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"It sounds like something of an uprising going on downstairs," Thaegrin turns to say to Tholan's back. He pauses, finding a moment of clarity. This disruption could allow the four of them to slip away quietly -exactly the secrecy that Thaegrin originally preferred. Iskandarr is the best hunter I've seen. He would manage to track us down. But then again, if the Mimic and his men are able to put down this little insurrection, there would be no doubt that the obtuse intelligence officer would hunt them, too. And that hunt might not wait til morning...

A mild cough catches in his throat and burning pain revisits the old Feraweni lungs. He recovers quickly, but the ache lingers. He regards the muscular Drolleye on the other side of the room. Thaegrin can guess what the Thelkonlander would prefer to do, but the wizard has also been surprised by the wisdom in Tholan's choices before. Moreover, he cannot remember the last time he asked the imposing figure's opinion on anything.

"We have a chance to get away and resume secrecy, but that might leave a loose end. A mustachioed loose end, if you take my meaning. Or, we can aid these Arched peoples in their little rebellion, jeopardizing the covert nature of our mission. What do you think we should do?"

"Oh, and let us not forget the third option:" he adds with a dry tone, "We could kill everyone..."

Ok folks, I've got a houserule here for ya:

The fighter's Bravery class feature bonus also applies to the fighter's DC against Intimidate rolls from opponents.

This more directly affects two of the PCs, but it will also apply to any npc fighters the party might encounter.

Umros Whippoorwill whistles onward. He communes in the joy of wandering, even if it is confined to a rocky tunnel deep underground. Feeling of one step in front of another brings him much happiness, and he cannot help a smile. The small gnome realizes at the moment that his lips are quite tired of whistling, and instead decides to start singing a Desnan walking song. He pauses just long enough to begin at the rhythm of his footfalls.

"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say."

He repeats the verse once more, and then decides it is best to turn back. Refreshed, he considers the trials faced the day before, as well as the quiet moments too. The last entry of Ether Gales' journal bothered him, as did Umros' dream from last night. The faithful wanderer prays as he goes, requesting that the Song of Spheres grant him and his companions the courage, luck, and wit to see these mysteries through to the end. Where had James gone? Who, or what, is the Shining Lady? What was it that terrified Ether Gales? What secrets are the folk of Sharlstown keeping? How long have they been kept?

He begins to whistle again, and nearly chokes in surprise. It was his whistle, but there was a new tone he could feel to it. One that he had heard before, a very long and blissful time ago, but until now was unable to replicate. The little old dreamer smiles, and resumes his whistling tune, savoring the memory for awhile.

In what feels like no time, he walks back into the great open cavern. Though he still appears a little sickly from yesterday's wound, Umros' mood is bright and rejuvenated.
"Alright! Let's get going! Is everyone ready?" Umros marches across the expanse, and through the iron grate. His companions can hear the smile in his voice.

"Cath, how's the cave-in coming?" he asks, his silvery eyes doing over the warrior's progress.

Perception 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (13) + 10 = 23, Umros is looking for three small rocks, maybe each the size of a golf ball?

No.

The lieutenant carves a great horizonal gash in the magma spirit, only marginally mended by the goopy lava within. His falchion comes away glowing a dull orange.

...1
Jamie, maddened by her lack of prowess, flies into a reckless rage.
Attack 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16 for 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (8) + 12 = 20
Her savage swing hits below Logan’s cut, and the bottom half of the great elemental goes flying off the bridge in chunks. The remaining top half thuds and rolls off the causeway as the light behind the eyes fades, splashing into the surface of magma below.

Panting from the exertion, Jamie flashes a jeering grin at Logan and Rolg. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Let’s get outta here.”

The barbarian returns her weapon to her belt and continues toward the end of the bridge.

Encounter passed. Jamie wins. Hoorah.

The four continue west on the road. Over the last four hours since the discovery of bear’s grapes, the champions passed a small family pulling a burdened pack mule eastward toward Thaleniel, a pair of mounted merchants, a handful of patrolling horsemen bearing the insignia of the king’s cavalry. They also ride around a band of travelers on foot, a dozen men, half-elves, and dwarves also heading west to Brenan’s Crossing. Each of these passersby exchange polite greetings with the champions or ignore them completely, all of them not recognizing the famous four. The sun begins its descent toward the western horizon when Beorae suggests moving to the river to find a place to camp for the night.

Roll Perception and Survival checks to find and set up a suitable place to camp (assume that a small, calm pool is eventually found). Please be specific about campfire placement and bedroll arrangements. Beorae can also roll for Shark’s training at this time.

Edit: see Discussion.

Shark returns to the group licking bloody teeth, happily nuzzling Beorae’s side.

Thaegrin nods, “Excellent. Are guests subject to searches, or at least a confiscation of weapons?”

Sir Togril pats the Quaesitor’s shoulder. “Perhaps she speaks our language.”
He steps up to the water edge and waves his shield arm to get the elemental’s attention. He tries to call out over the wind.

“Excuse me! Your, uh, Wetness? Might you be the one causing the storm?”
Diplomacy 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7

Heh. Hey, you never know when we'll need to outderp an enemy.

"I'll bet the key to open this lock is among one of these."
Eli stoops over the formerly pinned goblin, searching the two halves for the key and anything else of importance.
Perception 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

Lucas stands up quickly.

"Oh it figures that some of that goblin juice would be on floor right where I place my boot! And these steel boots too! That never would have happened if I had my boots on!"

Lucas spits on the floor where the "juice" is.

"Don't let this fool you old man! I could so take you!"

Eli throws back his head, belting out a hearty guffaw, a hand on his belly. ”Surely, boy, surely. You act to have won a few matches in your day, and truth be told, as you are with your fists, I am with my axe. I would be useless in the boxer’s ring, as you might be in the wilds. So how’s this: first to shed goblin blood from this moment wins a pint from the other, once we escape. Not counting Winkin, Blinkin, or Nod over there, of course.” He motions toward the three sleeping goblins.

He pauses, regarding the bodies for a moment, before turning his attention to the assortment of baubles as identified by Carys. His fingers prod the four jewels, but he pockets only the ruby and leaves the three sapphires. Eli holds the ring made from volcanic rock up to his eyes, studying it. ”My mentor carried a ring such as this many years ago, before he was lost. Perhaps the cooled fires of the mountains can protect me likewise.”

He slips the ring onto the index finger of his left hand, quietly opening and closing a fist a few times before looking up. He gestures to the pile of treasures with a toothy grin. ”Take the coin, son. You’ll need it to buy me my drink.”

Eli shoulders his greataxe and pack, and looks expectantly to the others.