts to open the door into the kitchen, only to have it slammed in his face, after which no amount of force will dislodge it.
Dargon is quick to pick up the Rapier and slide the sheath onto his belt. he then quickly goesback into the office and to the storage room, opening it up he takes stock of what form of supplies are there.
Rendylyn gives Posh a celebratory slap on the back. "Nothing like some painful burns to take the fight out of weaklings," she says.
Seeing Kid struggling with the kitchen door, she frowns. "Please tell me we haven't lost an exit to drama. Well, best to deal with one problem at a time. Stay near and back me up, just in case one of these scum is a slow learner."
"Morthos, we should move fast--a servant escaped, and has probably put the prison on alert. Go upstairs and unlock one of the cells, so we can shove these three in it. The Kid and I will be right behind you with them."
She has the surrendering guards kneel with their hands behind their heads, then approaches to strip them of their weapons and belongings. Their swords and bows go in the sack; everything else, such as coins and footlocker keys, goes in her coin pouch. After frisking them ( ), she lightly traces the edge of one's burns with a knife-sharp nail.
"Your friend over there told us the prison's watchword...or so he claims. Why don't you tell me too? If you're both telling the truth, I'll have no reason to hurt anyone. But if one of you is lying, well, you won't come up with the same lie, will you? What's the word?"
Posh will start tossing the bunkhouse and looking for anything useful. Small weapons, gnome porn, cartographic supplies, etc.
If Rendylyn gets keys from the guards, she passes them to Posh, whispering, "A dozen footlockers. So twelve guards, the warden, the sergeant and perhaps another officer or two, and the dogs. And seven down so far."
Having taken a rapier from the poor excuse for an armory, Dargon moves on to the next room leading out from Blackerly's office.
Supplies for the prison are stored here. There are 200 torches, ten lanterns, two 10 gallon kegs of lantern oil, six spare guard uniforms, dozen signal horns, twenty 50’ lengths of rope and two barrels labeled ‘emergency rations’. The emergency rations barrels contain maggoty old iron rations that has gotten wet, moldered and not been replaced. They could still be eaten by the brave or the desperate.
Hanging in a special rack is also to be found several brands with the runic F symbol and a specially made brazier for heating them. You immediately recognize these items as the brands that marked you. This storeroom is very sparsely supplied and could hold much more but thanks to Sergeant Blackerly’s skimming, supplies at the prison are sparse.
To Rendylyn, the hostage guards confirm the password is Hesterfield. Each carries the same gear as before, including a key, which you quickly determine will unlock one of the strongboxes each around the barracks. With the seven keys you have collected so far you find:
A surprisingly well written love letter ending in a proposal of marriage to someone named ‘Michelle’ and a sapphire engagement ring worth 100 gp.
A small coin pouch with 3 gp in miscellaneous coinage.
A bottle of fine whiskey (smoky, peaty with just a hint of sweetness) without label worth 25 gp.
A map of the nearby town of Varyston including the Old Moor road.
A collection of cheap, tawdry, crudely printed books (the so-called “penny dreadfuls”) about dashing heroes, daring do and amply bosomed damsels prone to fainting and outdoor bathing. Surprisingly, all of the characters featured in the books are gnomes.
A small supply of absolutely delicious cookies carefully wrapped in wax paper labeled ‘From Lil.’
A masterwork lute (worth 100 gp).
Dargon quickly collects 6 coils of rope, 3 lanterns...checking to make sure their oil reservoir is full, 10 Torches, 1 signal horn and he takes the proof Blackerly was skimming and returns to the group, adding to the large bag they have.
Then he returns to the office and goes to work on the lock to bedroom if it is locked.
Dargon inspects the door to the west and finds it unlocked.
At first glance this appears to simply be the slovenly kept bed chamber of the sergeant of the guard. There is a bed, a small table and wardrobe which contain Blackerly’s personal effects which are by in large worthless.
However, under Blackerly’s bed is an iron strong box. The lock is of good quality.
In the wardrobe you find a flask of what smells like rot-gut whiskey.
what have we hear? says Dargon to himself as he looks over the Strongbox then goes to work on the lock. He knows he did a dang good job, picking it and still the lock wouldn't be grudge it's secrets. He frowned...fine you're coming with me box
Picking it up and taking the bottle with him he finds the bag again
..more for the future
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Posh finishes rummaging through the spoils and promptly begins dividing them up as though appointed quartermaster by divine right or mutual disinterest.
“Now then, let us see what gifts fate and foolish guards have laid before us...”
He holds up the love letter first, eyes scanning the flowing, heartfelt script. His voice softens, almost reverent.
“A proposal… how dreadfully sincere. ‘To Michelle, the light of my dim little world…’”
He looks up at the prisoners and waves the ring in the air dramatically.
“Right! Which one of you saps was planning a life of monogamous mediocrity with a woman named Michelle? Speak now, or I’m pawning this and using the funds to print another volume of The Crimson Caper of Chestnut Lane.”
If the poor sap steps forward, Posh will press the letter and ring into his hands with surprising gravity.
“The world is cruel, but if you make it out of this hellhole—find her. Or at least write her a decent goodbye. People remember that.”
He turns and flicks the coin pouch toward Rendylyn with a sharp underhand toss.
“Here, darling. Try not to spend it all on something practical.”
Next, he holds up the unlabeled whiskey bottle, uncorks it, and takes a sniff that makes his eyelashes flutter.
“Ahh… the smoky kiss of better days. Any of you bruisers fancy a dram to steel the nerves or cleanse the palate of despair?”
He sets it down on a table, within easy reach of the nearest ogre, warrior, or kitchen-fouled urchin.
Then, with delicate fingers, he unfurls the map of Varyston and rolls it carefully back up, patting it like an old friend.
“This… this is mine now. You lot can handle the roads. I shall handle the destinations.”
He then gathers up the tawdry stack of gnomish penny dreadfuls with the sort of reverence usually reserved for sacred relics.
“Grumblejack, dear titan, would you mind lending a shoulder? I have tales of passion, peril, and public bathing to preserve.”
If the ogre agrees, he rewards him with a sly grin and the slow unwrapping of the wax paper bundle labeled ‘From Lil.’ He offers the ogre a cookie like a man presenting a diamond.
“Try one. If you do not weep, you may lack a soul.”
Finally, he stares at the masterwork lute like a child handed a longsword.
“This is beautiful craftsmanship, clearly meant for someone with a longer armspan and a higher center of gravity.”
He gingerly lifts it and offers it to the nearest tall companion.
“Any of you big folk know which end to strum? Take it—it deserves to sing again, even if I cannot make it do so.”
With that, Posh dusts off his hands and gives a proud nod, as if his work were done.
“Right! Which one of you saps was planning a life of monogamous mediocrity with a woman named Michelle? Speak now, or I’m pawning this and using the funds to print another volume of The Crimson Caper of Chestnut Lane.”
The guard who had been immobilized and forced to withstand Grumblejack's open palm and Rendylyn's fire raises a weary, singed hand. "It is mine to give, sir. I thank you." He seems genuinely grateful. He hopes she'll still have him, disfigured as he now is.
Grumblejack has retreated to the kitchen and somehow blocked the door. He's not replying, and is typical, no sound can be heard through these doors.
Rendylyn pauses in tipping the new coin pouch into the first. "I don't think Grumblejack can hear you in the kitchen--the doors of this place seem to be the most solid parts still standing--but perhaps if you push one under the door with a friendly note, he'll come out. Worth a try...we'll need him, and the exit."
Posh raises both eyebrows at the raised hand—at the audacity of it, the timing of it, the tragic poetry of it.
“Oh splendid. Of course it is you.”
He saunters over, feet slapping delicately across the stone, the ring and love-worn letter held aloft like sacred artifacts of some forgotten pantomime.
“You, who tasted flame and ogre slap in the span of a single breath. You, who smelled like regret before the singeing even started. Truly, fate has its little jokes.”
He stops in front of the battered man and thrusts the items toward him, nose wrinkled.
“Take it, then. Both the smoldering promise and the scorched budget-band of your domestic doom. She may love you still, you pitiful little candle of hope.”
He tilts his head slightly, voice lowering just enough to sound almost—but not quite—genuine.
“But if she does not… do try to remember who gave you the chance to find out.”
Then, flicking his fingers as though dismissing soot from silk, Posh turns sharply on his heel—only to frown as he notices the conspicuous silence from the kitchen door.
“Grumblejack? Did you fall into the stew again?”
He raps a tiny fist against the door, receiving no response.
“Marvelous. Our towering wall of appetite has gone monastic.”
With a roll of his eyes and a mutter that rhymes with ‘grunt-sodden ogre,’ Posh resumes surveying the others with theatrical impatience, clearly content to let the brute sulk in the pantry while the rest of the world turns.
Treesa moves in to the armory once Dargon gets it open. She is surprised that there is only one crossbow, but realizes that the prison probably has very little call for ranged weapons. She takes one quiver of bolts figuring the others would probably never be needed. At close range she will use her spells or hexes....
Seeing the larger weapons she wonders what Grumblejack might prefer. She gathers up the greatsword, almost staggering under the weight.
When she gets back to the group she moves up to the kitchen door and uses the pommel of the sword to knock. Grumblejack? This is Treesa. We found a bigger sword that looks perfect for you. Do you want it?"
"GO AWAY!" rumbles Grumblejack.
Meanwhile, Kid casts a look of growing agitation at Dargon as the rogue deposits the iron strong box into the bag the young monk is carrying. It looks very heavy.
Dargon looks at Kid, shrugs and says make nice with Grumblejack and get him to open it
Then he moves back to the front door and takes up a position to watch and be wary
Treesa glances at the others then leans the sword into the corner. "OK Grumblejack. For a little bit while you eat some more. But we need to leave soon. I'm leaving this really big sword here by the door. It's bigger than me. That's why I thought of you. I like you 'cause you're really big, and I'm kind of small."
She turns away and walks to Rendylyn. "That fire bolt attack you've got is useful. How many more can you do? I'm worried if we don't get going quick there's going to be a group of guards in our way. If we sling some lantern oil over them that would be a nice way to ignite it."
Dargon mutters from the door You guys taking those guards upstairs and locking them up?
Treesa shrugs and looks over at the wounded guards.
"Sure. Morthos? Can you come with me? I'll handle the locks. They won't dare try to fight with you ready to chop them apart."
As she moves the guards out to the hallway she 'assures' them. "Keep in mind that if any of you try to escape you will all die. We don't want to kill you. You're paid guards and don't deserve to die for doing your jobs. Obviously Blackerly’s the one that deserves to die!"
Hearing Grumblejack's voice through the door, Rendylyn decides he might be reached. "Here, allow me," she says to Posh, reaching for one of the cookies he unwrapped for the ogre. She kneels by the door to the kitchen, and speaks loudly but sweetly beneath it. "Grumblejack, are you still feeling bad from the poison? We found some food that might help. I'm putting some under the door for you. Try it! If you like it, if it helps, we have more."
Rendylyn then moves to join those herding the prisoners into a cage upstairs, borrowing the keys from Morthos if he doesn't choose to come along. She considers Treesa's question as they go. "Hmm...can't say I've ever run out of fire, but I feel like I could, if I kept blasting and blasting. I feel like I'm not even halfway done, and I have other tricks. But if you're worried about guards bursting in..."
"Hey Dargon! Think you could bar that double door, or jam the lock, or even just lean some furniture up against it? We don't know what's on the other side, but that's the direction the servant fled."
From the map I saw, these doors lead outside. But yes I can block it.
Dargon goes into the armory and begins hauling weapons racks out to block the door with.
"You found a map? Perfect. Let's look it over and plan our next move as soon as we get this scum tucked away."
Posh has it
"Morthos, we should move fast--a servant escaped, and has probably put the prison on alert. Go upstairs and unlock one of the cells, so we can shove these three in it. The Kid and I will be right behind you with them."
Raising an eyebrow, "I believe you have mistaken me for a fool slave, Rendylyn," he simply states.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
With the ogre shutting himself away from the others, Morthos watches them all try to convince the ogre to open the door.
Treesa shrugs and looks over at the wounded guards.
"Sure. Morthos? Can you come with me? I'll handle the locks. They won't dare try to fight with you ready to chop them apart."
As she moves the guards out to the hallway she 'assures' them. "Keep in mind that if any of you try to escape you will all die. We don't want to kill you. You're paid guards and don't deserve to die for doing your jobs. Obviously Blackerly’s the one that deserves to die!"
"A moment, Treesa."
Morthos moves to the door. "Grumblejack. It is time to open the door. We've no time for this nonsense. We are leaving the prison. If you stay, you will die. If you come with us, you will live. It is as simple as that. They have more guards than you can kill. With us, you'll be able to kill as many guards, that are foolish enough to stand in our way, as much as you wish and without dying. That should be an incentive for you. We cannot cure your poison but any wounds you have suffered can be tended to if necessary."
"This is our final offer, Grumblejack. Stay and die or come with us and live," he plainly offers. "The choice is yours."
Turning back to Treesa, "Let us get these fools locked up as quickly as possible." Morthos readies himself with his sword and shield and walks behind the guards to make sure they don't try anything stupid.
"Oh, there's no mistake, Morthos: I've guessed what you're a slave to. I can smell the hubris on you like the sharpness of a cheese. I approve. Asmodeus will put it to good use."
"But you're no fool, I agree. Would that you were so interesting a person."
Rendylyn fairly skips up the stairs with the guards, enjoying each flinch from the ones she's burned. She ushers them into their old cell but doesn't bother with the manacles, slamming the door behind them the second all three are in, and waiting impatiently for Morthos to lock the door.
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Finally, he stares at the masterwork lute like a child handed a longsword.
“This is beautiful craftsmanship, clearly meant for someone with a longer armspan and a higher center of gravity.”
He gingerly lifts it and offers it to the nearest tall companion.
“Any of you big folk know which end to strum? Take it—it deserves to sing again, even if I cannot make it do so.”
Morthos looks stoically at the gnome, the lute, and then the gnome again. With a quiet sigh, he hands the prison map to Posh and takes the lute, putting it in his pack. "The prison map is yours. We shall depend on you, Posh, to get us out of here proper."
With that, Posh dusts off his hands and gives a proud nod, as if his work were done.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morthos locks the door and stows the key in his pocket. "Let us return to the others, gather what we can, and finally make our escape from this soon-to-be discarded prison. Due to Blackerly's failure, he is sure to meet the executioner for our escape, because our escape is imminent. We will not fail. And how I would find it pleasing to witness his head becoming separated from his shoulders," he states matter-of-factly, leaving one to wonder if this man has ever even smiled in his life. Like... at all. About anything. Ever.
Morthos quickly makes his way back to the others and heads for the armory. He takes two 50' ropes of his own and stows them. Moving back into the mess hall, he does not see the ogre. "Have you determined our best means of escape, Posh?"
Despite the seemingly impenetrable quality of these ancient quasi-petrified wood doors, obviously the guards carry signal horns for a reason, although given the circumstances, that reason is not clear.
Yet from the other side of the door leading to the kitchen, an explosion of sound is heard. It begins as a low tremor, then tears off with a powerful calamitous ripping noise, as if a great forest has been hewed all at once by a titanic scythe, the great wood exploding to splinters. The door itself reverberates rapidly, adding to the noise with a zipping thrum.
Anyone standing especially close to the door must deal with the aftermath, an expulsion of poisonous, gag-inducing gas from the pores and invisible seems of the wood and from the narrow gap at the threshold. It wafts upward, attacking nostrils as if by an unseen hand directing it.
A minute later, the door opens. Inside the kitchen, through what an observer might describe as a visible haze, Grumblejack stands with the most relaxed expression on his face one might ascribe to an ogre. He steps backward almost lackadaisically, and sits down heavily on the floor, his belly swollen full of questionable meat.