Staying out of the thing's reach, Croaker tries to aim high in order to avoid Khanol and the others circling the undead beast. He manages to nick the ghoul with his cautious attack but it does little more the dent its already dented skull.
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Seeing the big, ugly undead brush off Griot's magic like it was a bit of leftover gristle dangling from his chin, Croaker joins Dumah in taking a pot shot at the beast.
Tired and worn out from having brushed the hand of death once again, Croaker happily accepts the opportunity to rest and recover without having to trudge through the dark, dank corridors of the undercity. He listens to Khanol tell his story in a half awake, dream like state, but the halfling's story does trigger something within the groggy huginn's mind. "Pear brandy." The ravenkin mumbles. "That's what I recall of Stalimisto. On our march south we spent a few days there camped outside the city with the Tsar collected taxes and conscripts. Our flock leader managed to get his feathers on a half dozen bottles of Golden Orchards Pear Brandy." He smiles at the memory. "Nectar of the gods in a bottle." The smile slowly fades as the reminiscence brings back other not so welcome memories. "Of course, he died along with so many of us. His arms feet flailing in the mud with a half dozen Khazzak arrows in his chest."
"I would agree with Griot's assessment. So far the gods have smiled upon us with only the occasional frown of dismissiveness. Best to stay our course with only a brief respite to recuperate. Surely we will have these treacherous daughter nappers in hand within a day or two." Croaker soliloquies in his most prophetic, prophet like manner. "Indeed, how much more glory will come to your most glorious highness should your own agents outshine and outperform the city guard. Not only stop the kidnapping menace and proving your kith and kin innocent, but also potentially uncovering a nefarious plot against the entirety of Zobeck." "All brought into possibility by the guiding wills of Calipha and St. Helba of course." He adds with a modest bow.
"Indeed it is as Griot says. With the blessing of St. Helba and Calipha we are closing in our our quarry." Croaker says offering a rough bow. "I believe the proof we seek will be a the location mentioned in the letter. Unfortunately, we do not have the knowledge to the twisting and winding ways beneath Zobeck. So we have come seeking your knowledge which must certainly extend to all pathways within the hidden realms beneath the city. Do you know how to reach this Lady of Tears?"
@Croaker>>: Distracted by the sounds of combat from the new room, Croaker takes the time to carefully store the small petrified bat in a pouch, guaranteeing it's safety all the time.
Croaker spends the time resting his bruised and weary body to regain as much strength as he can before seeing the king.
The thought of visiting the kobold king gives Croaker a a welcome chance to pursue the monarchs education into the vast mysteries of the Scouring Wind. Plus, he's probably the best source to get more information about the hidden passages within the cartways as well as the local political situation. "A fine idea, Master Healer." Croaker says to Griot with a flourishing wave. "Best we are off before more of the wicked woman's beasts beset us from a hidden corner."
Still suffering from a smattering of cuts, bruises and maybe a cracked rib, Croaker simply nods his agreement about heading back to the Roach to rest and prepare to go after the woman and any of her blood loving minions.
Croaker breathes a heavy sigh of relief as the ghoul finally succumbs to the combined might of St. Helba and the Scouring Wind. He relaxes even further when Griot's healing magic mends the worst of the damage done by the dastardly sneaking skeleton of stabbing. Ever curious about secret notes and villainous gossip, Croaker also ponders the note adding his own bloody fingerprint to the paper. "This does seem to point to our quarry. Ah...but we may want to be careful who we approach with this information." He says. "It seems at least one member of the city government has turned sympathetic to these perpetrators of wickedness beneath the city streets. Who knows if there are others." "I wonder. Do we wait three days to meet this Sister of Blood or should we proceed immediately to the Lady of Tears in hopes of finding the young blacksmith's daughter still alive?"
Busy making sure his innards don't come tumbling out like an rapidly unspooling ball of yarn, Croaker slowly staggers after the others. It is at this moment, that the Scouring Wind decides to turn her gaze upon her humble and rather battered servant. A whispering breeze smelling of the deep desert suddenly drifts down the hall. Croaker raises his hand trusting fully in the feminine voice that directs his hand and aim with soft caresses against his feathered arm. At some point, he can't really recall when, he speaks the usual words of power. The eldritch power flows from his blood covered hand and whisks down the corridor. Desert heat brushes past Lorr and Enoch. The blast strikes the ghoul dead center, striking its body in a flesh rending display of desert power.
Croaker staggers back a step after getting stabbed again by the nefarious skeleton. With an angry, cursing squawk the ravenfolk flings another blast of elder desert power at the boney menace.
The sword slipping into his back causes Croaker to turn his full attention to the skeleton holding said blade. He tries to turn and get a good angle on the creature, but his wound is disrupting his concentration. Unable to focus, he simply does his best to avoid another blow and hold the skeleton at bay long enough for the others to kill it.
Croaker moves a few more steps toward the door and away from whatever the others are shouting about while still attempting to focus his attentions on the grinning ghoul.
"Really we've hardly just met. You presume too much, sirrah." Croaker says in a mocking female voice that seems to match that of the woman who just departed. He aims a blast at the smug looking ghoul, but instead stumbles on a bit of bone as he's stepping backward and does little more than scuff the ceiling with his eldritch power.
The sultry statue is no match for the actual sultry human standing across the room. His neck feathers ruffle at the sight of the scantily clad beauty whose pale countenance matches the white feathers that mark his chin and chest. The ravenkin simply ignores the icon and steps quietly forward managing to catch a word or two of the conversation before Griot speaks. Hearing a name mentioned he tries to recall if it had any measure of importance or matched those whom they might be looking for. His eyes linger a bit longer on the woman. "Yes, well...greetings friends." He says offering a simple smile. "Are you by any chance lost adventurers or searching for lost adventurers? Perhaps chasing thieves who absconded with the young woman's outer garments?"
Croaker shrugs and hands Griot the little cat charm while his eyes flick back and forth between the kobold and Lorr. "Actually he's kind of a dragon...man." He says before pointing out the locked door to Enoch.
"Ooooh. What an interesting little trinket." Croaker says ogling the silver cat charm. "The cat motif is a bit mundane, but the addition of the eyes adds a nice flair." He holds the item up in Bob's light to get a better look. "If none are interested, I'll be happy to hold onto this for safe keeping." But as the thrill of a new shiny object wears off he taps his chin with a finger and shakes his head at Griot. "Let's us not stop yet my fellow spider hating friend. We've several paths still not taken and doors which could still harbor the missing folk or clues to their whereabouts." He then strolls over to the nearest unexplored door and looks it over for any traps.
"Ahhhh. A fellow traveler of Charun's unsettling and rather unwanted realm." Croaker says to Dumah offering the seemingly death defying ratfolk a quick bow of the head and friendly smile. "Death is ever our unwelcome companion best shunted to a dim corner and ignored for as long as possible. " After introducing himself the ravenfolk turns to Griot with a puzzled, skittish look. "What was that about singing spiders? Did you hit your head or something? Spiders don't sing. They're blood sucking, poison bloated sacks of vileness. Gods save us if they could...sing show...tunes while...Eeep." His words are strangled in his throat as a wave of horror and terror crashes through his body. "Urrpp..." Is all he manages to get out before survival instinct kicks in and he tries to blast the thing while looking for the best way out.
Stopped by the wall as he backs away, Croaker sends another blast of power toward the swarming spiders. Unfortunately, this is even more off target than the last as his eyes whirl and his body rattles from the sudden onslaught of arachnids.
"Spiders! Aieeeyyyeee!" Croaker lets forth a high pitched screech. As the swarm swirls in his direction. He rapidly retreats toward the nearest exit while sending another frantic, poorly aimed blast of power toward the onrushing spiders.
Seeing the first zombie fall, Croaker pivots and calls forth a blast of eldritch power sending it streaking toward the second.
With Enoch's encouragement, Croaker enters yet another creepy tomb to discover it is creepier yet being shrouded in layer upon layer of sticky spider webs. Webs that are much to big to have come from any kind of friendly house spider. Ever since he was a young hatchling wandering about the rookery, Croaker had an unhealthy fear of spiders. It all sprouted from that time his so called friends had dumped buckets of the creatures on him while he'd napped peacefully in his usual spot. They must have spent hours plucking the arachnids from garden shrubs, dark corners, and dusty untraveled halls. Awakened as one crawled into his mouth and another up his nose, young Croaker screamed...well attempted to scream. The spider being quickly sucked down his throat as he inhaled made it more of a choking followed by several vicious sneezes to clear his nose. Since that time, the ravenkin has always had trouble around spiders. He'd worked hard to deal with his fear and learned that fire is typically an effective eradication method. The sight of the wriggling cocoons and all the webs triggers the old fear and sends his body to quivering much like the web encased bundles. Fortunately, he retains just enough awareness to know that spiders do not usually speak common and ask for help, so he shifts his aim away from the first cocoon and onto the second that lurches and lurks like a ghoul. Likely an ally of whatever arachnid horror called this tomb home.
Croaker kneels down and grabs the still animated arm. Dragging it over to the alcove he searches through whatever happens to be there and then props the profane gauntlet on whatever stand originally held the armor in place. He then hurries on after the others.
Croaker tries to adjust his aim and instead slips on an old bone. He releases the spell just as his foot flies forward. Fortunately he is close enough to the wall that he doesn't land on his backside. The impact does however readjust a few vertebrae that had been giving him trouble recently. "Ack...Whoa...Ahhhh...That's much better." Is all the commentary the ravenkin offers before trying yet again to end the nefarious animated armor of avoidance.
With the bat secured for later, Croaker follows the cacophony of combat sounds coming from the other room. Seeing the aggressive suit of armor harassing the others, he launches a blast of desert power at the nefarious garment.
The sudden ruckus from the other room completely distracts Croaker's attention for a moment, causing him to miss anything Dead Bat Snorri may have done. However, the connection is simply too great for him to ignore, unlike the shouting and sound of sword play from the other room. That is all too easy for him to put out of his mind. "Don't worry ole buddy. We won't leave you laying around like some bit of ghoul kibble. Right Griot." He says. Not really waiting for the kobold's response, the ravenfolk grabs another piton. Wielding the two spikes like a fat pair of eastern chopsticks, he grabs the bat and puts it in a pocket of his pouch without actually touching the thing. "Don't have time to figure this all out now what with missing, kidnapped girls to find and hungry undead wandering all over the place. But we'll get you fixed up...well...at some point." He says actually unsure when there would really be time to look further into the matter.
"Oooooh...you think so?" Croaker says following Griot's finger over to the little dried bat. He squats down at pokes it a couple of times with the tip of a piton he pulls from his pack. "Snorri? Snorri, you in there?" He says with a frown and waiting a moment or two for an answer or some other sign.
Croaker leans against the wall while the newcomer works the lock on the door. His eyes shift back and forth squinting at the two and at the place where Snorri usually stands in the order of battle. He pulls out his tattered book and scratches a few notes in it. Snorri disappears. Two arrive at a most opportune moment. Someone or ...something...is watching? Beware..." Snapping the book closed he steps through the door following the others, keeping a wary eye on the dragonborn. "Snorri was always at the end of the line. Hopefully whatever...ate...him won't get you as well."
"Ghouls? Where?" Croaker spins around in the direction of the noise, preparing a welcoming blast of desert power for yet more unwelcome undead.
"...to the grave." Croaker mutters, reading the writing above the door. "How very fitting." Thinking of the other doors with their traps, the desert sage peers closely at the new door before doing anything like attempting to open it. Of course, the odd phrase distract his thoughts while the multiple bodies milling about the hall occasionally block his view.
Okay....so Griot has to stand in front of the door, then Croaker rolls to miss. :D Or I guess we're back to Khanol busting it down. My 8 STR certainly isn't going to do it.
Croaker points to the east door. "This one isn't trapped." He says and starts walking in that direction. "Might as well try it first and deal with nasty traps later."
Croaker goes to check the other closed door, to see if it is trapped or locked like the previous one.
Sure thing. Makes sense to me.
"Doors locked." Croaker says pausing momentarily to examine but not touch the chain. "And very likely trapped." He points to the holes and what looks like a trigger mechanism. "Looks like someone wants to keep people from poking around in there. Maybe because they've stashed the bodies of a bunch of kidnapping victims in there?" He adds before being ushered off down the hall.
Croaker walks up and takes a closer look at the southern door trying to discover what, if any, reason the ghouls have for ignoring it for so long compared to the other exits.
Seeing Khanol making his way to the larger opening, Croaker shrugs and hurries to catch up to the Dancing Bear.
Having only the ability to rend flesh rather than mend it, Croaker slips over to the blasted panel to see if there is anything he can spot within the narrow tunnel.
Croaker twists around and fires another bolt of power at the still moving ghoul in an effort to make it more permanently dead. Unfortunately, the rotting corpse moves aside just at the right moment and the bolt zips past barely ruffling its flapping skin.
Rapidly blinking his eyes to clear the spots away, Croaker does his best to try and blast the weaker looking ghoul attacking Khanol.
Croaker is definitely not interested in negotiating whether he is food or not. That is not a conversation he is interested in having yet again. So he unleashes the readied blast at the healthier looking ghoul. Unfortunately as he steps up, Bob whirls around and flashes his light right into the ravenfolk's eyes. Croaker stumbles, curses, instinctively throws his hand across his eyes and sends the burst of power careening harmlessly into the stone ceiling of the cavern.
Being as how they were the ones stumbling into the ghoul's lair, Croaker couldn't help but think that Griot's questions were the very questions the rotting ghoul in front of them was asking right now. Not confident that the ghoul and its shadow shrouded friend were in a talking mood, Croaker readies a blast of eldritch desert power should things take a confrontational turn.
Croaker practically falls into the room after Khanol as those behind push and prod him forward. Finding himself not under attack by gelatinous blobs, living skeletons, or ghoulish ambushers, he begins to take a closer look at what might be tucked away in the little tomb.
Croaker pushes the lamp forward to try and provide a bit more light. He doesn't try to push himself past Khanol given the cramped confines of the tunnel. |