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It's roughly an hour short of noon and the Otari Fishery is quite a different place from the raucous gathering hall that it was the night before. Last night, the building was filled with the indistinguishable chatter of dozens of patrons, all partaking of one of the varied entertainments that the proprietor offers every night. Games of chance and skill, a couple of bards competing to be heard above the noise (and each other, naturally), and plenty of food and drink.
And tucked away in a relatively peaceful corner, a table with the six of you seated around it--and one crocodile napping beneath, resulting in more than one nervous glance to check its position relative to one's feet--with a complimentary meal and round of drinks spread out before you. The Fishery's owner, Tamily Tanderveil, was quite insistent that you all get to know each other before taking on the job that she was offering. Something about forging bonds that would make you more effective as a team or some such. You're not quite sure how that'll work out, but you at least managed to learn each other's names, and you got a free meal in the process!
Now, however, the main floor is all business. Tables that held games and drinks have been returned to their intended purpose of processing fish, and a steady stream of the day's early catch is already being handled. Scaling, cleaning, and then off to be sold directly in the market or prepared for shipment elsewhere. The air is already thick with the smell of fish, blood, and offal, and you can only give thanks to the divine that it's not one of Otari's humid days, when those smells combine with air that's almost thick enough to chew to make for a truly miserable experience.
But your musing on the hardships of working in the Fishery is interrupted by the steady wood-on-wood *thump* of the Fishery's owner approaching. A short, red-haired human woman of middle-age, with a face bearing a generous scattering freckles and deep-set laugh lines, her most noticeable feature--because she makes an obvious effort to draw attention to it--would be the surprisingly fashionable-looking wooden peg that replaces her left leg from just below the knee. It's the sound of this peg hitting the floor that produces the distinctive sound that catches your attention, and while the prosthetic doesn't visibly interfere with her stride, Tamily does have the rolling gait of someone who's spent more time on the deck of a ship at sea than on dry land.
Not one to waste time on casual chitchat when there's things that need handling, Tamily immediately launches into a brief explanation of why you're all here. "Right, so let me start off by thanking you all, again, for answering when I asked around for some help with this problem of mine." Gesturing with one hand for you to follow, she turns and makes her way to a stairwell heading down, where she leans on the railing and points to the stairs as she resumes speaking.
"And the problem is that I've had my stocks of fish going missing for nearly a month now. A few other things as well, like ships' biscuits, salted meat, and pickled vegetables, but mostly the fish. It started out small at first, enough so that I thought it was just an increase in the population of the usual vermin that I have to deal with. No problem, just put out more bait and traps, maybe hire a ratter to get down there and have a look, right?" The question is clearly rhetorical, because she doesn't wait for an answer from any of you. "But then the loses started increasing, far beyond what any vermin infestation could be responsible for. Thought it might have been the local lightfingers having a go, but their boss swears up and down that it's no doing of theirs, and that no outsiders have been practicing their trade either."
Now the woman's expression shifts of a deep frown, and her tone changes as well, thick with frustration. "Tried to get Captain Longsaddle to assign a few of the guard to have a look down there, but he says it's not going to happen, not sooner or later. He's got nearly every man and woman in armor out protecting the loggers from whatever's giving them grief lately, and the scant remainder working double time to keep Otari protected. Not a body, warm or cold, to spare on his end." As she says this, the frown eases into something closer to what is almost certainly her natural expression of good humor. "But fortunately, I've got more than a few friends here and there, good folks who know other good folks willing to lend a hand. And that's you lot."
Stepping away from the railing, she leans over and pats the lizardfolk on one arm with a friendly smile. "Now Rik'tik here was all set to get down there and have a look for me, but I managed to convince him to wait. Not that I don't doubt he's quite capable, especially with Grasz there helping out," she adds while dipping her head in the direction of the crocodile at the lizardfolk's feet. "But the sheer volume of stock that I'm losing suggests to me that's it's more than what one person and one crocodile can safely handle. So, that's the job then. Go down there, find out what's taking my fish and whatever else I've lost, put a stop to the taking any way that you can, and then come back to tell me about it and collect your pay."
Tamily's expression shifts once more, now serious with a faint hint of regret. "And I'm really sorry to tell you this, but I'm not going to be able to go any higher than the 10 measures that I've already offered each of you. Between what I've lost in sales from the missing stock and what I'll have to spend on my contribution for the upcoming Founder's Day Festival, I can't afford any more than that right now." With that said, she looks each of you in the eyes in turn and awaits your decision to proceed with the job or back out.
While the Founder's Day Festival as whole celebrates Otari's founding, the events themselves typically celebrate one or the other of the three founders, and their lost comrade for whom the town was named, specifically. Contests dedicated to Vol Rajani or Otari Ilvashti are physical in nature while those celebrating Zarmavdian are for more cerebrally-inclined participants, and Aesephna Menhemes is honored by contests of either sort.
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Rikshimitik, the blue-scaled Iruxi, had not expected Tamily to have such an exotic array of friends. Friends of other races were considered unusual among his people. Rik'tik, as he preferred to be called, was an outlier. His blue scales were unusual among his green-scaled bretheren, and so he managed to explore beyond his native swamplands and encounter its neighboring communities, including the humans of Otari and the tengu of the Kalpavendi-Kuruoo. He counted some amongst these foreign folk as acquaintances. Yet having all of them together, in one place, was disquieting.
"Tamily, I ssstill think you could've saved your money by trusssting in me and Grazsss. But we're here now and will sssolve your problem."
The lizardman draws a trident in one hand and a hatchet in the other. The trident looks useful for fishing. The hatchet used like a small axe. Grasz the crocodile wears some barding. The sea animal is young, but plenty deadly.
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Well. Ten measures of gold for a small task was still plenty. A lot more then one made selling fresh herbs at the market at least. Hellewen suspected most of Otaris citizens had long since lost their ability to taste. Or smell. As a soft breeze carried yet another wiff of gutted fish to her nose she figured that might in fact have been a blessing. At least they know how to enjoy themselves.
"Agreed." She offered a faint nod and shifted from foot to foot.
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Inva is polite enough for sure, but doesn't say much herself, preferring to listen and get a feel for the people sharing her table first.
The money isn't really the point for Inva. Ahe sees the little contracting job as a way to get introduced to more of the town's residents, and ingratiate herself to one of the Otari's more prominent citizens.
She shrugs slightly and answers Tamily.
"Your offer is acceptable."
Esser tilts her head and one black eye darts from each companion to each companion, while her mind wanders to the few crumbs of fish left atop her plate; the tengu thinks of bobbing her head and scraping her beak along the plate to get the last of the fish, but remembers that the thicklegs often find her mannerisms off-putting. Instead, Esser considers her companions.
They seemed a competent lot, though Esser suspected only the lizard would be able to give her trouble in a fight. Which made sense; she was the ring the of the khakarra, after all, and her purpose was simply to hurt. The others, the ones that weren't warriors, were probably scouts, or maybe druids. The tiny one, perhaps, bait.
The room was crowded and stuffy, and Esser had trouble paying attention to what Tamily was saying, the guardian's head bobbing and ducking as she surveyed the space, looking for danger. At least the smell, the air tinged with rank-sweet offal and seafood left perhaps a bit too long before smoking, and of course the smell of the press of bodies... it was glorious.
Esser snapped back into focus, a sharp squeak eerily similar to the whirring communication of the alien technology plied far to the north by the technic league, though of course Esser did not know this. The squeak was followed by rough Taldane, her word construction and grammar obviously not native.
"TEN measures! I shall be the wealthiest guardian in entirety of the sacred tree, I will!"
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"My my, its been awhile since I've seen such a crew come together. Perhaps you can make a friend, Gin." Surla comments with a smile, her eyes in particular settling on Esser with a smile. Her own familiar Gin, a crow, was settled on her shoulder glancing about in a rather similar manner.
Surla doesn't seem so much surprised as amused by the diverse group. She has seen some things in her time, but this particular confluence of strangeness is altogether another level.
"Have we a tracker? Or a lead?"
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If Rik'tik had ears, they might have flinched when Eser seemed to squawk with excitement. His face, however, betrays little emotion, remaining calm, calculating, watchful.
At Surla's suggestion, Rik'tik crouches and assumes the position of an ambush predator. Conveniently, he was already at the top of the stairs by Tamily's side, having known her for long enough. "Yes, wissse woman. I ssshall track thisss prey."
He then looks toward Grasz and utters a series of low, guttural sounds from the bottom of his throat. Grasz growls back and, if one could believe it, seems to nod.
Rik'tik turns to the sprite, a surprise guest. "Do you make light, Pfil? Floating light be helpful down there." He says this in the same unemotional manner as the rest of his speech--it's a little hard to know whether or not he's being condescending.
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Pfil had been sitting on the table, on a mug turned upside-down as makeshift stool, enjoying a small plate of nuts and fruit, as well as a shot glass of mead.
She was not a big fan of fish - or meat. She had been told that there would possibly be trouble, and came in her best set of cardboard armor - which now rested on the table beside her.
She had not been in Otari for long, but knowing this would be her home for the foreseeable future, learned everything and anything about it that could be learned from books.
When Tamily leads them to the stairs, she hops along, then flutters up to the railing. She had learned not to stay on the ground floor near big people wandering around and talking to each other. And she definitely did not like some of the looks this 'Grasz' was throwing her way.
When the task is described, she nods along with excitement, especially about the prospect of a substantial reward.
"10 measures of gold and I get to watch Rikiti mess up whatever is causing trouble for you? That seems like a mighty sweet deal!"
If there was condescense in the Lizardfolks tone when he addressed her, Pfil did not seem to notice it:"Do I make light? Oh boy, I AM light. Like, ALL the light."
A moment later, an intense pinkish light emanates from the Sprite, swiftly swapping over to orange and then cyan.
"But I'll do you one better! Not only do I make light, I make music, too!" Out of thin air, a double-strung hand-held harp appears in her hands, which she inmediately begins to play.
The cardboard-armor, however, gets in the way of the fine movements necessary. It is clear she KNOWS what she is doing, but the result is not as impressive as she had hoped. Letting the instrument vanish, she instead points at her mint-condition weapon: "I also have a bow. That I can use. Like a real hunter. Not that I ever hunted anything but I know how to use it."
Almost as an afterthought, she adds:"I have arrows, too." and pats the quiver at her waist, filled with arrows that look remarkably like sharpened toothpicks with some chicks feather-fluff used for fletching. As she lowers her head, the light extinguishes itself as swiftly as it came before.
While the none of various competitions held during the Festival are outright rigged--it's far too easy for that sort of thing to be found out, never mind the scandal of doing such a thing on that particular day--there is a sort of unspoken agreement among the Otari competitors that most of the winning should be done by locals. Consequently, events that feature multiple competitors often see outsiders targeted for removal first or subtly sabotaged when possible.
Hearing Surla's question, Tamily nods slightly after Rik'tik's response and offers a bit of information. "And I've got a lead for you. One of the walls downstairs was fake, concealed a route into the old smugglers' tunnels under the town. Now folks with sense don't go mucking about down there. There's no maps that I know of, the tunnels are prone to flooding at times, and back when the guard ran the occasional patrol down there, they'd come back with tales of all manner of nasty critters put to the sword. If I had the coin to spare for it, I'd wager that the source of my problems is somewhere in those tunnels." Casting a quick glance down the stairs, she continues in a pensive tone of voice. "Now that wall is normally closed, and there's really no way to seal it permanently. But I did what I could to block it shut. Only this morning when I went down to check on things, it had been chewed through, from the floor up to about the height of my waist," and Tamily indicates with a hand held against said waist just how high that is, a distance of about three or so feet on the short woman, "and the boxes I'd put in front of it were chewed to shreds as well."
When the sprite first lights up, fumbles with her instrument, and then prattles on about her bow and arrows, Tamily looks askance at her for a brief moment before sighing, shaking her head, and muttering half to herself. "Vandy said she's more than she looks like, have to trust that." In a louder voice, she then addresses you as a group. "Well, my thanks then for seeing to this, and be safe. I'd rather you all come back, even if the job isn't fully done, than to hear that one or more of you came to grief down there." With that, she nods once and walks away to resume overseeing the Fishery's affairs.
"So we know it is something with teeth. Wonderful." Hellewen forced a thin smile. Her first guess would have been rats, but they'd have to be of pretty unusual size for all this damage. She adjusts her hat a little, as it had been drifting, and limbers up a bit. "Let us see what lurks bellow."
Eser cocks her head to the side and leans in towards Gin. "Your crow is beautiful," the tengu says, her statement punctuated with whirring clicks, once again strangely machine-like. The druids of the Kalpavendi-Kuruoo often had birds for companions, and corvids especially were popular familiars. Then she leans in close to Gin, her native tounge spilling from her beak, a long string of chirps and caws.
"Your thickleg is near death. I can take care of you if need be."
When Pfil begins playing, Eser bobs her head, rhythmically, keeping beat with the music, the guardian cooing appreciatively, before standing and drawing her khakkara. "Yes, let us see. I shall be towards the front, for this is my duty: to hit things and to be hit by things."
"Why would you want to be hit by things?" responds Rik'tik. "Better to be the hunter than the hunted." He shrugs. "Grasz and I ssshall be behind you, then. Maybe the ssshadowy one ssshould be in the front too." He looks toward Inya.
Once they're down below, Inva is quickest to step forward, undisturbed by their new environment. She positions herself to take a visual swwep of the room. After that is done she also peers across the room into the opening in the far wall.
When/If she decides they are safe in their immediate surroundings, Inva tries to instill a little bit of discipline in the others, talking to them in not much more than a whisper.
"It's easy enough for me to take point to get a look at what's ahead of us, and check for dangers. But, if I'm doing that I will need for you to be quiet. No talking unless really needed, and then only in whispers. Walk carefully and quietly. Don't mess with stuff for no good reason, common sense 'don't let them know we're coming' stuff."
"I'm not sticking my neck out for you if you're giving me away though. If you don't give me what I need to work, I can't give to what you need to move about safely."
"So..uhm...light on or off? And where?", Pfil is eager to take part in the quest. While her wings allow her to briefly sputter upwards, they don't allow her to maintain flight for more than a few moments - so with no elevated area, she remains on the floor, across the group from Rik'Tiks companion Grasz.
"Worry not; we shall be like the breeze." Hellewen offered a small smile. Opportunities to practice profound bullshit were delightful.
With the matter of the party's order of descent into the basement settled, you begin to make your way down the stairs, with the nimble kayal quickly darting ahead of the main group. Between the light filtering down the stairwell from above, the light being emitted by the sprite, and her own dark-adapted vision, Inva can easily make out the details of the basement. In the room's center are a quartet of heavy stone pillars that, alongside a pair of thick timbers, support the floor above. Between the two northern and two southern pillars are a pair of large barrels, resting of their sides and securely braced to prevent them from moving. Heavily-reinforced wooden shelves above each pair of barrels indicate the positions a further pair in each location, but those spots are empty.
The basement's north wall is entirely shelves, from end to end and floor to ceiling, each shelf filled with an assortment of boxes, jars, and small casks. To the west and south, the walls are roughly-finished bare stone. It's the east wall, however, that draws Inva's attention, for in its center is a gaping hole. This must be the secret door that Tamily mentioned, and Inva can see from the damage that the door is wood on the far side, a thin veneer of stone that matches the other walls on the near side, and some manner of padding in between. To either side of the hole a couple of small piles of debris, most likely the material of the door itself and the boxes that Tamily had pushed up against it.
And Inva can also see what probably made the hole as well, for the party's rather noisy approach seems to have startled a number of unpleasantly large rats, most of which scattered for concealment in response. However, the kayal was fast enough down the stairs to catch them at it and foil the effort.
Nearer and in plain view are a pair of rats that are apparently too busy gorging themselves after chewing their way into the northern pair of barrels to notice the party's approach. The rat closest to Inva has only managed to get its head into the barrel, while the further of the two is little more than a furred rump and naked tail in sight. After a moment of hesitation, the rats that were attempting to hide themselves bare their teeth and instead begin to advance!
Rats are known to have bites that inflict a very nasty disease which, if left untreated, could eventually kill those afflicted by it.
"Why would you want to be hit by things?" responds Rik'tik. "Better to be the hunter than the hunted." He shrugs. "Grasz and I ssshall be behind you, then. Maybe the ssshadowy one ssshould be in the front too." He looks toward Inya.
"Oh yesss, it is good to be the hunter," Eser practically coos, her eyebrow arching as she leans in towards Rik'tik. "But, when one cannot, we stand between those that could be hurt! This is our purpose, as warriors and guardians! To take the pain so that others that cannot, do not."
"It's easy enough for me to take point to get a look at what's ahead of us, and check for dangers. But, if I'm doing that I will need for you to be quiet. No talking unless really needed, and then only in whispers. Walk carefully and quietly. Don't mess with stuff for no good reason, common sense 'don't let them know we're coming' stuff."
With a final, sharp clack, Eser's beak slams mercifully shut. Gripping her Kharakarra, Eser follows the silent one, reminding herself not to click her weapon's butt-end against the ground as they go, a habit formed from long walks through the marshland surrounding her sacred tree.
.
Rik'tik and Grasz ready themselves, though they are not as prepared as the aware rats.
Gin hops once to the side, getting a little closer, then responds in a very strangely accented common. "Sorry sister, but I'm not an OG avian, you see? Familiar magic's whack."
"Indeed, the magic that binds us for some reason means he can only speak languages I can speak." Surla nods.
--
"I'm quite fine with a spot near the rear. I can support with a trick or two from behind." Surla takes her spot in the line.
--
Few things skitter as quickly out of sight when spotted as a rat, and Surla certainly wasn't on pace to catch them unaware.
With nobody answering, Pfil remains near the backline of the group, which means there's a lot of legs blocking her view of what was going on in front of the group: "What is there? I can't quite see from back here? What's that noise?"
Though they begin with caution, the four rats at the far side of the basement soon decide, in their limited animal way, that they'll not be giving up their food supply without a fight and the cautious advance is quickly forgotten.
One rat quickly clambers over a pile of debris and darts around the further northern pillar, temporarily leaving Inva's line of sight. But it soon reappears around the corner of the nearer pillar, it's headlong pace only slightly slowed as it twists its head sideways to right and lunges for her left leg. Teeth capable of chewing through wood and stone find little impediment in the kayal's leather armor, and the incisors quickly score a wound in her calf.
Inva's troubles are only just begun, however, for a second and third rat have marked her out as their target, one clambering over the body of its comrade with its head in the barrel in its rush to reach her. And the teeth of the second rat penetrate her armor just as readily as the teeth of the first did, this time in her right leg.
The third rat, however, is distracted by the unexpected sight of Eser on the stairs and checks its advance with a high-pitched squeal before shifting its direction of attack toward the tengu. As with the kayal's armor, Eser's leather--even enhanced with metal studs--offers scant resistance to the oversized rat's powerful bite. However, the studs aren't totally without purpose, as the grating sound of teeth on metal accompanies the bite and the rat draws its head back to consider the tengu instead of lunging forward for a second attack.
The last rat of the advancing group decides to veer around the further of the two southern pillars, making it readily visible to those of you on the stairs. The moment it becomes aware of the people packing the stairwell, however, the final rat comes to a sudden stop with a scrabble of claws on stone and stares warily at the lot of you.
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"Ah, these rodents are of particularly unusual size, Gin? Could they be the culprits?" Surla raises an eyebrow at the sudden rat attack.
"Not cool, those things are diseased!" Gin flaps.
"Mmm, and soon they will be fried, stay clear dearies, it's been awhile since I've called this power.." Lightning crackles on Surlas fingertips, before it springs out to zap the rat that bit Eser and the one next to it that bit Inva.
The rat on the receiving end of Surla's spell proves remarkably quick on its paws, managing to avoid a direct strike. Unfortunately for it, a direct strike isn't needed for the low-powered bolt of lightning to still cause damage, and a pained squeal is heard by all in the basement as the rat's muscles jitter and twitch uncontrollably while foul-smelling smoke briefly rises from the streak of charred fur on its left side.
The rat sinks its teeth into Eser as easily as a the tengu had bitten her fish a few moments previous, upstairs. That meal, to Eser's quickly clouding psyche, may have well happened in another life; Eser's vision narrows, heat flushes the guardian's face. Giving herself completely to her rage, Eser lifts her oversized Khakarra, its rings jingling in the basement's still air, and then brings the weapon down with every bit of strength she can muster onto the rat that just attacked her.
Rage 1 minute;
AC 16
Hp 14/21 Temp Hp: 4;
clumsy 1;
+6 weapon damage
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The rat that bit Eser has just enough time to see its death approach and release a terrified shriek--and a bit of poo--in response before the tengu's oversized club strikes it with enough force to split its body open like a piece of overripe fruit and splash the resulting gore across pretty much everything and everyone in the immediate vicinity. The floor where the rat once stood now bears a visible chip in the stone from the club's impact.
Grasz finds himself in the fortunate position of having snacks approaching him. He strides forward on top of an already dead rat and tries to take a bite from a living one.
; .
Rik'tik also strides forward and tries to skewer a rat on his trident.
; .
The pain sound from one rat and the death shriek of Eser's victim manages to draw the attention of one of the rats gorging itself at the barrels, which draws its head back from the container just in time to see Grasz splashing forward through the ruin of its former companion with jaws agape. Half-chewed fish spills from its muzzle as it squeals in fear and darts back from the crocodile's eager snap, but this move leaves it helpless to the crocodile's master, which it hadn't even noticed before a set of metal tines slam through its back and end its life.
"That is, indeed, a large rodent." Hellewen both agrees with Surla and answers part of Pfil's question. Though she could only see a single semi-fried rat at the moment. But let's deal with it!
First - gather what your weapon. Even here there were plenty of air, if a bit stale, and Hellewen pulled it towards her.
Then - direct it with intent. Lash out with a sliver of wind. Not the mightiest of attacks, but it ought to deal with this foe!
And if you don't succeed try and try again! Another gesture, another strike.
The first gust of weaponized air to reach Hellewen's target barely ruffles its fur, and it truthfully doesn't even notice, being preoccupied with residual muscle twitches from Surla's attack. But the second gust definitely draws its attention when its charred side get a long gash sliced down its length from front to rear legs. Staggering, it squeals in pain a second time and begins to pull back, survival now more important than keeping control of the basement's bounty.
Pfil, noticing some trouble, leaps up at the handrail with the help of her wings, then retrieves one of the toothpick-sized arrows. She nocks and draws, taking aim at the rat down the stairs - a huge beast like this was easy to hit, so she was quite confident when she let the arrow fly.
With no other beast in view, she moved forward, running down the railing until another rat comes in sight.
Pfil quickly demonstrates that she's no slouch when it comes to holding up her portion of a fight, regardless of her size, with a brutally accurate shot from her diminutive bow putting an equally-diminutive arrow right through the left eye of the rat below. The beast stiffens for a moment, jaws open in an utterly silent gape, then it slumps to the floor and ceases moving entirely.
Pfil easily runs down the handrail, using her wings to balance herself, rushing around the corner without a worry in the world.
While running down the handrail, Pfil encourages her allies: "Come on, guys, in and out, 20 minute adventure. Those rats are easy targets, large as a tiny barn..."
Inva can only backpedal in response to the rats. She curses, but still keeps enough of her wits about her to do so in a hushed voice. As she backs away, she draws a dagger that she throws at a rat once she's gained a bit of distance.
With the rogue falling back on bloodied legs, one quietly festering with the agents of infection, the furor in the basement has finally caught the attention of the rat within the barrel. Smoked fish spill out of the hole chewed into the barrel's side as the animal shifts around within to poke its head out and look around. Spying Rik'tik standing before the barrel, it bares its oversized incisors in a threat display and promptly lunges forward to snap twice at the lizardfolk's armored right leg.
Unfortunately for the rat, neither bite does more than score the leather of the targeted limb. The animal's position within the barrel prevents it from getting a good angle from which to attack, and it shows its teeth a second time before pulling back into the barrel.
Round 2
When Inva retreats, the first of the two rats that attacked her gives heed to its aggressive instincts--backed by the taste of kayal blood in its mouth--and follows along to continue its attack. Lunging forward, it bites down on her left again, teeth piercing the leather to drive into her flesh with a second bloody wound. But the rat's eagerness works against it as tries for a third bite and gets only air when the rogue quickly shifts her bleeding leg out of reach.
With the rogue no longer in reach, the second of the rats instead turns its attention to Grasz. Normally the rodent wouldn't be so eager to close with another predator, but the taste and scent of both blood and food has robbed it entirely of its normal instincts toward self-preservation. Jaws gaping, it charges to meet the crocodile in a furious clash of snapping teeth.
But none of the bites manage to penetrate the crocodile's thick hide, leaving the crocodile with the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the rat's heedless aggression and secure a tasty snack.
Grabbing a secure hold of her hat Hellewen leaps over the railing and continues down the impromptu obstacle course. A little splash of elven grace and done! She comes at a halt with one leg braced against one of the kegs and with a twist she dissipates both her momentum and channeled wind as a blade at the rats to her left.
"Head's up. It'll come back."
After a vault over the railing and clambering across the heavy wooden rack dividing the basement floorspace, Hellewen directs more of her element to the attack. A ripple of shaped air strikes the rat that's trying (and failing) to maul Grasz, slashing a bloody line across its back which the rat doesn't even notice in its frenzied biting.
The rat attacking Inva is a bit more aware, however, and instinctively ducks below the attack. Unfortunately, it's not mentally equipped to understand the idea of an attack that persists after it's been avoided, and so its raised head comes up directly in the path of the momentarily-stationary mass of whirling air, with predictable results.
Surla makes her way carefully down the stairs. From the sounds of the battle up ahead, it seems like everyone is doing alright. No need to add to their trouble with an unfortunate hasty fall!
"Oh my, more of them? Well, that won't do."
Surla calls the lightning forth from her fingertips once more to proceed with the zapping at the two rats she can see.
A dancing ribbon of electrical energy leaves the older woman's pointed fingers, arcing past the kayal in front of her to hit one rat before jumping to a second.
Though the minor current isn't enough on its own to be immediately lethal, the rat attacking Inva has already suffered grievous wounds, and this little bit extra is enough to finish it off. The rodent locks up for a brief moment before relaxing and falling still, and the rank smell of scorched fur wafts up from the body.
Whether the second rat to be struck by the electricity is luckier is a matter of some debate. It survives, but it's obviously on the edge of death; it's shuddering uncontrollably, half-slumped against the pillar at its back, and a stream of blood has begun flowing from its nostrils.
Whether the second rat to be struck by the electricity is luckier is a matter of some debate. It survives, but it's obviously on the edge of death; it's shuddering uncontrollably, half-slumped against the pillar at its back, and a stream of blood has begun flowing from its nostrils.
The second rat doesn't even see the attack that ends its life. It's so invested in attacking the crocodile that even death can't stop it from making a last few futile bites. But eventually it too falls still, and those of you in a position to see it turn your attention to the barrel with a quivering muzzle poking out of the hole in its side.
As much as Grasz wants to chew on some fried rats, he's called to more productive action as he and Rik'tik try a flanking action on the rat.
;
;
And Grasz absolutely devours this final moving rat.