"I wouldn't recommend touching them, but I won't stop you. Just let me take a few steps back first."
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"Of course we can. But a barricade means something doesn't want us going this way."
Gurnevan simply walks around the obstacles and fires an Admonishing Ray at the red kobold.
Gurnevan follows after the leader and casts Call of the Grave.
The solid pillar and the warding magic protects Gurnevan from some of the spears, but one particularly lucky one shatters his spell and hits him.
He takes aim at the apparent leader, activates the connection between himself and his staff, and fires an Admonishing Ray.
Gurnevan steps out into the room, still within range of the warding spell. He presses his body against the stone pillar to protect himself from any thrown spears, and casts Shield.
"Couldn't imagine these things could be reasoned with, anyway." That sickly green lightning arcs from Gurnevan's hands again.
Gurnevan stays quiet and waits to see what happens.
Gurnevan steps to the front and attempts to pull himself up the ledge.
"Wounded? You call this a wound?" He grumbles, but pockets the potions anyway. "Now come on and start clearing these webs so we can keep going. Whatever opened up that hole in the wall, the spider must've moved in after they'd left. Which means we've got a ways left to go."
"Wounds? What wounds? Bah, don't tell me you think a tiny little rat bite is reason enough to..." Gurnevan's complaints are cut short by the arrival of a much larger enemy that could bite a lot harder than a rat. --- The spider being a more formidable foe, Gurnevan chooses to turn to more powerful magic than simple lightning. He steps away from it to make space, and an orb of green energy forms at the tip of his staff, and careens towards the spider.
Ah, you botted me just as I was about to post! I'll accept it and just do my round 2 instead.
Gurnevan picks himself up, dusts himself off, and heads forward into the darkness.
Gurnevan screws up his courage and shoves his way to the front of the pack. As a dwarf, he naturally has no need for torches. "While you lot fiddle with ropes and torches, I'll actually go down there and let you know what I see." With no fanfare, and no preparation, he hops down and hopes for only minor bruising.
Sickly green lightning sparks from Gurnevan's fingers and arcs towards the rats to either side of him.
Afterwards, he jabs at one with the end of his staff.
Oh, my bad, I had the tagline written out but put in the wrong spot.
"A tunnel that size? Hmph. Must have been made by something worthwhile, then." He steps forward, observing the entrance to the tunnel.
A dour and serious dwarf steps down the cobbled street, his staff clinking softly against the stones. It is a mere wooden stick with three bands of copper, topped with a simple knob made from the ivory of some unknown sea-beast. Some scholars, were they to examine it, would say it had some bit of magic in it, but that magic is only as much that was put there by its owner. Gurnevan of the Harshwind Clan does not share his staff's clean aesthetic. He is haggard and tired despite his youth. His beard is matted and unkempt, and his coat has been patched so many times that little of its original self remains. Coming to a stop in front of the group, he looks up at the assembled crowd and grumbles. "If you must be so tall, make it useful and step to the side. Keep the sun out my eyes that way."
Gurnevan Harshwind has dedicated himself to the study of life and death, like his father before him. The Harshwind clan are scarcely tolerated in Galizhur, so they live on its Eastern fringe, less than a day's walk (on a dwarf's feet) to the human town of Otari. |