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Carefully checking his grip, Red Stick replies, "Seems to. But you know, I never heard footsteps. And my nose still feels her heel from earlier, so she's not flying. If she teleported or whatever mages do, there'd be no need to use the door. Or, you know, act like you're using the door." With a wry, predatory grin, he finishes, "Which means..." Red Stick draws his whip and twirls it around his head. "...little girl lost is still here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?" Red gibes. "You might want to become visible. I'd hate to grab something I shouldn't." He flexes his muscles, crushing something in his arms. "Oops! Clumsy me. Was that your arm or neck?"
Red Stick reaches out... He thinks he grabs a hold of something...
"Help you fight? Certainly!" Grabbing the table to stabilize himself as he stands, he listens for the voice and makes a grab for it.
One of my tabletop buddies should be--he and his family go every year. I, on the other hand, will not.
Red reaches up to grab the ankle of whatever it is that is stepping on his face.
"What? On top of the tab--whoops!" Watching Melchesiech, Red Stick saunters over towards the table, forgetting about the Grease. Suddenly, he slips and falls, sliding across the floor, his leg flailing up and striking the edge of the table.
Red Stick rolls out from the other side of the table, stands, and passes next to E-Terah and Melchesiech, offering his hand and saying, "Pleased to meet you, my name's Reegar, I go by Red Stick or just Red." Skirting by the grease, he heads for the north door.
Looking around, Red Stick looks at Oynar, gives her a quizzical look, thinks a moment, then suddenly, without warning, makes a diving roll under the table.
My condolences.
"Everyone, stop fighting..." Red calls out, as he nonchalantly walks into the morass of mongrelmen. "These mongrelmen aren't here. And where is that buzzing coming from?" Red listens carefully for the droning.
"Wait... huh?"
Recognizing that he'll be a popular target now, Red keeps his falchion menacingly in front of him. He deftly slashes at his target from earlier, and holds in close, forcing the use of clubs over glaives.
Red Stick bursts forward with his scimitar, ducks left, and slices at the first mongrelman he encounters.
Red Stick draws his falchion and creeps up toward the door.
Red Stick shrugs. "Down it is!" He heads back into the southern room.
Red Stick indicates the chamber. "Where would you like to start looking?"
Red Stick shakes his head. "They really did a number on this place. Come on, let's figure out how to get out of here to the surface." Pointing to the southern door where they had been ambushed the first time, he adds, "That way led downward. I don't think that's the way." Checking the two rooms north of the sleeping chamber, he comments, "That one is a closet. So, it's got to be this way." He opens the northernmost door and leads the party into the next room.
Sure, bring them in here!
"Let's take our time to find out..." Red Stick takes a good long time examining the three doors out of the room, checking for traps, or eyeholes, or any evidence that they are watched or about to be ambushed.
Red steps warily into the room, picking up an empty wine bottle. Testing its heft, he flicks it with his free hand to listen to the sound. He continues to make dull bell sounds with the bottle at random intervals as he speaks. "Well, if they left, they didn't come back toward Neathholm. If there wasn't another way out, they would have stayed right here. So, they either left and there is a way out, or they're using illusions or hiding carefully." He tosses the bottle behind him, with perhaps more force than necessary.
Woohoo! Welcome back, Morgrym! I hope the move went well.
But I don't want to go back to Neathholm! Not yet, anyway. ETA: Heck, fine, Neathholm it is. But let's find out just how much we can all heal up.
And we should feel fine with botting Morgrym until he gets back. Moving can be a killer.
Just letting everyone know I'm still here. If we've got Morgrym up, let's get him to start healing people, starting with Horgus to get him up and moving as well. Once we're all out of negatives, we can decide where to hole up. I still recommend holing up here, but first let's use up all the healing we can to figure out what we have, barricade whatever entrance we don't take, and move forward from there/camp for the night.
"I'm glad we found something. Let's see what Morgrym recommends to get us all back on our feet. Oh, and please, the armor's yours, Sarthonn. We'll need all the protection we can get."
This is just a second level rogue, but the goal is to become a Rogue 4/Cav 4/Low Templar 10/Cav 2, with specialties in sneak attack and improvisational fighting. This is a guy who starts fights early and often.
Red Stick looks around and winces. "Okay, so these guys had to come from somewhere, right? And it wasn't from back the way we came, and it wasn't from down that way where the mad archer was. So that leaves one of these two doors," he says, indicating the north doors. "We've got a fire pit here, we should camp here. But if we do, we had better barricade both those doors. Also... we still have these potions. Can anyone up tell us what they are? If not... I'll be a guinea pig."
I just wanted to let people know that nightdeath is dealing with some family emergencies right now, and that's why he hasn't been posting.
"Are the bad guys carrying potions or anything?"
With a grimace, Red Stick opens the entry door quickly and jumps through, expecting any number of ambushes in response.
Red Stick heads over to the entry door and listens to it, hoping to get an idea of whether friend or foe is on the opposite side.
As the one mongrelman moves past Red Stick, he presses against his opponent's back and pivots within the reach of his attacker, to smite a blow right back.
Looking around, Red Stick recognizes his perilous situation. But then he looks at his opponents. North of him, he stands poised, ready to attack, with space to spare. South of him, another warrior is backed into the corner, with a long, long weapon. The half-orc takes a step back, away from his northern opponent, pressing against his southern opponent. "Excuse me, such a tight space, isn't it? Oh, I'm sorry, is the wall right there?" Spinning around, blocking one glaive, and barreling into the shaft of the second glaive, Red Stick holds position and tries slashing at the southern target with a fluid motion.
I feel like a bunch of T-Rexes restricted to claw attacks.
Stepping northward to get past the glaive's tip, Red Stick attacks the mongrelman ahead.
Red Stick shifts south to set up a flank with Sarthonn, draws his falchion, and strikes.
Woohoo, the first five d20 rolls this combat, and the highest one is a 6!
Red Stick, continuing to hold the door, angles it to fit through the doorway and crouches to get over the stone chair and under the door jamb. Using the door as a makeshift tower shield for cover, he rushes straight for the first warrior, plants the door down in front of him, tilts it forward, and steps on it like a plank, driving it down onto the archer as he runs over him.
Keeping the stone chair firmly against the door, Red Stick acts to remove the hinge pins from the door. He points to Naravash, and crouches before the stone chair in demonstration. Once Naravash is in position, bow drawn, peeking over the top of the chair, Red Stick stands on the chair, legs wide, and lifts the door up, until a horizontal arrow slit exists between door and chair.
Red Stick goes back to the doorway to pick up his sap, but stays armed with his falchion. He goes through the rooms the party has gone through in his head, pointing in the air and thinking. He looks at the closed door the party went through. Shaking his head, he sheathes his weapons and attempts to push one of the stone chairs to the door. He checks the door's hinges. Into the room, or out?
Red Stick sighs, shakes his head, and looks the mad archer over for equipment of value or any insignia that represents her loyalties.
Red Stick shrugs. "You had your chance," he replies, drawing his falchion and slamming it down on the archer.
Red stick grunts as the arrow sinks into him. As everyone comes around him, he smirks, grabs a cushion, and thrusts it into her face.
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