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Ienmar studies the place, and then supports the caravan's efforts, describing the action and the fight with the giant frogs, as well as continuing his travel song. Dwarves loved to sing. "The world was young, the mountains green,
Ienmar nods, tossing the trident onto a cart.
Ienmar continues singing, smiling at Amber, until the party (and the rescued dwarves) finally return to the base camp.
Ienmar sets out into the cleared wilderness, careful to keep the trident head-up and pointing away from dwarf-flesh. As the world seems cleaner, he begins to sing a merry travel-tune. "O'er the hills, o'er the streams,
Ienmar shakes his head, and snaps the fresh living tree bits away.
Ienmar then helps carry the wounded and rescued dwarves out.
Oh, yeah. That sounds bad. xD
[b]”It is corrupted, accordin’ to Morkam. It must be destroyed.”[b] says Ienmar. He picks up the adamantine axe head. He affixes it to a hard wooden handle, and smashes the adamantine weapon against the trident to destroy it.
Ienmar explores the cavern a bit more as his companions rest, assessing how many dwarf-folk they rescued. Once he finds the cavern empty, he returns to report the good news.
"Wait! Wait! Perhaps I might shed a little light on things. As I recall there is a legendary weapon of a long-banished Demonlord that commands fungi, molds, mildews, and worse. It was a Trident named 'Alvendhal' or in ancient Elven "Farmers' Fork" It was taken by the Demonlord after it slew an ancient Elven deity of Agriculture. Somehow these Frogmen have them? I believe that explains what is going on. We need to get that evil weapon away, and perhaps they'll start minding their own business again". Ienmar recalls Morkam's warning, and reaches into the frogman's dead grip. He pries the weapon out with a hand wrapped in cloth, and conceals as much of the weapon as he could. "We'll se'le this in full with the frogmen until they call for parlay," Ienmar says, stowing the trident in his inventory. "Perhaps we could even destroy this foul demon's weapon."
Dwarves, am I right?
I vote rest as well.
Ienmar yanks his bloodied hammer from the cultist's head with a sickening plop, and the cultist falls into the reddening dirty water. He quickly checks over the to-be-victim dwarf and cuts any ropes or binds that hold him down.
Ienmar charges up to the nearest foe () and attacks.
Ienmar's round dwarven shield blocks the thrust of the trident, and his thick mail armor splatters with the frogman's blood as the stout warrior takes a step forward and brings his hammer down. He does not care for the two backing the trident warrior; his foe will fall.
Ienmar keeps up the assault on the trident-wielding frogman, not letting him get the opportunity to strike back with his cursed weapon.
Ienmar’s round shield blocks the trident attacks and the feeble frogmen assault. He finds an opening, and strikes.
Damn that’s rough. I remember how the weather was in Houston years ago when I visited it, but it must be worse these days.
Hearing the rhythmic chanting, Ienmar gets a sense of foreboding. Perhaps this is a sonic or musical based attack.
When he encounters the frogmen, he dashes forward, eyes (and hammer) targeting the one with the offensive trident.
”That would explain a lot,” Ienmar says thoughtfully. “In this case, we must find the weapon and destroy or otherwise incapacitate its ability to harm us.”
Ienmar firmly and with great drive delves into the depths, weapon at the ready.
Ienmar deposits the dwarven prisoners on the other side of the water, and says with gruff affection, "Ye dinne have ta' worry about that, lass." He turns to the rest, and says, "We must go further in."
Ienmar heaves himself out of the water and onto the mossy rock, and starts to comfort the prisoners. “Don’t ya worry lads,” he tells the boy-children. “You’ll be all ‘ome safe and sound.” He carries whoever he can on his shield, lifting it above his head as he wades back into the water.
Ienmar lifts his shield and holds firm against the minotaur's fetid barrage. He hefts his hammer over the dark waters and strikes with furious anger, augmented with Johnny Boy's music.
Ienmar staggers as the large body crashes into the fetid water, creating a wave that pushed him back. Not used to fighting in water, Ienmar notices the minotaur about to strike Johnny Boy, and tries to dash through the sludge to shove the brave dwarf out of the way and take the blow himself.
But the dense fetid water pushes him back before he can take such a step. He does manage to, however, avoid slipping and threaten the minotaur's flank.
Ienmar lands from the tunnel, shield at his side. He stares at the green-covered husks silently. He almost doesn't hear O'Connel's statement. He flicks his eyes to the cage, seeing the helpless and frightened dwarf-folk. For too long have we suffered, fallen from up high, he thought. He doesn't feel himself move, but he steps forward. Everything collapsed in on our people, snuffing the light and shutting us in. No-where could we go. He finds himself hip-deep in the mire, shield up, approaching as if entranced. Figures in the cage, small as children, didn't seem to move.
He swings his hammer at the nearest minotaur with hate of a grudge-keeping professional killer.
Aren't the prisoner dwarves all women and children?
"Finally," Ienmar growls, before charging ahead.
Ienmar continues down the moss-covered path, sweeping away any tangle weeds with his shield. He continues on until he finds a new threat. "It's quiet. The frog-men are loud. Are we on the right track?
Ienmar slows his steps (), feeling his stability waver. His boots, still caked with the rain and mud from the outside, would not hold well. He keeps the vanguard, however, looking for tracks.
"Amber makes a good point, but tha trails lead ta 'ere," Ienmar says.
"Coast's clear," he says gruffly. He hefts his hammer on his shoulder. "Let's go."
Ienmar sees the mold feed on the fire, something that is conventionally praised for its powers to purify and overcome the most polluted and evil of forces. His lips open into another, "Nope." He shuts the door, and heads to the door on the right, opening it, shield up.
”Nope.” He shuts the door, but glances at Amber. “Could ye burn this away?”
I agree. I think we have seven dwarves here. We need some way to coordinate actions. I think this is what old school d&d called the Caller role.
”Aye, that’s what ye could call,” Ienmar says, pausing as he thinks. “Dramatic value in tha’ architecture. Best open the door on the left first.” He then carefully walks over the floor to open the door, keeping his eyes peeled.
"They've gone down 'ere, lads," he says gruffly. He then coughs and says in an apologetic tone. "An' lasses." He readies himself, and says, "We're not like them humans who need a torch day in and day out. Let's go in and save our people!"
“This minotaur village seems to have an altar.” he says. He doesn’t want to let the trail go cold, and asks their tracker whether the tracks lead to the village. “Thoughts, Johnny Boy?”
“Oh this looks bad.” He relays the findings.
Ienmar relays his findings.
Ienmar collects the thick plates, depositing the stack with a clatter on the side of the road. "Made by dwarven 'ands," he says gruffly. "But the designs are not ours. I might've seen this before..."
Ienmar looks at the pathway.
”I can see the plates, fellow dwarves,” he says. He takes a deep breath, and says. “I will brave this danger. Pull me out if I collapse, and I may be revived”. He ties himself to one end of the rope, under his chainmail, and tosses the other end to the party. He pulls from his pack a pickaxe and from his masonry kit some plaster, and marches forward to avoid the plates, pulling them out to disarm them, and to plaster over the hidden sprayer.
Ienmar draws back his crowbar, untying it. "More traps...hold on lads, there's an archway over 'ere." He packs his things once more and sets out into the archway.
Ienmar approaches the trap but stops where Krystid points at. He studies it up close, studying the stonework.
He then pulls out from his backpack a crowbar and a length of rope, and takes a number of steps back. He ties the crowbar to the rope, and tosses it at where he reckons the trap trigger is, triggering it safely out of range.
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