"Ack, Green slime ain't after bein' dangerous iffin' ye are knowin' its there. Just don't be lickin' it. N' fire burns it right enough."
"If you say so, I still prefer to stay away from the stuff. I shall trust your judgement, your Grace."
When Kelborn mentions the trap, I suggest, "Iffin' we can simply bypass it, then let's do so fer the moment n' when ye are gettin' some free time later ye can be refitting it elsewhere."
"But there could well be other traps further down n' further in. Ye be movin' carefully lad."
"Yes, I concur. Considering that I am still unfamiliar with these spires and, of course, the traps within, I prefer to be careful, lest the next door we meet light us all on fire. I can come back for this one later."
"Hru, why don't we be givin' Kelborn a boost up ta the lintel wit' a lit torch n' he can be openin' the door from the other side."
"Um. Yes. Let's." Hesitantly, Kelborn draws his longsword before being lifted to the other side.
"Hru, why don't we be givin' Kelborn a boost up ta the lintel wit' a lit torch n' he can be openin' the door from the other side."If Kelborn agrees to this:
** spoiler omitted **
Seeing the slime, Kelborn realizes that his sword won't be needed immediately, and, after sheathing his blade, reaches for his toolkit. He begins carefully burning and scraping away green slime.
"Hru, why don't we be givin' Kelborn a boost up ta the lintel wit' a lit torch n' he can be openin' the door from the other side."If Kelborn agrees to this:
** spoiler omitted **Seeing the slime, Kelborn realizes that his sword won't be needed immediately, and, after sheathing his blade, reaches for his toolkit. He begins carefully burning and scraping away green slime.
The door must not be perfectly hung on its ancient hinges after all these years because as soon as it is unbarred it swings open into the room. Kelborn, still hanging over the lintel, barely manages to lift his chest and head to avoid getting scraped or knocked on the chin by the heavy stone door.
For DM:
"Kinsmen? Quiver dead. Quarrel go hunting. Come back, find hairless coward kill them all. Quarrel track to hotlands."
"I be sorry to hear that," Orlan frowns as he tries to offer his solemn condolences, "Me and muh cousin have our own troubles with the...hairless ones. But not all of 'em are bad. There be good ones down in the valley as well."
"So 'bout them orcs," he starts to change the subject...
Quarrel thinks for a moment. Holding up ten fingers, he says, "Orcs...many orcs...maybe dozen. They go there. Go. Come back. Go again." he says pointing toward the Cinderlands.
"Hunh!" Orlan grunts as he considers the odds, "That be a fair number, even for a battleragin' dwarf." He resheathes his axe and makes ready to start climbing the stone ladder again.
"Well, I best be off then," he announces, "I'll have ta catch up to 'em if'n I'm gonna put the fear o' a dwarven axe in their hearts. Yuh take care o' yerself, Quarrel. Try not ta stir up too much trouble with the hairless ones."
For DM:
Spoiler:
Quarrel leads you to a long flat span of hill that the orcs travelled along. It is well back from the gorge -- a dried river bed -- that connects up with the dried waterfall (not the flowing waterfall that feeds the gorge) that you have passed several times. When the dried riverbed turns towards the gorge, the trail left by the orcs continues straight. Heavy ruts indicate that the orcs were sometimes pulling something with wheels and other times carrying it.
As I look into the slime covered room, I think a bit.
"What we need is ta be lettin' some daylight inta this room. I don't supposed ye would be able ta be 'elpin'?" I comment to Hru.
I absentmindedly scorch some of the slime away from the door as I take in the contents of the room.
"Iffin' I remember aright, we weren't after findin' out wat as behind that there door at the bottom o' the room. But I wouldn't be mindin' leavin' it till we get a bundle o' daylight 'n instead seein' what we can do about takin' the bridge."
"Thoughts?"
"Thoughts?"
"Do we even have the resources to scorch this room? I have but five pints of oil, which I need to keep my lantern alight. I do suggest we try to clear this area of slime, as there could be nothing worse than needing to retreat here at a later date and finding the slime regrown."
For DM:
Quarrel leads you to a long flat span of hill that the orcs travelled along. It is well back from the gorge -- a dried river bed -- that connects up with the dried waterfall (not the flowing waterfall that feeds the gorge) that you have passed several times. When the dried riverbed turns towards the gorge, the trail left by the orcs continues straight. Heavy ruts indicate that the orcs were sometimes pulling something with wheels and other times carrying it.
"Much obliged," Orlan nods to Quarrel, "Looks like they're loaded down with somethin'. Tankard and I should be makin' good time in catchin' up ta 'em. Take care."
With that, Orlan clicks his tongue at the sure-footed mule and they set off down the river bed...
"I could be burnin' a path easy enough wit' magic, but I am thinkin' our torches will do the trick fer now."
"I could be burnin' a path easy enough wit' magic, but I am thinkin' our torches will do the trick fer now."
"I'm wonderin' what we could be doin' to that slime wit' a mirror from the bridge. Course, I'm also wonderin' 'ow the kobolds was after movin' across the room wit' no rope ta be 'angin' on wit'.""
Orlan:
Make a perception check.
"I'm wonderin' what we could be doin' to that slime wit' a mirror from the bridge. Course, I'm also wonderin' 'ow the kobolds was after movin' across the room wit' no rope ta be 'angin' on wit'.""
For DM:
Orlan: Make a perception check.
"Eh? What's that...?" Orlan leans forward in his saddle, "Yuh hear somethin' Tankard?"
For DM:
** spoiler omitted **
Orlan:
As Orlan coaxes Tankard off the river bed and onto the less sure footing of the rockier path the orcs took, he notices a crevice in the ground up ahead, making a note to avoid it. Then he spots the head of a battleaxe poking out above a pair of large rocks on the other side of the path. He doesn't see who it belongs to but it certainly didn't walk itself over to this perfect spot for an ambush/lookout.
C=Crevice
|| = path
O = bumpy ground
X = boulders/battleaxe
For DM:
As Orlan coaxes Tankard off the river bed and onto the less sure footing of the rockier path the orcs took, he notices a crevice in the ground up ahead, making a note to avoid it. Then he spots the head of a battleaxe poking out above a pair of large rocks on the other side of the path. He doesn't see who it belongs to but it certainly didn't walk itself over to this perfect spot for an ambush/lookout.
Orlan quietly dismounts so he can walk alongside Tankard, keeping the mule between him and the boulders. As they approach the lookout's position, he falls back behind the mule, allowing it to keep walking while he comes around behind to get next to the boulders. His dwarven waraxe slips easily from the straps on his back and he tightens his hold on his shield.
For DM:
** spoiler omitted **
Orlan:
As the mule plods forward, the head of the guard's battleaxe scrapes against the rock as he picks it up and stands to hoist it at the mule. A momentary look of puzzlement flashes across his face before he realizes that he's been tricked.
For DM:
As the mule plods forward, the head of the guard's battleaxe scrapes against the rock as he picks it up and stands to hoist it at the mule. A momentary look of puzzlement flashes across his face before he realizes that he's been tricked.
Orlan transfers his waraxe to his other hand, clasping it behind his shield. Then he rises from behind his side of the boulders to hurl a summoned bit of acidic earth blessed by Torag straight into the orc's face.
1d20+3 = 12 to hit against his touch AC
1d6+1+2 = 5 hp
"There's mud in yer eye!" Orlan taunts, switching the axe back to his gauntleted fist and nimbly stepping atop the boulder to close on the orc and finish him off.
Orlan swings his waraxe in a powerful arc, trying to cleave the orc's head from his shoulders.
1d20+7 = 23 to hit
1d10+3 = 13 hp
"Yuh're messin' with the wrong dwarf!" Orlan announces with no small measure of satisfaction to undoing the orc's ambush.
Orlan:
Apparently these orcs are messing with the wrong dwarf. And, by "messing with", I mean "sitting around and having nothing to do with".
The orc crashes heavily to the ground, his half-plate armour making a clattering noise.
Tankard glances over at the orc in disgust and swishes his tail.
A crossbow rests against the same rock his battleaxe leaned against minutes before.
For DM:
The orc crashes heavily to the ground, his half-plate armour making a clattering noise....
Tankard glances over at the orc in disgust and swishes his tail....A crossbow rests against the same rock his battleaxe leaned against minutes before.
"Hunh!" Orlan grunts as he hops down from the boulders and calls Tankard back to him.
"Sure'n that one won't be puttin' up a fight anymore," he comments to the mule, "Let's see what he's got on 'im and if'n there's sign o' any more o' 'em campin' nearby."
Orlan checks the orc's body for any further useful items or information. The battleaxe, crossbow, and armor attract his professional interest as a dwarf...and he's curious to gauge the craftmanship of the items, given that he doesn't recall orcs wearin' such heavy armor unless they're at war.
Finally, he checks out the crevice across from the boulders to determine if that's where the other orcs might have gone. If not, he decides to use it as a place to hide the dead body before traveling on.
Opening the doors to the bridge allows some sunlight in. It may take time but it begins the process of killing the slime. Travelling through this room is possible but laborious.
For DM:
Spoiler:Tarren the Dungeon Master wrote:
The orc crashes heavily to the ground, his half-plate armour making a clattering noise....
Tankard glances over at the orc in disgust and swishes his tail....A crossbow rests against the same rock his battleaxe leaned against minutes before."Hunh!" Orlan grunts as he hops down from the boulders and calls Tankard back to him.
"Sure'n that one won't be puttin' up a fight anymore," he comments to the mule, "Let's see what he's got on 'im and if'n there's sign o' any more o' 'em campin' nearby."
Orlan checks the orc's body for any further useful items or information. The battleaxe, crossbow, and armor attract his professional interest as a dwarf...and he's curious to gauge the craftmanship of the items, given that he doesn't recall orcs wearin' such heavy armor unless they're at war.
Finally, he checks out the crevice across from the boulders to determine if that's where the other orcs might have gone. If not, he decides to use it as a place to hide the dead body before traveling on.
Orlan:
The ill-fitting armour is well made and certainly not orcish in origin. If you had to guess from the design, you'd say it originated in Lastwall and that it's last owner was a paladin. Whatever holy symbols adorned it has been painted over with a red palm. A void appears in the paint. A scarred hand. Looking at the orc's right hand, this could be his own palm. A scar stretches from between his pinky and ring finger to under his thumb. Orcish heraldry being what it is ... you'd say this group calls themselves 'Scarred Hand'.
Standing on the boulders, you can see four orcish war tents not further than 100' ahead. Some kind of wheeled war machine sits between the four tents.
For DM:
The ill-fitting armour is well made and certainly not orcish in origin. If you had to guess from the design, you'd say it originated in Lastwall and that it's last owner was a paladin. Whatever holy symbols adorned it has been painted over with a red palm. A void appears in the paint. A scarred hand. Looking at the orc's right hand, this could be his own palm. A scar stretches from between his pinky and ring finger to under his thumb. Orcish heraldry being what it is ... you'd say this group calls themselves 'Scarred Hand'.
"Hunh...Scarred Hand, my arse!" Orlan scoffs and mutters to himself, "I'll give 'em a scarrin' they won't soon be forgettin'..."
Standing on the boulders, you can see four orcish war tents not further than 100' ahead. Some kind of wheeled war machine sits between the four tents.
"Well...I'll be darned," Orlan's eyes widen, "We come right up on 'em, didn't we, Tankard?"
Realizing the enemy is that close, the dwarf changes his mind on how to dispose of the body. For the moment, he props the corpse into a sitting position against the boulders and pulls the orc's helm down low over his face. Then, Orlan leads Tankard back down the trail to a safe place where he can tie off the mule. He leaves most of his gear with Tankard, lightening his load so he'll only carry his weapons and armor into battle.
"Better ta be takin' 'em in the light o' day," he tells the mule, "Orcs don't be likin' the bright sun so much. An' if'n we waited until nightfall, we'd be on more even footin' fer the comin' fight."
Orlan then returns back to the dead sentry's location and takes to the boulders once more to get the layout of the camp. With the practiced eye of a follower of Torag, he assesses its defenses and any weaknesses he can exploit. He also pays careful attention to counting any orcs he can see ahead to give himself an estimate of their numbers.
Once satisfied that he's ready to attack, Orlan spends several moments in prayer to Torag. "Mighty Forge-father," he finishes, "I pray that yuh be blessin' muh efforts ta protect the Spires o' our clan from these honorless beasts. Lend me the strength o' steel, the hardness o' the rocky earth, the quiet o' the high mountain air, and the power o' your blessed might ta fill muh heart and muh weapons."
Orlan:
The plan of the camp is simple. There are four tents -- relatively small and capable of holding no more than four orcs each -- circling the wheeled war machine. The camp seems more focussed on protecting this machine than any other defensive concerns. You do not see any orcs moving around in the bright sun.
The war machine is still a bit confusing and would require a closer look to make sense of but at least part of it seems to be a catapult. The wagon also contains large barrels with dozens of spike potruding from them.
For DM:
The plan of the camp is simple. There are four tents -- relatively small and capable of holding no more than four orcs each -- circling the wheeled war machine. The camp seems more focussed on protecting this machine than any other defensive concerns. You do not see any orcs moving around in the bright sun.
The war machine is still a bit confusing and would require a closer look to make sense of but at least part of it seems to be a catapult. The wagon also contains large barrels with dozens of spike potruding from them.
Ignoring the war machine for now...and despite being curious of its engineering principles...Orlan moves into the camp as straightforward as possible. Relying on the calm of Torag's blessing to silence his approach, he uses any remaining boulders to shield him from view until the last possible moment. Then, he hurries to one of the tents and enters it. In the unnatural silence that descends over the interior, he becomes a whirling dervish of death to any orcs unfortunate enough to be caught inside with him.
For DM:
** spoiler omitted **
For DM:
There are two orcs sleeping in this tent and a third pilfering the belongings of the first two. He throws down his sack as you enter looking more annoyed than guilty but quickly steps back and tries to shout a warning to the others. His soundless shout has no effect.
Without even worrying about the orc's attempt to warn anyone...or making any attempt to offer up witty banter, Orlan immediately moves forward and puts his waraxe to work.
1d20+9+1+1 = 26 to hit
1d10+6 = 13 hp
For DM:
** spoiler omitted **
Orlan:
The orc falls onto one of the sleeping orcs and kicks another with his thrashing feet waking both of them.
For DM:
The orc falls onto one of the sleeping orcs and kicks another with his thrashing feet waking both of them.
Orlan lets the fallen orc tangle up one of the remaining opponents...hopefully, keeping him prone for a bit longer. He then steps to the other, avoiding the thrashing legs between them. His axe rises and falls again.
1d20+10 = 20 to hit
1d10+6 = 12 hp
Orlan's beard bristles with the impact, but he utters no words, knowing the orcs will never hear them. Freeing his axe, he turns on the remaining enemy.
Sensing he still has the upper hand, Orlan plants one foot on top of the dead orc partially pinning the other. He uses the weight of the axe head to spin his weapon around into one last overhand chop.
1d20+10 = 22 to hit
1d10+6 = 14 hp
For Hru (and Tarren):
Orlan:
Orlan's well-executed strategy allows him to dispatch all of the orcs in one tent while barely working up a sweat. A splash of blood on his arms and legs perhaps, but no sweat.
For DM:
Orlan's well-executed strategy allows him to dispatch all of the orcs in one tent while barely working up a sweat. A splash of blood on his arms and legs perhaps, but no sweat.
'Hunh!' Orlan silently thinks, 'So far, so good...'
Even as he ponders his early success, the dwarf is already planning the next move. He takes a moment to peer outside the tent to determine if any alarm has been raised yet. Satisfied that all's going according to plan, he then slips through the flap and moves into the next tent with equal vigor.
Orlan:
No alarm has been raised. Entering the next tent, you find three orcs, sitting on low rocks eating a thick stew from helmets turned into bowls. Tails and furry meat float in the brownish-red broth.
The magical silence that has halted their conversation alerted them that something was up but you still may have a chance to act first.
For DM:
Orc A (17)
Orc B (15)
Orc C (3)
No alarm has been raised. Entering the next tent, you find three orcs, sitting on low rocks eating a thick stew from helmets turned into bowls. Tails and furry meat float in the brownish-red broth.
Realizing he doesn't have the drop on these particular orcs, Orlan stops short upon entering. He hesitates in silence as he considers his options.
I survey the bridge through the open doors as the green slime withers and dies behind me.
"What are ye thinkin' lads? Shall we move across the bridge n' kick in the door?"
I look at the door on the other side for small eye-holes and the like, to see whether or not the kobolds can see us.
"Kelborn, this bridge is after bein' trapped like the other one I'm thinkin'. Ye may be needin' ta check."
I also take the time to load my crossbow and have it at hand.
For DM:
Spoiler:Tarren the Dungeon Master wrote:
Surprise round allows you completely inside the tent. Put yourself in this initiative order:
Orc A (17)
Orc B (15)
Orc C (3)Initiative check... 1d20+2 = 3
Looks like my luck has run out. Does that put me before or after the last orc?Tarren the Dungeon Master wrote:
No alarm has been raised. Entering the next tent, you find three orcs, sitting on low rocks eating a thick stew from helmets turned into bowls. Tails and furry meat float in the brownish-red broth.Realizing he doesn't have the drop on these particular orcs, Orlan stops short upon entering. He hesitates in silence as he considers his options.
Orlan:
One of the orcs is obviously bigger than the others and his status is made clear by the number of rat tails hanging out of his soup bowl. His scarred hand emblem is imprinted on his chest over his heart -- either tattoed or painted on.
The first orc to react grabs his axe from the ground and step forward. The second orc--the big one--throws his soup bowl to distract you. It's not hot enough to injure you but it accounts for them getting the jump on you. He stands, grabbing his battleaxe as he does.
For DM:
One of the orcs is obviously bigger than the others and his status is made clear by the number of rat tails hanging out of his soup bowl. His scarred hand emblem is imprinted on his chest over his heart -- either tattoed or painted on.
Orlan notes the difference in the natural leader among the enemy and mentally marks him as more dangerous.
The first orc to react grabs his axe from the ground and step forward. The second orc--the big one--throws his soup bowl to distract you. It's not hot enough to injure you but it accounts for them getting the jump on you. He stands, grabbing his battleaxe as he does.
Stoically, Orlan pauses to look down at the nasty soup now soaking his beard and seeping through his chainmail. When he looks up again at the unfortunate orc approaching him, the dwarf's eyes fill with a cold fury. He instinctively blocks the incoming blow and then steps past the warrior with a full pivot that brings his own axe around and into the orc's unprotected back.
I survey the bridge through the open doors as the green slime withers and dies behind me.
"What are ye thinkin' lads? Shall we move across the bridge n' kick in the door?"
I look at the door on the other side for small eye-holes and the like, to see whether or not the kobolds can see us.
"Kelborn, this bridge is after bein' trapped like the other one I'm thinkin'. Ye may be needin' ta check."
I also take the time to load my crossbow and have it at hand.
"Perhaps some discretion can be taken? The door does not need to be kicked, after all. Allow me."
With that, he steps across the hall (avoiding any remnant of green slime as far as humanly possible), and begins looking for traps along the bridge, moving slowly and taking as long as necessary to search for the traps.
Seeing the anxious half-orc, he turns to Hru before he begins his search and says: "This may take some time. Perhaps you could work on clearing out the green slime?"
For DM:
** spoiler omitted **
The traps are familiar to Kelborn as they are of the same type that the worgs set off upstairs. They use a fairly simple trigger mechanism. It is possible for you to avoid these traps without disabling them as they are only intended to hinder creatures that attempt to charge across the bridge.