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Mattock takes a small sip from the flask tucked behind his belly warmer. He stares consideringly at the flask before capping it and sliding it back into place. "I think these are Nagara's rocks. If we continue on we'll be able to round them and strike to the south east again."
Mattock agrees with the younger dwarf. "We've too much gear and it'll be a long climb. Looks like trouble. And we don't want to drift too far east too soon. Let's turn south and follow it until we can find an easier climb."
The crickets call! Onward hoe!
Mattock shoulders his pack, ready to follow Riuk and the others when the march resumes.
Sarpadian's cool. I'm sure we still have it as part of the payload transfers.
Mattock glowers back at Falgard. "It's a mental lubricant and emotional salve. Keeps me sharp as a hammer and level as a -- a column." DM Sarpadian: Cool. I was planning to detect magic anyway. And a couple more times on the next leg in case it trails us. Can I localize the mystery aura?
Including me? I'm multi-classing with wizard.
"We were led here to an ambush. And that thing knows where we are. We need to keep moving, maybe just an hour. Put some distance between us and that thing."
Mattock lunges back from the flames reflexively. His left arm covers his face, while his right raises the ax for another blow. He looks at the empty spot where the enemy was. Then spins around to scan the glade. The ax head drops to the ground and he leans on it while he looks for the foe to reappear. "Someone tend to Falgard."
Once the area's clear, he mutters, "It used something like damnation stride there to get away. Maybe it was some sort of minor demon. " The flask slides out from behind his steel belly-warmer, and he takes a deep draught.
Mattock recovers from his swing and shouts back. "I might have an answer but it will take me a few moments to ready it. Can any of you use an axe?"
Magic Weapon: Magic Weapon
School transmutation; Level cleric 1, paladin 1, sorcerer/wizard 1 Casting Time 1 standard action Components V, S, DF Range touch Target weapon touched Duration 1 min./level Saving Throw Will negates (harmless, object); Spell Resistance yes (harmless, object) Magic weapon gives a weapon a +1 enhancement bonus on attack and damage rolls. An enhancement bonus does not stack with a masterwork weapon's +1 bonus on attack rolls. You can't cast this spell on a natural weapon, such as an unarmed strike (instead, see magic fang). A monk's unarmed strike is considered a weapon, and thus it can be enhanced by this spell.
"Gods of iron! He's hard to hurt!" The dwarf's ax swings into an apex above his head and he drives it at the thing again. .....
The dice will come around sooner or later.
Mattock rocks back and pitches his crossbow behind him. Freeing the axe at his belt, he sweeps it up and hammers it down at the foe. .....
Mattock levels his crossbow and fires, confident that at this close range he won't accidentally hit Morg or Falgard.
....
Mattock focuses on his ring and lets fly a magic missile. Then he circles around Riuk to get to a better attacking position.
Mattock finishes loading his crossbow and walks slowly forward while he looks around. "Are you all right, Riuk?"
Mattock scowls as he tries to swing his crossbow up and load it. "Maybe we should have listened to Falgard about the crying...."
Seeing his comrades apparently at a loss, Mattock looks back across the plain. He hopes to identify some mountain peaks to the north and west, and thereby estimate their position. Know(geography)
"A momerntary delay, Tinker, that will be forgotten tomorrow. Nothing lost." Mattock shrugs his pack's straps higher on his shoulders.
"Wait a moment more, good Riuk. Perhaps there's sorcery afoot." Mattock tries detect magic.
"Tinker's too young, too fresh to squelch his conscience. Used to be the Nalbrin did good, not just completed missions. When did we all get so jaded." Mattock slips into the young rogue's wake.
Mattock is definitely not the leader type. Falgard's background screams leader. I'm not sure how that will work out.
Mattock stops and swivels around the pivot of his left heel. He points to the left. "What's ? Do you hear that? It's coming from over there. .... Or there?"
"I don't like being exposed either, Riuk, but some of us are done in. I don't think they'll make it to the woods before dark. Let's camp on the downslope ahead there, and camp dark. No fires, no lights. We can keep watch from here and get an early start tomorrow."
Sir Safeway, it's cool with me. RL happens. Glad you're still in. And Riuk. Glad you're still with us too. I thought I had already posted to that effect, but the board monster might have eaten it. ~ Looks around shiftily ~ "the board monster. I haven't heard too much about it lately. I thought maybe it had gone to other hunting grounds. Happier ones." Sarpadian, sorry if I was nosing in too much. I forgot that you were rolling the Con checks for us. So I posted the forced march rules and my roll in the hopes of keeping things moving, getting everyone to roll. Didn't mean to overstep.
"Looks like we're agreed. Let's push on." Forced March Rules:
Forced March: In a day of normal walking, a character walks for 8 hours. The rest of the daylight time is spent making and breaking camp, resting, and eating.
A character can walk for more than 8 hours in a day by making a forced march. For each hour of marching beyond 8 hours, a Constitution check (DC 10, +2 per extra hour) is required. If the check fails, the character takes 1d6 points of nonlethal damage. A character who takes any nonlethal damage from a forced march becomes fatigued. Eliminating the nonlethal damage also eliminates the fatigue. It's possible for a character to march into unconsciousness by pushing himself too hard.
***Early stop***
***3:30*** Mattock looks around, then looks up at the sky. "I don't fancy camping here. I feel like a mouse in open ground with hawks circling above."
*** On the trail with Rannock ***
*** With Riuk and Tinker *** "Tinker's got the right afit. He's a quick ear and a quicker mouth." Mattock smiles briefly before his face falls into its more usual doleful mien.
Riuk, Quingrin, Tinker, Rannock, Mattock, Falgard After a quiet morningdraw out , Mattock tries to draw out Rannock. "Rannock, how'd you get saddled with this duty. Are you kin to Ulfgar?"
At the gate, Mattock twists his head around, getting a fix on the local mountain peaks. He points out the various peaks while he speaks. "I don't know if any of you have been this way, but there's some landmarks I want you to know about if you don't know this land. That flat-topped mountain is the Anvil and the tall one in-line behind it is the Cougar. You can imagine him sitting up straight, but stooping down from the neck. That bulge on the left would be his shoulder and that little spar peak is his left ear. Come back keeping those in line until Triple Point is dead square on your right. and you're on top of the ridge. Then dip into the next ravine and bear east. At least that's what Jonhammer wrote was the easiest way to find the gate from a southern approach. We should all turn around to look at the view every half-league or so. That way it will look familiar on our return trip."
"You might feel differently if your family never sees you again." The flask appears, a sip, flask disappears. The drink seems to lighten Mattock's mood. He ventures philosophically, "Might be worth it if we take some Taloth with us."
Mattock's tone is doleful. "A trip to the human settlements may sound fun or exciting, Quingrin. But before you let Trask exchange his duty for yours, you should know some things. We will be keeping to wilderness paths and likely sleeping cold once we are beyond the gate. Once we reach the humans there will be little time to explore. Our orders are to return with their goods as soon as possible. And of course at every step we may be found out and killed or worse by the Taloths. There will be no joy found on this trip I warrant." As if to punctuate his point, Mattock shakes a metal hip flask from his sleeve, uncaps it, sniffs, and takes a quick draught. The flask disappears into his sleeve again.
On the leadership question, Falgard's age and background makes him seem a natural choice for leader. Riuk's temperament fits the role, and he has been an active poster. Rannock's a wildcard. Quingrin is also an unknown. Tinker's awesome, but neither he, nor Mattock are commander material right now. No resolution is required. Just seems odd to me that a military band has no chain of command.
Mattock nods to Riuk in agreement or mere acknowledgment. Then he turns his attention back to Quingrin. "So you and Trask are swapping posts? Did he give you his metal ore also?"
"Well met, Quingrin. I am Mattock of Torhold." Bald, bushy-browed, dreadlocked-beard, bleary eyed, and with a belly starting to run to fat, Mattock has the dingy, fatalistic air of a dwarf who's lost hope. He's dressed as a simple traveler in yellowing auburn robes, and he carries a voluminous pack. Mattock shrugs his pack to the ground, and perhaps in unconscious sympathy pats his own belly. There's a harder sound than one might expect from the action, a rap of metal on metal, muffled slightly by his yellow robes. "Join or not. It's up to our leader." He looks quizzically at the others. He had more or less assumed that Ulfgar was in command. His departure leaves the question open.
I think we're waiting for Quingrin to say something. Mattock has observed the interaction with Trask and asked if our bard is departing. The question was obliquely aimed at Quingrin, but feel free to jump in with Rannock. There's nothing like a little conversation to kill time. Or maybe we could give him a hearty chorus of "I like big beards"!
Mattock watches the exchange between Trask and Green-eyes. The exchange of provisions and wand can only mean one thing. "Is our Morgath bard leaving us then?"
Mattock slings his pack over his shoulder then shrugs the other arm through the second strap. Another shrug and the pack settles on his shoulders. "Uggmm. Fits perfectly. Hits all the sore spots," he opines. As he steps into line with the others he stamps his feet in time to the music, a marching beat.
A bald, bushy-browed, dreadlocked-beard, bleary eyed dwarf with a belly starting to run to fat, steps forward. He's dressed as a simple traveler in yellowing auburn robes, and he carries a voluminous pack. "Welcome to our band, Rannock Deepdelver. I am Mattock of Torhold, a philosopher of no note. This youngster is Tinker, more properly called Morg Blackflame, although there is more light than black about him. There with the black badger is Riuk Blood, archer and livestock wrangler. And to his left is our self-appointed elder, Falgard Dalvik. Finally we have Trask Morgrath, never met another bard who could so make a dwarf boil with anger, in a useful way." "In honor of our attainments we have granted the status of mules by our gracious monarch and the high Nalbrin command." *** A bit later while Ulfgar packs *** "Ulfgar, a moment's pause, please. I hope your father recovers, Helmhammer. Clan and family. There's nothing more important." Mattock asks the departing warpriest to take a few things back to Bodekgrim, the golden holy symbol, (to support his report of the incident and so that dwarven experts can examine it) and the cave fisher glands. ("I'm afraid they'll spoil on our trip. See Denaith MeltLadle in the Azure Courtyard. He'll give you a good price and make sure that nothing goes to waste.") He'll also ask Ulfgar to leave as many provisions as he can spare with the party. "Our need will be greater than yours."
If we lose one, we'll have to redistribute the ingots to balance the load. I thought Mattock was going to get to out of heavy load with the pack, but it will take a few more days.
"Gold is gold." Mattock agrees. "If any of us get separated in human lands some coin will be useful."
"Probably best if we split the coin now." Mattock counts the gold out into piles, saying the name of each dwarf as he lays a new piece on each pile. "Ulfgard, Trask, Riuk, Tinker, Falgard, Mattock." "I'm willing to bet the red vials are poison of one sort of another. If no one minds, I'll help myself to one of the other fellow's daggers. Grab what you can use. We probably won't see resupply for a long time." The dwarf sits back and runs a hand in circles over his iron 'bellywarmer'. 'Hmm. They had no food. I wonder if they've a camp or companions nearby."
Mattock packs his things.
"Just as importantly, they didn't get away to warn anyone about a party of dwarves leaving the south gate. As I said before, nice shooting." "I wonder if the fire alerted them to us. Mayhap we should forego a campfire at night."
Mattock smiles as he concentrates on the items. "The liquid is some sort of magical potion, although I can't determine exactly what. The gold ornament has a faint trace of magic, probably a conduit, more commonly called a magical focus."
Mattock retrieves his dagger and returns to the stream to help Morg. The whole time he keeps looking behind himself and left or right for more of the camouflaged menaces. Over the bodies, Mattock says, "Spies or thieves. They got what they deserved. Nice shooting, Riuk, Trask." "I don't know why they were here, but they probably weren't sent to kill us specifically. At least our mission is still secret. Their book might tell us more." "Now let's see what else they have here..."
I'm giving up pursuit.
Mattock stares at the fleeing creature. He knows he's too slow to catch him. He has no spells readied with enough range either. He splashes into the stream and up the far bank to search for his dagger. |
