With a shout of rage and pain, Grunthor returns the favor to his opponent. He slices the cultist in front of him with a whack to his midsection.
To Hit: 1d20+7= 15+7 = 22
Damage: 2d6+8 = 2+1+8 = 11
Ya better kill me if youse attacks me you piece of lowlife gutter slime.
Eland, seeing that the others are swarming the remaining cultists and fearing to fire into the melee, stands with his back to the crate and reloads his crossbow. He scans the docks for any sign that the melee has attracted attention.
Garret moves forward and fires another shot.
Garret fires once more, but can't get a clear shot as Anyssa and Grunthor press the attack. His arrow flies over the heads of those engaged in the melee.
Damandor hurries around the far side of the customs house to stand next to Grunthor. He then attacks the masked enemy in front of Grunthor with his longsword.
Damandor moves up beside the barbarian and swings his sword at one of the surviving cultists, however he fails to mount much of a threat and the masked man easily fends off the weak attack.
With a shout of rage and pain, Grunthor returns the favor to his opponent. He slices the cultist in front of him with a whack to his midsection.
To Hit: 1d20+7= 15+7 = 22
Damage: 2d6+8 = 2+1+8 = 11Ya better kill me if youse attacks me you piece of lowlife gutter slime.
Once more bringing his greatsword down hard, Grunthor dispatches another of the shadowy figures, cutting deeply into the man's shoulder as he groans and collapses to the ground.
Eland, seeing that the others are swarming the remaining cultists and fearing to fire into the melee, stands with his back to the crate and reloads his crossbow. He scans the docks for any sign that the melee has attracted attention.
Severely outnumbered, the remaining cultist doesn't stand a chance against you. He continues to mount an attack, but Anyssa and Grunthor are easily able to avoid the slash of his scimitar as the party overwhelms your last opponent.
As he sinks to the pier at your feet, the docks are suddenly still once more. The whole skirmish has taken less than thirty seconds. The rain continues to fall, drenching you all as you survey the wharf. One smuggler lies dead beside the crate. There are also half a dozen dead or dying masked figures dotted around the docks. Looking out over the harbor, there is no sign of the skiff and you can't see or hear anything else which would suggest any other witnesses.
Damandor walks back towards the crate, retrieving his crossbow along the way.
Once the party has gathered together, he glances quickly at his fellow party members to spot any injuries and asks, "Is any one other than Grunthor injured?"
Damandor then says, "I suggest that we get this item to the warehouse before anything else can happen. There we can rest and recover from this incident."
Once again stashing her weapons where they cannot be seen, Anyssa nods agreement with Damandor.
Whatever's going on here, the sooner we're away from this place the better.
Grunthor agrees but he will be fatigued for 4 rounds. He states that he needs to get his breath back, it will take just a half a minute. The he suggests that he and Ivan carry the create. I think Garret should take the lead, checking for other people, evil or benigh. Anyssa probably next, Eland third then Flint and Damandor watching behind. Justa suggesion. Since I have such low charisma, I probably may not be taken too seriously.
What Grunthor says makes sense. I think we should follow that plan. It's tactically sound.
"I will be happy to watch your back Grunthor, rather than carry that crate", Damandor says. Damandor then sheathes his longsword, and reloads his crossbow preparing to leave for the warehouse.
"A good fight my friends! What now? We know someone wants this crate, the question is who?"
Flint stares off for a moment deep in thought, then snaps out of it and puts away his scimitar, pulling out his warhammer and giving it a test swing.
"Let's not be caught off gaurd again, eh?"
"Alright, I'll take point. Just someone who's better a noticing things better follow close behind."
"I shall follow you Garret, for my eyes are near as keen as a hawk's."
"I'll stay close to the crate, and keep our carriers covered." Eland takes up a position next to Gunther and scans the scene with his crossbow ready as the travel.
Anyssa walks near the front, seemingly weaving and tripping every few feet, but always watching their surroundings for trouble. There was always trouble. The botched exchange on the dock certainly helped prove that.
As you are regrouping after the battle and discussing your next move Flint and Garret detect the faintest scent. They are not immediately sure where it is coming from, although Ivan pinpoints the source easily - the cultists' robes. It is faint, although clearly present upon close examination; the lingering trace of some unpleasant, pungent smell.
Anyssa:
The unleasant odour is familiar to you, although you can't pinpoint exactly where from.
Anyssa's memory check. (1d20+2=15)
*pulls a small flower from within his cloak, holding it close to his nose*
"Uh, these fools didn't wash there robes before fighting us eh?"
*begins searching the dead cultists, hoping to find a clue as to who sent them*
Perception(search):15=7+8
"I...know that smell," the small girl says thoughtfully, cocking her head to one side. "I just can't quite put my finger on where I remember it from." She frowns. "I wish I could remember."
*pulls a small flower from within his cloak, holding it close to his nose*
"Uh, these fools didn't wash there robes before fighting us eh?"
*begins searching the dead cultists, hoping to find a clue as to who sent them*
Perception(search):15=7+8
None of the cultists have anything which would easily identify them. However, as you examine them a little closer you see that the masks they are wearing (a dull, featureless grey) conceal masks underneath. Each of the covered masks are unique - white with grey and black painted swirls. Of the cultists who attacked you all were human - four men and two women.
There are a half-dozen arrows remaining in their quivers which have been liberally coated with a black, sticky venom.
Garret looks over the possesions.
"Too big, don't want to get caught with poison. Nice masks, though. Want to keep them?"
<shudder> "I don't think those masks are something to take lightly. But we might want to hang on to them. It seems like these people use them as some sort of identification."
"Of course I know these aren't supposed to be taken lightly. You take them extremely seriously. After all, you chip them, they lose half their value."
Garret chuckles slightly at his joke.
Taking the dozen masks from the fallen cultists, you begin to make your way back through the Race. Garret takes the lead, followed closely by Flint. A short distance behind them come Anyssa, Eland and then Grunthor and Ivan carrying the heavy chest between them. Damandor brings up the rear, keeping an eye out behind for anyone following you.
Moving through the dark streets, the sound of the constant rain makes it relatively easy to move quietly. The only way you would expect to run into trouble would be if you blundered into someone else, which you would judge fairly unlikely given the cold, the rain and the hour. Grunthor and Ivan manage the crate reasonably well, although even they begin to tire as you draw closer to the main road through Bastion isolating the slums from the rest of the city.
Stealth, Perception: 1d20+12=17, 1d20-1=13
As the rest of you watch Garret moving cautiously up ahead, he suddenly freezes and sinks back into the shadow motioning the rest of you to be still. Through the rain, you can hear the sound of several voices in loud conversation. Judging from the light spilling into the alley Garret is hiding in, you must have arrived at the main road.
Garret: (and Flint subject to a DC 15 perception)
You have noticed a group of guards patrolling along the main road just ahead of you. Beyond this broad well lit avenue, you see the slums with their twisting, muddy streets and familiar dark alleys. The leader of the patrol is a junior priest of Hextor, dressed in black plate armor with a heavy shield and flail at his belt. There are also four soldiers wearing chain and also heavily armed. None of them seem to have noticed you as you melt back into a shadowy recess.
As they pass, you hear a distant howl of rage echoing through the night. They turn towards the sound, looking briefly into the slums, before returning to their patrol.
"Sounds like a hunting," grins the priest giving a short, harsh laugh. "I guess there's some use for those brutes - at least they keep the lowlife vermin in check."
His squad laughs obligingly at his remark and the patrol moves on, peering into the side streets from time to time, but not really showing much diligence in their task.
*whispers to Garret*
"What hunt are they talking about?"
*whispers to Garret*
"What hunt are they talking about?"
Flint:
From the "Organisations of Bastion" spoiler in my profile:
"The warlord and his barbarians are ruthless followers of Erythnul. Hell bent on conquering more and more of the outside world, in general their depredations are focussed beyond the walls. Nonetheless, sometimes boredom will set in whilst resting in the citadel and this has given rise to the practise of “hunting”. Groups of four or less(sometimes one barbarian on their own) will rampage through the slums in the dead of night, hunting anyone who is out and cutting them down in the name of their dark god. Relationships between the warlords troops and the followers of Hextor are strained at best, nonetheless the barbarians remain at least the notional rulers of Bastion and are usually treated as being above the law."
Being from elsewhere, Flint has probably never witnessed a hunt, however he would have heard the practise mentioned.
Hearing the howl, Eland blanchs, "Of all the nights for a hunt to occur. We must use care, we do not want to run into that." Eland quitely wishes he were in a taproom somewhere rather than carrying contraband down a street in the rain.
*upoun hearing what the hunt is, Flint blanches*
"If they dare think the can conquer the forests they will have to deal with me, my brothers, and my sisters..."
Anyssa's face twists into a snarl. Those bastards. Thinking they're so much better than everyone else, that they have the right to hunt humans like animals.
She struggles to gain control of herself. For now, they have a promise to keep, one that came with the gold her family so desperately needs. And they were likely not strong enough. Not yet.
Someday, she promised herself. Someday she would teach those barbarians a lesson they would never forget.
"We need to keep out of sight," she whispered urgently to her companions.
In a quite voice Damandor says, "Corellon please grant us with thy grace that we may live through this night."
After a few minutes, the patrol disappears down the main road and the city is once more quiet. Checking you will not be observed, Garret and Flint lead the way across the well lit thoroughfare, your group hurrying into the welcoming darkness of the slums.
The twisting, muddy streets are at least more familiar to you as you make your way deeper into the dangerous neighbourhoods. The constant rain and growing cold ensure the lanes and alleys are practically deserted. Whether by prayer or luck, you are lucky enough to avoid any barbarian hunt and eventually find yourself on Gutterspill Street - one of the few named streets in the slums, running along the boundary of the city through a section of decaying, dilapidated warehouses and factories. With a short search, you are able to locate the abandoned glass factory Antius spoke about. Next to it is a warehouse, set close to the high city wall.
Peering through the rain, you can see that the front doors are held firmly closed with a large chain and padlock. There is a window on the front of the building which presumably looks in on an office, however it has been boarded over completely. There is an alley between the glassworks and the warehouse on one side, the other wall butts up against the neighbouring building (also an abandoned warehouse, by the looks of it, although this one is in worse shape, the office door hanging off it's hinges and any glass in the window has long since disappeared).
*realizing that something could be amiss, Flint silently draws his warhammer, ready should they be attacked again.*
Grunthor attempts to perceive anything in the gloom and rain. He rolls a 12+3=15. He pays special attention to the warehouse next door.
When the party reaches the warehouse he both looks and listens for anything or anyone that may be approaching the party.
At the moment he feels that he could spot a mouse running across the dark alley way next to the warehouse, but doesn't think he could hear anything short of someone yelling over the sound of the pouring rain.
Damandor still has his crossbow ready in case he needs to make a quick shot at anyone who might cause them trouble, and at this point after all that has happened this night, he expects trouble around every corner.
Damandor says to the rest of the group, "Let's get our cargo into this warehouse and off the street as soon as we can. I do not like the idea of standing here too long waiting for something evil to befall us."
Being releived that they made it to the warehouse unscathed, and not possessing the common sense to know better, Eland makes for the door. "Who has got the key, lets get in out of this gods forsaken rain."
Ivan and Grunthor are carrying the crate. We wait until the door is opened and that nothing else happens before hauling the crate across to the warehouse. Grunthor keeps his eyes and ears open for trouble.
As the rest of you watch warily for any sign of trouble, Garret moves up to the door and fishes out the key. It turns easily in the lock and springs open, allowing you to remove the chain. As you pull the sliding doors open, the wood screeches in protest as the rotting wood of the door rubs against the warped frame. Working slowly, you keep as quiet as you can and soon have the doors wide enough to get the crate inside.
As you enter, it is a relief to get out of the constant rain. The inside of the building is surprisingly dry, the warehouse must be more structurally sound than it looks. The interior of the building is a large space with no windows and a small door in the back room besides the large sliding door you came in. Sturdy rafters crisscross the roof high overhead and you can see dim light inside thanks to eight skylights spaced evenly across the roof. There is an office built in one corner with a built in ladder providing access to a mezzanine on the roof of the internal building and from there you would also have access to the rafters.
There are several large crates in the large space, which seem like they've been here for many years. The door into the office is unlocked (although it could be if you had the correct key). Examining that room you see a small desk and chair, plus a bed with a trunk at its foot. The window looking out onto Gutterspill street is here, although a hessian sack hangs down over it, secured by a line of nails along its top edge.
Grunthor pulls out his swords and lays them flat on the floor in easy to reach locations, then lies down in an attempt to regain some lost hit points. He soon falls asleep and begins to snore.
After a quick glance up and down the street, Damandor steps inside the door before it is closed. After making sure that the warehouse is secure, he unloads his crossbow, and places it on one of the crates that were already in the warehouse.
He then leans against the same crate as if he is physically fatigued, but it's more relief and mental strain from the events of the evening. Damandor bows his head and offers his thanks to Corellon for getting them safely to their destination. After a few minutes, he seems to regain his composure. Retrieving his healing kit from his belt pouch, he kneels beside Grunthor and tends to his remaining wounds.
Damandor then asks, "Is there anyone else that has wounds that need to be mended?"
Eland thanks the gods for a warm, dry resting place. He informs demandor that he has luckily escaped the events of the evening unscathed. It does not take long for curiosity to get the better of him and he climbs up to the mezzanine and out onto a few rafters. After cavorting for a half hour, Eland comes back down to the group, removes his flute from his pack and starts to play a slow, melancholy melody that seems to fit his mood. After playing a short time, he asks if anyone has any requests and offers to stay awake for the first shift if others would like to get some sleep.
Damandor says, "Eland I am thankful that you are not injured as well."
Later when Eland comes back from exploring the warehouse, Damandor says, "I am going to take time to contemplate the events of the day, and offer up my thanks that more of us were not injured. After that I will be happy to take a shift in guarding our hard fought for item. After that I will need some rest myself. Also, if Grunthor is to regain any of his strength back, he will need at least a full nights rest, and a full day of rest would be better."
Eland thanks the gods for a warm, dry resting place. He informs demandor that he has luckily escaped the events of the evening unscathed. It does not take long for curiosity to get the better of him and he climbs up to the mezzanine and out onto a few rafters. After cavorting for a half hour, Eland comes back down to the group, removes his flute from his pack and starts to play a slow, melancholy melody that seems to fit his mood. After playing a short time, he asks if anyone has any requests and offers to stay awake for the first shift if others would like to get some sleep.
"Know ye any dwarven tunes?"
Eland thanks the gods for a warm, dry resting place. He informs demandor that he has luckily escaped the events of the evening unscathed. It does not take long for curiosity to get the better of him and he climbs up to the mezzanine and out onto a few rafters. After cavorting for a half hour, Eland comes back down to the group, removes his flute from his pack and starts to play a slow, melancholy melody that seems to fit his mood. After playing a short time, he asks if anyone has any requests and offers to stay awake for the first shift if others would like to get some sleep."Know ye any dwarven tunes?"
Anyssa laughs. "Yes, something lively, that can be danced to. I never get a chance to dance. I'm too busy convincing the world I can't walk without tripping on my own feet."
Damandor looks up while checking on the sleeping Grunthor when he hears Flint and Anyssa's requests for music, a half smile on his face and says, "I'm afraid that I am not much good at dancing, it's not something that those who tend the shrine of Corellon do, but later if you could play something soothing while I meditate, I would appreciate it Eland."