Felicia's next arrow misses the pugwampi on the rafter as the two archers begin scurrying along the beam towards the half-collapsed platform to the north.
Shadrach and Qafir move towards the melee where Losk and Nuveril are fighting the king.
Parvenah keeps up the barrage of arrows, however the tiny creatures continue to prove elusive.
Parvenah's Attack:.
Damage:
The king continues to devote his attentions to Losk, barking up commands at the archers. However, the pugwampis in the rafters appear to have been spooked by the fire, the eagle and the constant volley of arrows. The remaining two both scamper towards the hole in the roof, following their companion outside, presumably clambering down from the chapel roof outside the monastery.
Struggling with the oversized warhammer, the king is unable to mount an effective attack and Losk easily avoids the blow.
Attack on Losk:
Damage:
The fire slowly continues to spread in the canopy above you. Most of your opponents have now fled, only the king remains.
Having put all her vigor into her errant swings, the fierce halfling's arms feel like jelly, and her head swims. Still, she growls and fights on.
Losk fights on, stoically swinging his axe at the damnedable fiend.
Felicia takes a final pot shot at the rafter Pugawimpys before heading towards the halfling and dwarf
Attack
Damage
Merry christmas everybody.
Losk manages to land a blow on the king, his warhammer slamming into the pugwampi's side. Distracted by the dwarf, he fails to dodge Nuveril's attack, her scimitar delivering a minor cut to his thigh.
Seeing his archers fleeing through the gap in the roof, the pugwampi king howls with rage, looking around at the enemies closing in around him. Trusting to his armor, he abruptly disengages, charging straight for the door you entered from and presenting you with an opportunity to strike as he leaves.
Once he reaches the nave, he continues straight for a gap in the broken wall, slipping through and heading out into the surrounding scrubland. He is moving surprisingly quickly, although you judge his trail would be very easy to follow. The rafters of the church are beginning to catch as flaming scraps of cloth begin to rain down onto the floor of the chapel, landing amongst the rotten pews and other debris.
Losk swings out with his huge axe, barely missing the fleeing rat-daemon.
The halfling swings viciously at the retreating king, a slice sure to remove his head ... if only her foot hadn't slipped in the oily spot where the now-incinerated pugwampi had dripped.
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Shadrach begins searching for a means to smother the flames crawling across the rafters, as he vaguely recalls that we were meant to secure this monastary as a base camp, not burn it to the ground...
He will start by attempting to pull down smoldering cloth and cover it with sand, and is cursing himself for not having prepared create water today.
The pugwampi king flees the chapel, turning to look over his shoulder at you at the doorway as he utters one final snarl before heading out into the surrounding scrubland. As he leaves, the sense of wrongness which seems to surrounds pugwampis lifts and you are free to deal with the spreading fire in the rafters.
Shadrach finds some long, rotten beams in the debris scattered around the chapel floor and begins to dislodge some of the flaming fabric, knocking strips of flaming silk down into the pews at ground level where they smolder and burn. From here, it looks like some of the rafters are beginning to catch, however the bulk of the fire is restricted to the makeshift canopy the pugwampis used as a floor.
Spitting viciously after the departing pugwampi, Nuveril gives in to her exhaustion, falling into a loose squatting stance from which she can stretch her tired muscles and roll her head on her shoulders to release the tension in her back. She pays no attention to the fire smoldering in the rafters, as she doesn't particularly care whether the ruins burn or not. Instead, she squints warily at the newcomers, particularly the other female halfling.
Felicia helps with putting out the fire as best she can.
While putting out the fire Nano grumbles to himself ”Allmost got ourself killed... Can't even handle a bunch of big rats... Stupid stinkers!”
Losk's axe clatters to the floor, the sound ringing out in the chapel like the toll of a bell.
Ack, you'll ne'er get that fire up there out from doon here withoot magic. I doubt any o' us has the magic either, or it'uld be being used by now. Let her burn, she'll burn oot soon enough, and we can see the damage later.
This floor seems ta be secure, I reckon we need ta investigate that cellar next.
With that he turns to the new people. You're help is appreciated, but who the hell are ya, and what do you want?
Ack, ah see. Well then, best that we become firm friends. Is anyone hurt in any way? Ah can render some aid if'n ya are.
Ack, ah see. Well then, best that we become firm friends. Is anyone hurt in any way? Ah can render some aid if'n ya are.
Nuveril shakes herself and rises to her feet. "I am far from death's door, but if we're headed underground, I would be of more use if my wounds were tended to," she admits reluctantly.
Losk stands and moves over to Nuveril, laying a hand on her shoulder, he muster something under his breath, and a shaft of light illuminates the pair through the stained glass at the end of the chapel.
You work together, reaching up to pull the burning portions of the canopy to the ground and smothering the flames. After several minutes, the chapel is a little smoky, however the worst of the fire seems contained. Some of the rafters have sustained some damage and would be even less safe to clamber through, however the roof doesnt appear in imminent danger of collapse.
The canopy above appears to have been sectioned off into various separate chambers. You can peer in through gaps in the fabric you have pulled down in fighting the fire, but can't see very much from the floor of the chapel.
Nuveril's eyes narrow as she gazes up into the smoky rafters. "They could have supplies up there -- things that might prove useful to us." Shrugging off her weapons, she heads for the ladder against the wall.
Felicia lets her fellow halfling climb up whilst she watches the entrances in case the pugs come back.
Felicia covers the entrances with a nocked arrow as the rest of you wait on the chapel floor and watch Nuveril climb up into the rafters. As she heads out across the rotten and aged beams they creak alarmingly, small splinters of wood breaking away beneath her feet. The structure holds, however and she safely reaches the sectioned off chambers constituting the pugwampis' lair.
Not trusting the scraps of fabric to take her wait, Nuveril skirts around the floorboards of the upper level which remain intact, peering in to see the filth and refuse the jackal-headed creatures lived in. In the far, south-western corner is a makeshift throne, roughly constructed out of a jumble of pews, chairs and other broken pieces of furniture.
Nuveril crouches down to survey the situation for a moment, then carefully retrieves her rope from her backpack. Just as she did when trying to corral the goat at the precipice, she ties one end of the rope around her waist, then attaches the other end to a reasonably firm-looking section of the rafters, taking care that the slack is enough to keep her from hitting the hard stone floor, should she fall. Then, carefully, she inches toward the pugwampi king's throne.
"Do you see anything up there?" Nano yells to Nuveril
Securing herself to one of the beams, Nuveril pokes around through the pugwampi lair, pushing aside piles of filthy fabric and other useless trash. Beneath the throne, she discovers a small, locked box roughly concealed in a scrap of silk. After several minutes, it appears there is nothing more of interest. Carefully clambering back across the rotting beams, Nuveril returns to the safety of the floor to join the rest of you.
Nuveril tosses the box to the floor in front of her companions with a look of disgust. "Not large enough to hold any weapons. Probably just some worthless coin. Filthy rat-creatures! I expected more of them."
Losk shakes his head at all the wasted effort.
Right, nowas everyone's satisfied the place wont fall upon us; and that we've gotten all we can out of the little brutes. What do we do? It's getting late, and I for one would be better equipped to search down stairs after a nights rest.
"But are you equipped to deal with anything coming from downstairs of those pugs coming back when you are resting?" Felicia asks from her position watching the hall.
"But are you equipped to deal with anything coming from downstairs of those pugs coming back when you are resting?" Felicia asks from her position watching the hall.
Losk Grins at the girl, Ach, looks to me like you two newcomers are well rested, and sprightly. I'm quite happy to let you stay awake for a wee while, and let us catch some kip. We havena encountered anything up till now that we couldn't handle at need, an we blocked the only way up to this level pretty well a wee while ago. I'm surprised ye didne hear the crash.
I'm a light sleeper mind, so no tryin' to finger me axe.
As the others lay down to sleep Nano stays up a little while longer, stuffing his pibe with some dried pesh. He walks over to the new comers.
"I allways find trouble sleeping after such encounters as today. Not before a good pibe at least" he explain grinning.
"I understand you two have been scouting near the village, is that right? What is it like - are there many gnolls about?" he ask, a light shiver going through hos body as he think of his last encounter with gnolls.
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Speaking softly, as the others should be attempting to sleep, Shadrach replies, "I saw none, only signs of their passage, but my companion has better trained senses. There were times in the dark, I couldn't even see her..." he admits with a grin.
He takes out some rations and softens them with water from his waterskin, before handing them to the desert wolf that stands beside him.
As the five of you make camp in the ruins of the monastery, Parvenah returns to the caravan to report your progress to Garavel and Lady Almah. You rest through the remainder of the afternoon and into the evening, Felicia and Shadrach on watch as the others regain some strength after the battles of the day. Qafir remains close by Shadrach's side, alert and wary.
Evening comes and night falls swiftly as the time passes. Nothing disturbs your rest, the apparently deserted monastery remaining quiet and still as you recover from your exertions. By the time you are rested, you would judge it to be perhaps two or three hours before midnight.
Sorry to say, I have to confirm what you are all no doubt suspecting. I will not be able to continue with my various PBP games - personal reasons I'm afraid and not likely to change in the foreseeable future.
Apologies to all of you for limping along over the last few months - thanks for playing, but I'm just unable to fit it in with the rest of my life.
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Bumping dead thread because, now that the game is dead, I finally 'got' Shadrach. It's been keeping me up nights, so it had to be written down. :)
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Shadrach watches the fire burn, as Wolf rests by his side, fingers idly toying with the bracelet that is all that remains of his old life. Beads of bone, hardwood and polished stone, with any traceries worn smooth from decades of handling, slip between his calloused fingers, as he remembers his mother.
Safiya, she was named, although he always thought of her as Mother. Born daughter to a caravanserai owner, she remembered herself as a willful child, always out with the camels and horses, riding like a boy, instead of tending to her studies. Having no brothers to assist with the chores, her parents tolerated this behavior, until she grew into a young woman, and began, in their eyes, spending an unseemly amount of time with the caravan guards and one desert guide in particular, named Ahmut.
It was Ahmut who gave her the bracelet, that he had fashioned himself from stones and bones and bits of wood he’d found in his travels, inscribing them with sacred passages in script almost too tiny to be read, during the long desert nights around the fire. He swore that they would be husband and wife, one day, but he never returned from a job, and reports came back that the caravan had never made its destination, all men lost to the desert. Safiya’s grief at the loss of Ahmut came as a surprise to her parents, and when they discovered that she carried his child, she was disowned and cast out of her home.
With some sun-touched notion of finding him still alive in the desert, Mother took up some clothing that he had left behind, hiding her face and body behind swathes of cloth, and pretended to be Ahmut, joining a caravan leaving that very day, in the direction she last saw her love. Using the skills her parents had never approved of her learning, she successfully guided the caravan across the desert, seeing no trace of her lover’s lost caravan, and arriving at the next city with a heavy heart. Her disguise was not nearly so perfect as she had imagined, and by the time they reached their destination, all of the men knew her ‘secret.’ And yet a cheer went up when they arrived safely, and a couple of men hoisted her up on their shoulders, dislodging her hood and scarf as they did, and thanked her for getting them safely through the bandit-haunted lands that had claimed the last caravan. Where she was considering her life at an end, disowned, dishonored, with the love of her life lost to the sands, now a new path opened up before her, and she continued as long as physically able to follow this new path, pausing only to bear her son, and return to her new profession as guide.
Watched at first by the families of merchants and guards she had met in her work, Shadrach was following his mother into the desert as a child, and the fiercely independent woman guide and ‘the boy’ became a frequent sight on the local caravan routes. Growing up with less fear of the merciless desert than was perhaps wise, Shadrach also felt less respect for its dangers, and its beauty, than a less experienced youth. He had weathered its storms, endured its dangers and seen its brilliant sunsets, so many times that the reactions of those less-traveled left him bemused.
It was in his fifteenth year that an attack by gnolls savaged a caravan that his mother was guiding through the desert, and while she had never abandoned a caravan before, she quickly realized that the half-dozen guards were no match for the thirty or more gnolls she could see emerging from the hills. She seized her sons arm and dragged him to safety, abandoning her employers to their fate, feeling the bitter taste of her honor and reputation turning to ashes, in the name of saving her only child. Shadrach remembered that he recognized the sacrifice she was making, and protested, but she would hear none of it, and marched them at a brutal pace into the desert, and then began making the long arc back towards civilization, and safety.
Forced to leave their provisions at the campsite, she attempted to find food and water for them, but cactus pears and muddy water were their only respite, and worse, desert wolves had found their scent, and were working up their courage to strike.
His mother placed their backs against a stone, so that the wolves could only strike from one direction, all-too-aware of how deadly they would become if allowed to surround them on all sides, and fought like a lioness to protect their lives, blades flashing in all directions punctuated by sharp yelps of pain and alarm. The wolves should have retreated, after such a fierce display, but as they dashed into the firelight and back again, Shadrach could see that they were sickly and starved creatures, desperate and already at death’s door, that this would be their last stand, in any event.
Their bites struck flesh once, and again, and Shadrach remembers the sight of his mother going down, and a surge of fur and fangs swarming over her, only to howl and strike at them with the staff he carried as his only weapon. Somehow, his impassioned blow struck down the wolf that brought his mother low, and she raised to one bloodied knee and slew the last wolf within arm’s length. They bandaged her wounds, as best they could, and with no other recourse, she butchered the fallen wolves, so that they might slake their thirst on hot blood, and roast their flesh to survive another day.
For the next five days, they moved slowly, Mother limping as the wound in her leg grew infected, and for those days, they were aware of the eyes of a wolf in the night, tracking them slowly, never coming within the range of the firelight. He awakens to hear a howl as they rest in the hottest part of the day, and sees that his mother’s labored breathing has stopped, and that while her body is warm, it is only the warmth of the sand beneath her, and not that of life. So peaceful, finally, the look on the face of a mother he has known all his life as a hard, strong, proud woman, fighting for every inch of acceptance and respect, and now freed from all obligations. He remembers hearing the whine, and looks up to see the wolf slinking into view, the one who has trailed them for so many days, also the only survivor of her family. It is a she-wolf, and he sees why she hung back from the attack, as her belly is swollen with pups, despite her malnourished state.
He cannot bring himself to hate this creature, a mother, doing what she must for the sake of her young, living a life as hard as the one his own mother faced, and he reaches for the bracelet upon his mother’s wrist, the only remembrance he has of a father he never knew, and the only thing, other than himself, for which she ever displayed the slightest bit of sentiment, and then moves away, knowing what will come next.
The she-wolf slinks low to the ground, warily, sniffing as she does, and Shadrach turns away before she begins to feed, unwilling to watch. There is a grim symmetry, that he and his mother survived these extra days by feeding off of the she-wolfs family, and now the cycle is turned. For a moment of grief and madness, he is all-too-aware of the cruel and merciless nature of the desert, and he finally accepts its harsh truth.
The night descends, and, as he has too many nights before, he mouths empty prayers through cracked lips to whatever gods will listen, to allow him to find water. His hands feel damp and cool, and he opens his eyes to see water dripping down upon the sand! Looking up to see if water comes from the sky, or the rockface against which his Mother had made their final camp, he instead sees that the water comes from his hands, and when he cups his hands, they fill with water, which he swallows so greedily that his stomach rebels, and he throws it all up, only to drink yet more from this miraculous supply. He remembers laughing like a madman, and flinging water around himself from his damp hands, only to cup them again and drink anew.
And so his life as a druid, begins.