A search of the goblins turns up the expected poor pickings - 25 copper pennies, some of them bent and at least one bearing tooth marks, and a few "treasures" which would be considered worthless rubbish among more civilised peoples, such as the coloured pebble, several shards of glass and a scrap of parchment that looks to have been torn from a larger document.

The creatures had, though, been wealthy in assorted ticks, lice and fleas.  Now even those loyal companions are deserting them in search of redder pastures as the bodies cool.

The earth is soft and wet, but filled with stones, and the thorn-covered brambles which provide much of the ground cover hereabouts would make digging difficult, and provide poor fuel for a funeral pyre.

There seems no option other than to leave the goblins where they lay, and rely on the services of the local carrion eaters, who are doubtless already aware of the presence of such a splendid feast.  If there is any consolation to be gained it lays in the fact that they would doubtless have done the same (or worse) to their victims, had they been victorious.  In any case, the unconscious ones should awaken soon, and will perhaps perform some sort of savage goblinish funeral rite...

Having done all that can be done, the party continue up the hill.

As they reach the crest, they find that the ruin they had seen earlier is part of a cottage, or rather part of one of the remaining walls.  The structure, to use the term loosely, has fallen into considerable disrepair, and has no roof.  It is, in fact, in such poor condition that Fergus and Aarnr have set up camp outside its broken walls.

And there they sit by the fire in the gathering dusk... along with a third, older man and a dog.  The four of them appear to be cooking a meal (though, to be honest, the dog isn't really pulling its weight, and seems more interested in growling at the newcomers).

The stranger looks to be in his late forties or fifties, and is clad all in browns and greens, with a heavy, hooded cloak.  A loaded crossbow is propped against a rock just to his right.  The dog, a reddish hound sits to his left.

However, while it might be interesting to discover the identity of this stranger, it would probably be much more interesting to discover how Aarnr and Fergus came to be covered in so much mostly-dried blood, and why their clothing is so torn...

As Aramil helps search the body, he is not surprised to find that there is nothing of interest. He does however try to get what sort of book/letter the parchment is from, but mainly just from curiosities sake. He is thus returned to his companions from his own thoughts when they discuss what to do with the bodies. Opening his mouth to mention the waste of time for such creatures, unlike the farmers and travellers they have already met, it stops in his mouth, as some of the members of the party seem more determined to give the goblins more respect than Aramil feels they deserve. He is just glad that the surroundings prevents the group from doing much with the bodies.

Trudging up the hill the half-elf is glad to reach the summit and their friends. Weary of the days events and still unhappy of the loss of accommodation at the village Aramil sees the fire and walks straight into its light. Too late he sees the stranger, though he should have been more careful since the dog had made its presence known long before the firelight made it visible. seeing Aarnr and Fergus happily sitting with the stranger gives Aramil a sense that the stranger is safe, for the moment. Though pussled about the blood, yet not surprised since Aarnr is involved, the half-elf smiles and calls out to his friends "Finally, we made it. What an adventure. You missed a few interesting events, yet from the look of you both you have had a few of your own." Turning to the stranger he continues "How do you do, I'm Aramil, a travelling companion of Fergus and Aarnr's.It is nice to meet a fellow traveller in the firelight of friendship." though the half-elf is wary of the dog. Back home dogs are really only good for guarding, and in his youth he had a few unintended adventures with them.

"I'm Martin, a hunter by trade." the stranger explains, then he pats the dog, "Hanne helps me with that.  She's got a good nose on her, and isn't too scared to get into a scrap if I need her to.  Clever too, aren't you girl?"  The hound wags its tail, glad to have been noticed.

"Normally we'd work over near Bard's Gate, but there was a rumour that the farmers hereabout have been having trouble with something attacking their stock, so we came over to take a look."

Ozzy finally peeks out from behind the bush he has been hiding behind once the hunter reassures them that his dog won't attack. With a nervous glance to the hound, Ozzy steps up on the far side of Aramil, his little eyes darting around the campsite before peering off into the darkness beyond. He tugs on Aramils pants leg and says, " Ask 'im if'n he's seen a foul little dwarf travelling with a big lumbering farmer... or if'n he found body parts that match that description."

Erista steps up and holds out a hand for the dog to smell.  "It's nice to meet you, Hanne," she says, and then looks up at the hunter.  "And you, too.  Oh, Aarnr, that reminds me!"  She takes the new bow off of her back, and holds it out to him.  "Maybe Martin can show you how to use it," she suggests.  "We got arrows, too.  Ozzy helped," she adds, sharing due credit.

"Fergus!  Aarnr!"  The Priestess hurries up and gives each man a quick touch on the arm; it's her way, rather than an attempt to verify their presence.  But better that than the usual 'greeting' given at her Temple.  The other priests and priestesses had, of course, eventually learned to go with something a trifle more subdued - a peck on the cheek, for example - with regards to Eilieen.

After copius contusions in the shape of her palm.

About to apologize for the condition of her clothing, Eilieen takes a step back to survey the two men.  "Goodness!  What have you gotten yourselves into!"  It's not a question.  "Indeed, Aramil, they seem to have found trouble..."  Her tone indicates that trouble might be now, rather than before.  "Both of you just sit still while I have a look."  Muttering to herself, she begins going over their injuries - whether they like it or not - and demonstrating a certain amount of skill in the doing.

Glancing up from her work, Eilieen nods politely to the stranger and his doggy.  "Good evening to you, Martin, and noble Hanne as well.  A pleasure, to be sure.  Your pardon, but I have a pair of injured scallywags here in dire need of succor."

Out comes the small kit of unguents and bandages.

OOC - Do either of the boys need healing, skill or spell?  I'll just take 10 on the healing roll, which gives me a 20.

...erm, assuming 3.0 uses the 'take 10' rule, I'm not sure if it does.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:51, Tue 26 June 2012.

Indeed Aarnr does seem a bit quiet when his friends arrive and fails to greet them with his usual vim and vigorous turn of phrase.

Erista's proffering of the promised bows and arrows does cause the priest to stir, though, revealing a blood-soaked bandage plastered on the side of his neck, and some deep and equally bloody gashes in his chest.

"We've been huntin' rabbits !" Aarnr announces, not even protesting Eilieen's ministrations. "And a froggin' pheas ..." he looks towards Fergus and Martin in turn as if still not absolutely convinced but then continues with a sigh, "... a froggin' flap-mouthed owlbear !"

"Spleeny beast nearly froggin' killed the pair of us !"

"Hi Aramil, Ozzy." Fergus greets the new arrivals, but looks puzzled "Do you mean me, Ozzy?  Does he mean me, Miss?  And what dwarf, please?"

Fergus seems a little nervous at Eilieen's attention.  He does his best "schoolboy on best behaviour" impersonation, complete with squirming.  "I'm alright, Miss, really.  Aarnr and Bowbe already helped me some.  But you should take a look at him.  Martin gave us a salve, which was really nice.  And it didn't smell too bad at all. But he's pretty cut up."

"We got the critter, though.  Meanest pheasant you ever saw." Fergus' grin (at Aarnr) is not at all reassuring.

"What are you all doing out here anyway?  I thought you were staying in town?  We got four rabbits, which ain't bad with only the one bow between us, but you could'a done better at the inn."

"An owlbear!?!  By the Gods!" Corian gives vent to an altogether uncharacteristic exclamation of shock.  "I've read of them.  Foul abominations, the result of ancient magical experiments by some unscrupulous mage.  Or a foolish one.  Most savage.  Is it still in the vicinity, or did you somehow manage to see it off?"

Colwyn meanwhile sits down close to the fire with the box resting in his lap and both hands resting on top of that, "We run inter some gobbos down the 'ill a bit.  We was on our way up ter see yers an' the buggers tries ter jump us.  Best part of 'em won't be tryin' that again."  His face cracks into a broad grin, "'Ere, yer know what's the best part of a goblin?"  He looks from face to face, waiting for somebody to answer him.

Martin chuckles, "That's an old one, that is.  It's his shadow - it's the only bit that doesn't stink."  Beside him Hanne watches the new arrivals for a while, as they move into the camp and find places to settle, before turning her attention back to observing the four rabbits cooking over the campfire.

Meanwhile Eilieen examines Fergus' and Aarnr's wounds.

OOC: Yes, you can take 10 in 3.0.

Bow delivered, and with a chuckle at Colwyn's joke, Erista makes her way to her usual spot by Fergus, and pats his hand reassuringly.  "Not sure who he means," she admits, "But you don't lumber."

The news of the owlbear widens her eyes.  "Really?  What crazed wizard thought that was a good crossing?  Was it more like the size of an owl?" she hazards.  "Still be pretty scary, I'm sure.  Our goblins weren't much of a hazard, really, but Ozzy was very brave.  We were going to stay in town - even had a good line on a nice inn, from a reputable guildsman," she explains.

Because he had been almost certainly a guildsman, and there's no denying he had a reputation.

"But we missed you.  Oh, and Colwyn's got a box stuck and can't open it, we thought you might be able to help.  And there's big news in your village we thought you'd want to hear right away - somebody's made off with their Crucible, and we've offered to help find it!"

"Yes indeed, the owlbear was a terrible idea, made worse by the fact that they are known to be rather... er... fertile.  And they're famed for always being in an extremely bad mood." Colwyn shakes his head sadly, "Wizards who perform such obviously insane experiments earn the rest a poor reputation."

He gazes glumly at the fire for a moment, then snaps out of his reverie, "Yes, indeed, we have agreed to assist the villagers.  The priestess of Freya, a charming lady named Shandril, has told us the location of... " a quick glance at Martin, "... a place where a thief who has stolen a sacred relic may be hiding.  By great good fortune, our own goal lays in the same general vicinity."

Martin looks up sharply.  "You're going to Eralion's tower to search for a thief?" he asks, "That would certainly be a fine place for a man to hide, if he had more guts than brains.  The Grimwood's reputation is not just the result of fearbabe talk.  A fair bit of truth lays behind it.  As I told your friends earlier, things come down from the Stoneheart Mountains and make homes for themselves in the wood."
This message was last updated by the player at 11:01, Sun 01 July 2012.

Eilieen's mild (and loud) concern flips to appalled silence as she examines the injured men.  Her face even paler than its wont, she immediately lays hands on Aarnr (both sides of his face) and focuses her strength.  "Breathe easily within the love of Zadastha," she urgently whispers, and the healing power flows from her to surround the other priest.  A vaguely pinkish wave of power, it flows down her arms to seep into his injuries, wiping away the pain and sealing away the damage.

"Rabbits," she hisses in his face, clearly put out, "do not have claws this large."  Then the priestess moves with undignified haste to tend to Fergus.  "All right?  Somewhat of an exaggeration!"  Her aggrieved tone softens.  "I regret, Fergus, that I have so little to offer."  Her hands rest upon his shoulders.  "We had troubles of our own.  Zadastha, grant relief from suffering to this noble soul."

The pinkish flare of power is distinctly weaker than that of before, and Eilieen makes a final attempt.  "Zadastha, a boon of peace for this kind heart."  Another, and between the two they certainly manage to provide a day or so worth of rest.

Somewhat exhausted herself, Eilieen flops down on the ground and buries her face in her knees.  "More tomorrow," she murmurs.

OOC - 6 hit points back to Aarnr (always heal the priest first, if he's alive he can heal other people), and 2 points to poor Fergus for two CMW - all Eilieen has left.

Aarnr feebly tries to wave Eilieen off, but truth be told is too weak to do more than raise but a murmur of protest ... and as Zadastha's healing power flows into him, is much relieved that he could not, for though his wounds do not close completely, the priest is much restored by the effort.

"Thou has my thanks," he tells the priestess, perhaps only now reaslising just how close to the netherworlds he had ventured. "And Zadastha too."

He grins in commiseration at her sudden fatigue, nodding complicitly. "Me too."

Much healed and much cheerier, Aarnr is finally able to properly thank Erista and Oswald too for their mercantile efforts on his behalf, pulling back the string to test the shortbow (though of course, now having seen Martin in action, he's already jealous of the hunter's larger bow and covets one for himself).

"We killed our froggin' owlbear," he assures Corian, holding up his prized feather for inspection, though he is loathe to let it out of his grasp.

But the priest has two important questions on his mind that cannot wait.

"Thou have been fightin' goblins without me ?" he inquires.  "And what in the fobbin' name of Bm’fob is a 'crucible' ?!!"

The half-elf smiles a warm return as Martin introduces himself, yet the smile fades slightly as the man refers to Hanne. To many misadventures with dogs still makes the half-elf nervous, yet he trusts the man enough that the dog will not attack him outright.

Amusement brightens his smile both by Ozzy's comments about the dwarf and lumbering farmer and Eileen's obvious mothering of the said pair. Truly the Temple is the worst off losing such a priestess. Then as if on cue Aarnr expands on the nature of  his/their battle and Fergus misunderstands the little man's comments. The big man must surely be hurting as he misses his chance to growl and swear at the halfling's jib comparing him to a dwarf.

Any lack of knowledge by the bard is filled in by the comments of the others. Glad he was not required to fight this abomination, the half-elf moves closer towards the fire and sits down, his mood buoyed between enjoyment of the others comments and Fergus' reminder of the better accommodation he was expecting for the night. Four rabbits won't go far with the group, yet maybe there is something he can do to help spread the meal around. Looking into his pack Aramil tried to extend the rabbits with the cooking knowledge his mother taught him back home.

Fergus turns a bright smile to Erista.  "Thanks 'Ris.  I knew I didn't lumber."  As Erista continues, Fergus' face darkens noticeably at the mention of the Crucible.  He is polite to Eilieen, though "Thank you, Miss, and Zadastha, too.  I feel a good bit better."

Fergus sits in silence for a long moment.  In contrast to his earlier fidgeting he keeps very still, apparently deep in thought.

"That's bad.  Very bad.  The Crucible is a kind of cup thing that's holy to Freya.  I've seen it at holy days in Fairhill.  If it's been stolen Freya might not bless the crops this year.  The whole town must be up."

Fergus stands and stalks over to his kit, taking up his scythe and whetstone again.  From the way the scythe's blade catches the light it has already received some recent attention.

"How do we know the thief's headed for the Grimwood?"

Corian considers for a moment, then nods to Martin, "Aye, Eralion's former home is our destination.  In addition to having our own reasons for going there, Shandril believes that it is a likely hiding place for whoever stole the Crucible."

"Just be careful in Grimwood.  It's a bad place.  Worse things than owlbears have showed up there." the hunter replies.

Zadastha's blessings, channelled through the hands of the priestess Eilieen leave Fergus and Aarnr looking better.  They are still covered with blood, but at least most of it is dried now, they have no open wounds, and there is no fresh blood being added to that which is already in evidence. 

Martin smiles, "Always good to have a healer with you.  Even if you don't need them today, there'll come a day when you will."  He glances at the fire where the rabbits are still cooking, "Do you want me to see if I can find some more conies?  I'm not sure there's enough there to go round."

Eilieen's eyebrows shoot up as Aarnr deigns to thank a god.  Well, goddess, in this case.  "It was my honor, Aarnr.  In truth."  She can't begin to speak for the goddess, but inside Eilieen feels that even a coarse man like Aarnr would have her approval, for his steadfast character and noble core.  For Fergus?  There is no doubt.

"My honor and pleasure to assist you as well, Fergus," she notes with a small bow.  "Apologies again that more cannot be done...we shall have to see, tomorrow."  What she has done will suffice for the night, no doubt.  Pursing her lips, she eyes Aarnr's feather-trophy with some wonder, but makes no move to take it.  Likely diseased, certainly filthy.  And yet, most impressive what the twain have accomplished.

Eyeing Fergus' scythe askance, the priestess answers the hunter in an absent tone.  "No, no poor rabbits for me, thank you.  I will do well enough with my own food, though the thought is appreciated."  She resolutely doesn't look at where Aramil is working on the rabbits, not wishing to give offense with her revulsion.

While Aramil works with the food, Colwyn takes the time to work on the locked box.  Eventually, after considerable muttered cursing, he is rewarded by a quiet click.  "Now we sees what the buggers's been robbin'" he announces, as he opens the lid.

Inside is a bundle of rags which prove to wrapped around a plain dagger.   Colwyn examines it, briefly, in the firelight.  "Silver." he declares, setting it aside.  The next item out of the box is a stoppered metal tube which is found to contain a vellum scroll.  The rogue doesn't even unroll that before setting it aside to retrieve the third object - a coin purse, which he weighs thoughtfully in his hand.

Martin watches all of this with a quizzical expression, until Corian explains, "We captured a pair of bandits, who escaped from us.  We did, however, track them and located a sort of hideout.  The box was within."

Aarnr grins at the priestesses surprise.  "I understand the other gods prefer flattery and gratitude for their favours," the big man says, sitting up now and taking more notice.  "Bowbe's only going to get froggin' jealous if I start cursin' 'em !"  His own god neither needs nor want the thanks of mortals, and looks unkindly indeed at such.

He quickly pockets his owlbear feather lest Eilieen thinks he's giving it to her and tries to steal it from his clutches.

The priest knows that Fergus has an abiding faith in Freya, but nevertheless he is astonished that the goddess would withold her favours because some gleepin' sheeps-bladder had made off with her favourite cup.  Though in that regard Bowbe would be no less irascible and vindictive ...

"Don't suppose the clackin' crucible is in there ?" he asks Colwyn as the thief finally pries open the box he's been labouring over.  The trip to the Grimwood has become exceedingly complicated for a simple priest, between the lich-wizard's tower, the promise of monsters and now the goddess's cup.

Ozzy has been looking over Colwyns shoulder like an anxious child watching his mother sorting through his toy collection. " No crucible." he answers Aarnr, then points to the scroll tube. " Whats in there?" he asks curiously, doubting it was the crucible, but intrigued enough to want to know more.

"Flattery?"  Eilieen sniffs.  "Our thanks for divine favour and healing, certainly."  But there's a hint of a smile on her thin lips.  Aarnr is Aarnr, and Bowbe is Bowbe, and...and...that's an awfully large feather with which he plays.  Her fingers start to itch, but just as she decides to have a look at it, he slips it away.

The priestess sighs, blowing a lock of sadly limp hair from her eyes.  It returns all-too-quickly.

"Ah, Colwyn, well-done!"  Eilieen beams as the lock gives up the battle.  "You salvage your reputation!"  The smile fades.  "Well, no crucible.  I suppose we'll have to risk these 'haunted woods'.  Or somesuch similar."  She waves off any mistake with the name, more curious about what Colwyn has unearthed, so to speak.

"Interesting," the Priestess mutters.  "A silvered dagger.  Who would carry such a thing?  No normal peasant or even merchant - why waste good coin on a dagger necessary only for battling evil?  And the case..."  Leaning over, she reaches for it before recalling her manners.  "Why not open the scroll, Colwyn?"

"Good job!" Erista agrees.  "And the lock's saved!  Let's have a look, then...  偵查 魔法," she mutters.

Martin nods slowly, "Bandits, eh?  Hunted a few of them in my time.  For all that the Tradeway's patrolled by knights from Reme, Bard's Gate, Derindin and Freegate, there's still a few of them that're prepared to try their luck."

Colwyn shrugs, looking from Ozzy to Eilieen, "Maybe's a map, or a letter from some rich bugger's ol' mum.  An' maybe's summat what'll kill a cove what looks at it." a quick smile as Erista works her spell, "Jus' what I were waitin' fer."

He motions to the silvered dagger, "Maybe's fer killin' evil.  Or maybe's it jus' belongs ter the same rich bugger what got the letter from 'is dear ol' mum, an' 'e's got more coin than sense."

Corian clears his throat, "Should we spend the evening here, do you think?  Or should we travel to Grimwood overnight.  Time could well be of the essence in recovering the relic."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:22, Thu 12 July 2012.

Ozzy considers the two alternatives. He stands a long moment, rubbing his shoulder and trying to turn it full circle, wincing each time. Then his hand goes to his belly, which has neglected for most of the day and is now growling in protest. He lets out a big yawn at the thought of a late night hike at this hour and shakes his head, blinking sleepily. " I'm in no hurry to go for a moonlit walk in a haunted forest." he says, casting his vote for a night of rest. " I know travelling in the morning may well kill the 'atmosphere' of the Grimwood, but wouldn't it be safer?" He stretches, and again the small pain in his shoulder protests any further activity.

Fergus subsides somewhat.  If Shandril believes the thief may be hiding in the Grimwood, that's good enough for Fergus.

Since he isn't interested in stolen property (there being no real prospect of returning it) Fergus concentrates on sharpening his scythe and tidying up the rest of his kit.

"If we're going to have to fight, I could use a rest first.  No offence to Aarnr and Eilieen but I'm still feeling sore."

"If you set out now, it'll likely be about sunrise when you reach Grimwood." Martin opines, "It's a long walk, over rough ground.  Unless you go through the village and take the old track to the wizard's place.  Then the going's easier, but you'll be taken a bit out of your way, so it probably won't be much quicker."

"If you leave at dawn, you could probably be there at about noon, or a bit after."

Erista continues staring at the scroll case, whispering quietly. 

Colwyn, meanwhile, picks up the silver bladed dagger.  "I's 'avin' one o' these already.  Anyone wantin' this'un?"  If there's a reason he already carries a silver blade, he doesn't offer it.  Perhaps he's one of those rich people with more coin than sense that he mentioned earlier.

Aarnr was halfway to his feet, before the chorus of voices voting for a more circumspect approach to the problem saw him slump back down again.  With little reluctance, if truth be told, as despite Eilieen's best efforts, he's still a lot the worse for wear after the encounter with the owl-bear, and it'll be some hours before he's up to yelling at Bowbe to heal him properly.

The priest shakes his head at the offer of the silvered dagger, thinking the blade too soft for serious use, and won't hold an edge worth a damn ... and in any event a good deal less effective than the great big sword he habitually wields.

"I'd rather be able to see what I'm froggin' slayin'!" he agrees with Ozzy.  And he's suspicious of trees at the best of times.

Aarnr is unperturbed by Erista's mutterings over the parchment scroll.  He can't read a word himself, but most of those few in his tribe who can read also have to sound out the words on the page.

"No offense taken, Fergus, of course.  We shall see about wiping away the last of the pain tomorrow.  And thank you for the wonderful advice, Martin.  Oh, I think in sunlight would be best," Eilieen agrees.  "Better to be traipsing through a malicious forest in brilliance than darkness."  She glances at the dagger for a moment, the shakes her head in turn.  "If none wish for it, I will take it and hope never to use it," she notes.  While Eilieen has no compunctions about killing that which threatens good people, she carries a spear for a reason.

It keeps the goop and ichor at a distance.

"Erista, what of the scroll?"  Now that, she finds interesting.

Colwyn nods and hands the dagger, hilt first, to Eilieen.  "Good balance." he comments as she takes the silver-bladed weapon.  Without another word he empties the purse out into the box and starts to count the coins, his nimble fingers dividing them quickly into groups.

One he picks up, peering at it.  Then he bites it, looks at it again, and tosses it into the fire.

Erista continues to mutter as she stares at the scroll case... 

Corian nods as the votes come in, "I will admit that I'd rather wait for daylight before setting out again.  Who knows, perhaps a new day will bring better weather?"

Martin laughs, "Doubt it.  I've got a gammy elbow that tells me it's likely going to stay wet for a bit longer."

"Well, it's nothing too exciting," Erista says.  "Aura's not very strong, but it's shifty...illusions, or...no, transmutation."  She nods to herself, and then shrugs, sitting back.  "Corian could maybe tell us more," she finishes.

Aramil spends his time quietly tending to the food, but has his ears open to the conversation. As the box opens he turns, intrigues to know what it contains. With the knowledge of the box's contents he returns to the food, sure that too many people are already working on the contents. He nods agreement with Ozzy after the halfing suggests waiting till dawn before travelling. Though able to see better than some, the half-elf prefers the darkened backstreets of towns rather than the wilds of nature.

As others join in their opinions, he turns to Martin and asks "You obviously know a lot about the area here. Are there anything we should look out for as we travel along? And what do you know about the tower? Any more information would be handy. "

"I shall ask you to teach me to throw it then, Colwyn," Eilieen muses, accepting the dagger.  "My thanks."  The priestess fumbles with the weapon for a moment, struggling to find a place for it on her belt.  Must buy some new clothing, she considers, settling the knife in place.  Stronger than this, but well-made.  Perhaps with some lace about the wrists and throat.

Tomorrow, it seems, will be the time they travel.  A good thing.  Eilieen settles back against her rock, desperately pretending it is the comfortable back of a padded chair, and shuts her lips against potential complaints when Martin informs them the rain will continue.

"Corian?" she inquires.  "Any thoughts upon the scroll?"

"I've not been to the tower itself, but I have hunted around the fringe of Grimwood." Martin replies to Aramil, "Nothing really lives there... most animals avoid the place, and the local farmersmake sure they stay away from it, and tell their kids to do the same, as he'll tell you." he indicates Fergus.

"The big danger is when something from up in the mountains makes its way there.  Grimwood seems to attract them.  Some fell beast wanders close to Fairhill, and the first thing they do is make a beeline for Grimwood.  Won't settle, mind, they'll hang about for a week or three, maybe a couple of months, making a nuisance of themselves, attacking cattle and the like.  Then they wander off again, unless the local farmers send for me, or someone like me."

"I admit though, I'm dreading the day some dragon decides to roost in Grimwood for a bit."

The hunter lays down, leaning on one elbow (presumably not his gammy one), "Most of the other animals around here are the sort of things you'll see anywhere.  Wolves, foxes, maybe a bear.  Nothing too dangerous, though I've heard rumours there might be trolls somewhere about."

"The land between here and Grimwood isn't too bad.  Pretty much the same as round here, hills and valleys all the way, with patches of woodland here and there, and some marsh.  But you can avoid a lot of that if you go back to Fairhill and take the old track to the tower."

Colwyn passes the scroll case to Corian, who opens it and unrolls the contents.  "Beth mae'n ei ddweud!" he pronounces, staring at the document, before quickly putting it back into the case, out of the weather.  "It appears to be a spell for making a creature stronger, or at least that's what I believe it to be.  It is perhaps an older form, but it does bear some resemblance to more modern versions that I have seen.  The handwriting was abysmal, and the diagrams almost childish, which did not help my understanding of the it."

He sets the scroll aside and nods towards the fire, "I think dinner may be about ready."

Dinner is, indeed, about ready.

Rabbit stew, with a few vegetables and dry bread to soak up the gravy for most; with fruit, vegetables and more bread for Eilieen.  Not exactly the best meal any of them have ever eaten, but filling, and on an evening like this one, it's as good as any feast.

Martin and Hanne take their leave after dinner, Martin pleading things to do, and a need to be in a particular place by dawn to do them.  He sets off down the hill towards the southwest, headed away from Fairhill, towards the Tradeway.

Shelter is scarce on the hilltop.  The best the group can do is huddle against the broken walls of the ancient cottage, wrapped in blankets in an effort to gain what protection they can from the intermittent rain.  Watches are assigned, and the night passes peacefully.  Perhaps the weather is keeping the less pleasant occupants of the area inside whatever passes for a home for each.

Dawn comes up, finally, bringing subdued birdsong, and the sun rises amid bands of black cloud in a vemillion sky.  Not a good omen for the day's weather.  Except, of course, to Aarnr.


OOC: Time to top up those spells everybody.

Dragons and trolls !  Aarnr is liking the sound of this Grimwood all the more, as if the forbidding name wasn't reason enough to go there.

Indeed, the priest is more than sorry to see Martin and his dog take their leave, and though it goes against the grain, thanks the hunter warmly for the ointment.

While the night isn't all that comfortable (especially if anyone tries to huddle too close, as Aarnr is against that sort of thing), much to his surprise dawn brings the promise of a thoroughly miserable day, the sort he likes best.

Still feeling a bit stiff, the priest's first duty on waking is to loudly and colorfully remonstrate with his god (technically 'prayer' as it applies to those who worship Bowbe, though the expletives and threats that are less thinly-veiled and more completely disrobed further subdue the bird-song and nigh on darken the sun).

Honour satisfied, the priest heals himself (makings of a good proverb there, though he knows it not), before turning his attention to breakfast (assuming one of his somewhat bedraggled companions has stirred their lazy bones to cook something).

"Gleepin' good day for it, thou tardy-gaited gudgeons !" Aarnr encourages those companions cheerily.

Colwyn grins at Aarnr, glad to see the man in a brighter mood this morning.  "Yer di'n't die in the night, then?  Good.  I'd've 'ad ter count out this bloody coin again if'n yer did."

He opens the lid on the box from the bandits' hideout, which has lain close to him all night, picking out a stack of mixed gold and silver coins, which he offers to Aarnr.  "I 'ad ter juggle things 'round a bit, but everybody ended up with 24 silvers, but not all in silver, mind, and there's three left over.  Not a lot, but at least none of us 'ad ter die ter get it."


OOC: Added 24 sp (or equivalent in gold and silver) to character sheets.

It's a scant dinner and a miserable night for Eilieen.  Not only does it rain, but her stomach growls like a bear.  Plus, mid-way through the night she had half-consciously crawled closer to one of the group for warmth.  That had resulted in her blinking awake outside the shelter, victim of a ferocious shove.

Now she eyes her companions over the top of her teacup, wondering which it might have been.  Not that she can complain, having done far worse to acolytes crawling into her bed in the middle of the night.  But here, she had been innocent of lewd thoughts!

Bother it, anyway.

With her watch being at the end of the night, she has had plenty of time for prayer.  Now she makes breakfast for the group, wrinkling her nose at the leftover stew heating on the coals.  "And a fine morning to you as well, Aarnr, sky and rain despite."  Studying his hands, she notes their size and rubs one shoulder.  Could it be...no, no.

"Oh, my thanks Colwyn," the priestess continues.  "Another few like that, and I shall afford to clothe myself properly again."  Properly and proper, both.  None of that lacy, half-transluscent stuff they prefered at the temple.  It's a wonder anyone showed any interest in Eilieen at all back home, given her preference for dresses done up to the neck.  "Breakfast, then?"

"Oh, and when Fergus awakens, I'll see to his injuries."  A smile brightens her pale features despite the grim weather and poor sleep; healing her friends is the best possible activity start to the day.  "Better yet...why have him awaken with aching wounds?"

Moving over to Fergus, she lays a light hand on his shoulder.  "Wake easy, enfolded in the loving arms of Zadastha," the priestess whispers, and silvery light sparkles about her fingers.

Cure light wounds, domain spell.  Let's see how I do...not horribly.  ^_^  Fergus heals 6 points, plus whatever he gains for resting a night.  If more is needed, I'll continue with either CMW or CLW, depending if he only has one or two HP left to heal, or 4+.

"I thought I heard a bear in the night !" Aarnr continues in both cheery and encouraging fashion.  "Perhaps he's still hanging around," he adds, hopefully.

Indeed, his own wounds are now at least partly closed and no longer losing too much blood, so he feels ready for anything.

"I didn't kill any of those ripe-bellied haggards," the priest explains to Colwyn, holding his hand up to refuse the coin.  "Be a froggin sin to accept it ... and I'm not going to fight ye for it, mind."

Fergus, for his part, had unrolled his swag beneath the cart.  He tethered the oxen close by where the sleeping beasts could act as a serviceable windbreak.  The air downwind may not have been quite as fresh, but it was warmer.  After dinner Fergus crawled under the cart and seemed ready to go to sleep.  Until he realised that some of the ladies were planning to sleep curled in the shelter of the wall, at which point he promptly crawled back out, pulling his swag after him.  He insisted, as much as his nature allowed, that Eilieen, Erista and the Monk (and anybody else who could comfortably fit) should take advantage of the better shelter.

In the morning, Fergus wakes to the smell of breakfast and a light touch on his shoulder.  He stirs, anyway.  "Mm.  Hmm.  Quit it, that tickles."  Fergus then comes fully awake and sits up abruptly, as though startled.  For some reason his face has flushed bright red.  "Oh, it's you.  I mean...sorry Miss.  Um, good morning?"

Colwyn shrugs and drops Aarnr's share of the money, pitifully little though it is, back into the box.  "Suit yerself.  I'll jus' keep any spare coin in 'ere, an when we's got enough we can divvy it out.  Or if'n we needs ter buy summat big, maybe as we's 'avin' enough in 'ere ter buy it 'twixt us."

Then he hands the box to Corian, "Reckon yer's rich enough that a little coin won't be temptin' yer too much, so folks'll trust yer more'n they trust me.  Yer can sit on this fer all of us."

Corian accepts the box, his expression serious.  "I can assure you that this will be safe in my hands."  Then he changes the subject, "I believe we should set out as soon as we have finished breakfast.  Martin's directions indicated that it is quite some way to Grimwood.  Since we have the cart, we should probably take the road, which runs through the village.  It would mean going a little out of our way, but would likely be easier and faster than going across country by the more direct route."

"A bear, Aarnr!?"  Eilieen rocks back and forth as the power flows through Fergus, sealing and healing.  "I was pushed out of...never mind."  She could have been eaten!  But now is not the time for such considerations.

Fergus, at least, had been kindly enough to offer rest beneath the wagon.  Eilieen had demurred, leaving it to Erista and the Nameless Monk; while she has no personal problem with spiders, she didn't wish for them to nest in her hair, and there are a couple of fairly large ones under the wagon.

And the idea of squishing them just so she can get a single night's sleep under cover, well...that goes against the grain.

"Good morning, Fergus!" Eilieen chirps cheerfully, despite dishevelled hair and dilapidated dress.  Tickles?  Such a curious observation; she'll have to test that herself the next time she requires healing of her own.  "Your pardon, I only meant to relieve you of wounds' bites, not to..."  Her voice trails off and she studies his glowing face.  One silvery eyebrow cocks.  "Is there something the matter?" she inquires, nervously touching her bedraggled hair.  "Breakfast is cooking."

Zadastha's Smile, she must look horrid if he's so shocked and hesitant.  How embarassing for him.

"Where ?!" heeding Eilieen's warning, Aarnr is all ready to have at this bear but look around as he might, he sees no sign of the creature.  "I think you frightened it off," he sighs in disappointment.

The suggestion that they take the cart through the large metropolis that is the village does not sit well with the priest.  Fair enough if you're there to pillage the place, but he doubts his companions would be up for that.

"Thought we were avoiding the place on account of Fergus ?" he asks Corin hopefully, looking around to garner support.  "Perhaps we could leave the oxen free to wander around here and then pick them up when we come back ?" spoken as one whose only contact with cattle is on a roasting spit.

Unlikely he's going to be allowed to drive the cart, and if he's going to be walking anyway ...

Ozzy had slept well past breakfast, even through all the talk of bears. Finally, as the sun rises high enough in the morning sky that it finally breaks through the canopy and hits the little bard right in the face. He winces, recoiling from the brief moment of sun before it is once eclipsed by the building clouds. Ozzy lays under his blanket for awhile longer, taking his time in waking from the vivid dreams the night before. Lions, Tigers and Bears, oh my. A rabbit from a tophat...

For whatever reason, he now had a greater insight and understanding into the use of arcane force to bandage wounds, open small containers, find secret doors, even understand linguistics or pull a rabbit from a hat - all with a few key notes and combining them with the fluidity of his hands and the proper intonation of a few odd constanants and vowels. The last vestige of the dream slips away and he peeks out from under the blanket, his hair shooting off in all random directions and his puffy eyes blinking slowly. It takes him a little longer to pull on his boots and find his comb, but eventually even the late sleeping Bard loses patience. " Can we go yet?" he whines. He continues to bundle up his bedroll and pack, making sure everything is in place and properly stowed for a long walk through a spooky forest.

Corian eyes Fergus critically, "I don't believe we have anything that would fit you and serve as a disguise.  A pity, if anybody else could drive the cart, Fergus could lay down in the back and keep out of sight as we passed through the village."

"Travelling with the cart would certainly be faster, and would make it easier to remove anything useful from Eralion's manse."

Colwyn's head snaps around, his eyes seeming to grow larger as Corian continues, sighing, "I suppose we will just have to trek across the wilderness instead."

"'ere, Fergus?  'ow 'ard'd it be ter learn me ter drive that there wagon?  I mean it don't 'ave ter be good enough as I could get a job doin' it.  Just enough fer me ter get it round the edge of the village." the rogue explains.  "Way I sees it, yer could drive it near ter Fair'ill, then I takes over while you gets out of sight, an' I drives it 'til yer reckon we're past the village.  'ow' that be?"
This message was last edited by the player at 09:43, Sun 29 July 2012.

In the fens, a cart would rapidly become less a moving target and more a set feature in the landscape, while the oxen would make a very good meal ... but even so, Aarnr is still mightily tempted to take over the reins.

On the other hand, he's observed Fergus' skillful handling of the beasts for long enough to realise that in all likelihood with him holding those reins, the ride through the town would be a wild one indeed, and likely accompanied by much destruction of property ...

"I don't mind having a go !" the priest offers, though not quite swiftly enough, grimacing as Colwyn beats him to it.

Eilieen realizes that mentioning any bears she sees would immediately have them thumped over the head by Aarnr, poor things, and decides against so doing in the future.  She stifles a giggle at the sight of poor Oswald, dishevelled as he is; it would not only be rude, she ruefully reminisces, but hypocritical given her own situation.  Gods!  Why can they not find some useful arcane artifacts, like one capable of cleaning clothing?

Perhaps inquiring of Erista might bear fruit; the little mage might have knowledge of a cantrip of cleansing.

"Not to worry, Oswald," she cheerfully chirps.  "I am certain that once our gentlemen have decided on who shall be the drover, we will be off.  In comfort."  A pause for thought.  "Of sorts.  In the meantime, your breakfast?"  A bowl of warmed leftovers is passed to the bard.

At that precise moment, the rain chooses to come back, after a brief respite.  It sweeps in over the hillside, fine drizzle, more like an exceptionally wet fog than anything else, and unusually cold for the time of year.

Colwyn looks up at the sky and curses, "Nadgers!  Maybes we can learn as we's goin' along?  The sooner we's gettin' out of this the better."

"That is possibly the best idea I've heard this morning." Corian replies. "Anywhere has to be better than this gods-forsaken hillside."

"Yeah, even if we doesn't take the cart the whole bleedin' way, we can leave it on the road outside the village fer some bugger ter find.  Got ter be better 'an leavin' the oxen ter wander 'round 'ere on theys lonesome, with only owlbears an' things fer company."

Erista ducks quickly back under the wagon as the rain starts.  She'd slept rather well there, and Astral had dined happily on spiders, but she's still been quiet through the morning.

Eilieen may note that either her dusty brown robe, with its dark brown trim, is new, or she does not actually have any cleaning spells.

Ozzy parks his small butt on the end of the wagon, accepting the offered bowl with wide eyes and a wide smile. " Thanks sunshine!" he says brightly as he sets to shoveling breakfast into his mouth. His legs swing happily back and forth off the back of the wagon he feels he is now waiting on. Not the drover mind you, it was the wagon that was delaying the adventure. He determines this much about halfway through the bowl, his brain finally sparking into coherence.

Aarnr pronounces the return of the rain to be a "gleepin' good omen", and sets about dismantling the rudimentary camp by the simple expedient of chucking anything that looks like it wasn't part of the landscape into the back of the wagon, including anyone who doesn't get out of the way fast enough, and undoubtedly a few rocks for good measure.

"All ready," he declares at length.  Statement, not a question.

The priest's own state of attire is most charitably described as 'travel-stained', but this doesn't seem to worry him.  The fragrance might entice those of lesser fortitude or plain good taste to remain upwind of him, though.

"Perhaps we could swap the froggin' wagon for some grub ?" Aarnr suggests, more at home with barter than commerce, though in either case, the opening negotiating gambit involves a lot of sword-waving to establish your position.

"No matter, Miss." Fergus says hurriedly.  "It was just a dream."  For some reason, this statement causes Fergus to turn an even brighter shade of red.  He turns away and begins hastily packing his kit.  He's probably just anxious to eat breakfast...

After breakfast, Fergus, having largely regained his compusre, turns his attention to the passage through Fairhill to the Grimwood.

"I could teach you to drive the oxen, no problem.  As long as we stick to the road you'd just need to keep them moving, they'll steer themselves."

"For myself, I'd just as rather drive to Fairhill, leave the cart on the edge of town and walk around.  It's not our cart anyway.  But if you want to go through town, I'll not hide.  I'm pledged to the Ree...the Gardener now.  Shandril'd see things straight if anyone tried to stop me."

Fergus could stand the mockery of the townsfolk for the time it took to get through Fairhill.  Everything would be fine, as long as his parents weren't in town.

"Well, one hopes it was a pleasant dream, Fergus!" Eilieen brightly replies, blissfully unaware of Fergus' shades of pink.  Or rather, not unaware of the colour, but of the meaning.  Fergus is, after all, Fergus, and nothing like the people at her former temple.

...and they did't exactly blush much, either.  Unless it for calculated effect.

She smiles back at Ozzy and gives a small bow.  "I'll assume you meant the warming light of the sun.  If not, my thanks."  Erista receives a suspicious stare.  No, no cleaning spell...pity.  But a new cloak.  Lucky, lucky mage!  She needs to take some time in the town, herself.

Which brings them to the problem of Fergus.  "I would rather not expose you to such, Fergus," she decides.  "Best we leave the wagon behind, if it comes to that, and continue on foot.  Though honestly, we're doing the town a favour, helping look for their lost chalice.  One would think they could be more appreciative!"  A small stamp of the foot follows, then Eilieen pats the big man on the shoulder.  "We shall go around," she assures him.  "And leave the cart."

It's not nearly as important as the feelings of one of her friends.

"Sure!" Erista agrees to the plan, in case anybody was wondering, although she does step back a little from the splashing mud when Eilieen stamps her foot.  "Aarnr's got the right idea, I think.  So long as we're taking it to the edges of town anyway, perhaps one or two of us can go on in and sell it to somebody.  For grub," she allows, "Or possibly money if that's what they have on hand.  The Oxes'll get better care from someone as paid for them than if we just cut them loose, too," she points out, affirming that the proper care of the oxen is absolutely her foremost concern.

A decision reached, the cart is loaded up with various packs, the fire is carefully extinguished (though, truth be told, in the damp conditions the flames offer little resistance to this), and the group set off along the track towards Fairhill.

Fergus drives the cart, while Aarnr and Colwyn observe carefully, taking note of every flick of the reins and encouraging word.  Others either walk alongside the vehicle, or take their tern riding in the back alongside the gear.  While it may be just as wet there, the journey is less tiring, and features a lot less mud.

Perhaps unsurprisingly the few people they meet on the road, even as they approach the village, pay little attention to the cart, or to Fergus.  Most of them seem lost in their own thoughts.  Depressing ones, apparently.  Probably about rain, or stolen good luck charms.

Corian makes a suggestion as they enter the village itself, "Perhaps we should retain the cart until after we have visited Grimwood.  It will make it easier to bring back the spoils of our venture.  We can always trade it when we return to the village."

A halfling approaches the cart, stops, and turns his back.    Two men clad in uniforms - local Watch by the looks of them, observe the cart and its occupants.  One of the nods to Fergus, and offers a friendly, "Hello." as the group pass them by...

Erista waves to the halfling, but otherwise rides with her arms folded behind her head, looking up at the clouds.  "Works for me," she agrees, a bit sleepily, to Corian's proposal.

<Backpost> Aramil eats his dinner and then crawls into his blanket to sleep. It seems that all this walking still uses up a lot of the half-elf's energy, or maybe he just wishes to be warm and dry. Neither is found this night and although awake he spends his time lazing in the roll rather than getting up. As the weather seems determined to continue to be wet, Aramil finally gets up when some else decides to get breakfast. Even the amusing situation between Fergus and Eileen doesn't get a response from the sulking half-elf.Grumbling about the weather he refrains from comments about the cart. It would seem that the half-elf doesn't care about it, but that might change if he has to carry lots of plunder back out. </Backpost>

Heading into the village seems to echo Aramil's feelings about today. The bleak weather, or maybe the loss of the holy artefact, seems to have made the locals quiet and depressed. Even seeing Lannet doesn't get much of a reaction from the Half-elf. When the local watch call a friendly "Hello" to Fergus Aramil then remembers the farmer's reluctance to return to the village. Threw the fog effect this weather is having on his brain, Aramil wonders what is the problem. For a man who is so open and easy to understand, the puzzle about Fairhill finally gets Aramil over his sulks and depression. He is soon humming to a song that is sung in the inns and taverns of Varagost.

Unlike Aramil, Aarnr is having a great time !  A pleasant drizzle falling and he is finally allowed to sit up front with Fergus, even if he has to trade places with Colwyn on and off as the pair seek to master the arcane art of getting oxen to go where you want them to.

Indeed, the priest is so engrossed in the task that he neglects to sneer at the guardsmen as they pass by, though like the Half-Elf this serves to remind him of Fergus's need to avoid those who live in this vast cosmopolis they call a village.

"Thou want to skirt around the outside now ?" the big man suggests to Fergus. "Colwyn can take the reeky reins and I'll grab the beef-witted beasts' halters ... between the two of us we can fobbin' drag the beslubberin' boar-pigs along if we have to !"

Moving up to the fore, Aarnr stoops to have a word with the pair. "An' ye cockered coxcombs put one froggin' foot wrong an' I'll be dinin' on roast ox tonight, ye muckin' well mind me ?!!" he informs them in a low, menacing tone.

OOC: What do you need Handle Animal for when you have Intimidate ? ;>

"Hello, Lannet!"  Eilieen waves brightly, wondering why the Halfling turns his back.  Well, it could be because of the unpleasantness of before.  "We really do need to find their chalice.  Look at these poor, miserable people.  Fergus, if you wish to stay, by all means.  I suspect they have more to concern themselves at the moment.  But if you need to go, now would be the time."

She rolls her eyes as Aarnr does his level best to browbeat the oxen into obeying.  "If you think we'll have enough 'spoils' that we need a cart, Corian...very optimistic of you."  The Priestess fingers her sadly worn cloak.  "We have not done so well thus far, and haven't had much luck helping people."

That last gets to her more than the lack of finery.

The journey through the village goes smoothly.  The steady drizzle continues, but the oxen seem content to keep going at their steady pace.  Their response to Aarnr's presence, and his threats and demands, is to trudge along the road, chewing the cud.  In other words, they act as if the priest is wholly irrelevant to them.  Which he may well be.  They understand the reins, the cart behind, and the road ahead.  They even understand, on a very basic level, the encouraging words of a driver.

Threats of violence and talk of retribution are meaningless, so they don't listen to them.

At one point, as the cart passes along one side of the village's market place, one man recognises some of the people with it as the strangers who had been taken in to talk with Shandril yesterday.  He speaks to another, who points them out to a third, then a fourth... and the cart's passage out of the northern end of the market is accompanied by a ragged cheer, and cries of, "Get the Crucible back!" and "Make the thieving bastard suffer!"

The temple of Freya and sundry smaller shrines, stand close to the road where it exits the village running north.  Beyond the temple, it is immediately noticeable that the road is even more rutted and time-worn than that to the south of the village.  Clearly nobody has tried to keep the road to Grimwood in good condition, at least not for many years.

And still they carry on, leaving Fairhill behind them.

As the road leads further north, the land rises, becoming more and more bleak.  Rough, rock-strewn hillocks covered with heather, gorse and briars, interspersed with low-lying areas of marshland where the frogs call constantly, the calls carrying eerily in the cold damp air.

And there, in the distance, they finally spot a dark smear across the horizon which can only be Grimwood.

And, as if some sort of omen of ill fortune, there is a hill to their right, too even in shape to be natural, and with five stone stelae standing on its crown, like the fingers of some vast hand clawing at the low clouds...

Fergus is quite content on the drive in to Fairhill.  As a young man better known for his brawn than his brains it was rare for Fergus to win praise as an able student and the idea that he may have useful skills to teach comes as quite a novelty.  Not that there is much to teach about driving oxen.

As the party comes within sight of Fairhill, Fergus seems to shrink in on himself.  He pulls his hood, already up against the drizzle, further down over his eyes and he hunches slightly.  It is only after the first greetings are exchanged that he seems to remember his promise not to hide, straightening his back and his shoulders.  He doesn't say much but by the the group leaves the town, Fergus is a study in determination and not even the shadow of the Grimwood or the ring of sentry stones can diminish his resolve.

Eilieen waves happily at the people cheering them on, though some need correcting.  "No, no," she calls out.  "No suffering.  Just getting your Crucible back!"  Another wave, but she can't help seeing how grim some of the faces look.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be the thieves if that lot got ahold of them," she mutters, settling back into place on the cart.  Ahhh, so much better than walking.  "This was a grand idea, Corian."

Her pleasure soon turns to foreboding.  The land grows grim and dire as they continue, much like the focus on Fergus' face.  Eilieen peers about, shivering as the damp seeps into her clothing.  Even the croaking of the frogs - normally a sound to put a smile on her delicate features - seems ominous.  Go-back go-back go-back, they seem to call.

The standing stones merely complete the descent into darkness.

"Suddenly not looking forward to this," the Priestess murmurs, crossing her legs and placing her spear across her lap (carefully - wouldn't do to skewer Oswald).  "Zadastha, watch over us with your wise eyes, carry us in your gentle hands, shield us from darkness with your shining hair."

Erista's gentle doze is quickly broken by the worn road, and she finally climbs up to sit next to Fergus at the front.  Seeing the hill, she says, "Wow."

After a moment's thought, she goes on.  "If I ever have a place I want to keep people out of, I want to build one of those.  I'd think that'd do for pretty much anyone with any kind of sense."

Having set the oxen straight (to a simple barbarian the effect is explained by the cause, so his menacing words indeed seemed to produce the desired outcome), Aarnr is midly annoyed to find his seat taken by one of the halflings, but before he can remonstrate with the guilty party he is confronted with the approbation of the villagers, and is forced to watch them carefully until they are out of sight.

But as they leave Fergus's home behind, a more dire yet warning is heard, as the foul cries of Tsathogga's get are an ever present threat.

The standing stones seem almost welcome in contrast.  "What the frog is that ?" the priest asks, looking to Fergus and Corian as the most likely to know.

Corian frowns at the too-symetrical hill and the stones on its summit.  "A warning, mayhap.  Before the Grand Duchy was founded, and spread its mantle over the land west of what is now Bard's Gate, there were tribes of savage hunters and warriors who lived around here.  A few of their ilk still live to the east of Bard's Gate, in the Forest Kingdoms."

"This hill might mark a territorial boundary, a sign for others to stay away, or possibly to warn its builders that they were getting close to yonder wood."

"Or it could mark the grave of some tribal chieftain, or a dynasty of them, since the five stones might mark individual graves."  He looks at Fergus, "Do the people of Fairhill tell any tales of this hill, or know aught of it?"

"Or it might mark a blessed occurence, such as a manifestation of a god's power," Eilieen chimes in.  "Who can say?  Without getting closer, or knowledge from Fergus...well, there could be any number of reasons."  She's starting to babble, Eilieen knows, and clamps her mouth shut.

Nervousness can be contagious, and she doesn't want the others following her down that path.  Truthfully, she also doesn't want the others looking down upon her; they don't seem terribly phased by all of this.

Erista nods slowly.  "Yyy-eah," she agrees.  "That could be blessèd.  I bet one of the really happy Gods said, 'Hey, let's make it look like a giant skeletal hand is reaching up to snatch someone and drag them into the earth!  It'll be a beautiful spot for weddings.'  Sometimes I don't think they quite understand us little folk."  She seems to be - rather graciously - including Humans in as little folk this time, at least by comparison to Gods.

Ozzy takes out his lute, feeling the concern and tension building within his fellow travellers. Taking just a moment to tune the instrument, he begins strumming as he sings quietly anough to reassure his companions,

'Cause that night the sun in retreat
 Made the skyline look
 Like crooked teeth
 In the mouth of a man
 Who was devouring, us both

You're so cute when you're slurring your speech
 But they're closing the bar and they want us to leave

And you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along
 No you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along...

As he plays, his small legs swing off the back of the wagon, keeping time to the old Death Carriage for Cutie tune.

I'm a war of head versus heart
 And it's always this way
 My head is weak, my heart always speaks
 Before I know what it will say

And you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along
 No you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along

And you can't find nothing at all
 If there was nothing there all along
 There were churches, theme parks and malls
 But there was nothing there all along...

Their spirits... er... bolstered by Ozzy's music, the group continue on, passing the sinister looking hill.  Closer, the stones look less like grasping fingers, and more like gaunt giants watching the track.

Not exactly reassuring.

Unless compared to the shadows under the eaves of Grimwood.

It is, perhaps, just a little after noon when the cart moves in below the trees and out of the rain.  The wood is quiet.  No birdsong, no hurried movement of squirrels along the boughs or frantic scurrying of rabbit.  Only silence beneath the fungus-laden trees.

The trail is still visible though, just.  And there are footprints in a patch of muddy earth near the edge of the wood.  Booted footprints heading into the wood.  When Aarnr stands in the mud alongside them, his own prints, though about the same size, are not so deep.

The oxen snort nervously as Fergus drives them further under the forest canopy.

Despite his interest in exploring the sinister hillock on the off chance there's some undead lurking about up there in need of slaying, the dark and forbidding woods and the wishes of his companions persuade Aarnr to leave them be for now.  The party have to come back this way after all, and he's sure they'll keep.  Or at least not rot away entirely ...

The halfling, as usual, sings gibberish ... but the tune has a beat to it that is not unpleasant, and the priest happily hums along as he picks it up, if well off-key, and for some time after Ozzy stops, though the discovery of the prints in the mud thankfully ends his musical interlude.

"Froggin' big puttock," Aarnr surmises as he compares them to his own footmarks, eyes shining as he warms to the challenge they represent.  "Can we follow them ?"  This with an eye to the oxen ... though the way this alledged trail is going, he can't really see much to distinguish it.

Eilieen slants Ozzy a look from under half-closed eyelids, but refrains from comments.  His singing isn't helping her at all...but it seems to be doing wonders for his own spirits, and so she lets it pass.  "Devouring," she murmurs, then shudders.  How wonderful.

It's wonderful to finally be out of the rain - her travel cloak is long-since soaked through - but the silence is unnerving.  The fungus doesn't help; disgusted, Eilieen covers her nose and mouth with a corner of her cloak, smells the dampness, and gives up with a huff.  "Footprints, Aarnr?"  Oblivious as to what they might demonstrate, the Priestess peers over the side of the wagon.  "Perhaps this is what we seek.  Certainly it might be a good idea to see where this soul is heading."

Given the mud, Aarnr is sure he can follow in the wake of the wayward 'soul', but leaves it up to Fergus to determine if the oxen are able to make a go of it.

"Aye," he tells the priestess. "What do thou reckon, Fergus - can thou steer a path through there ?"

<backpost>
"I dunno," Fergus freely admits, "I've never had cause to come this side of Fairhill before.  Still it's just stones and a hill, right?  Can't be that bad."
</backpost>

At the eaves of the forest, Fergus halts the oxen, not that they need much persuasion.  He is still determined to see the task through, however unpleasant or dangerous it may become, but he needs time to think about the best approach and Eilieen and Aarnr have hit on the first difficulty.

"I'm pretty sure I can follow it, but that might not be the best idea.  It takes a fair bit of space to turn a cart around and if the trail gets narrower, we might get stuck.  And trying to get oxen to walk backwards is a pig of a job, in case that's what you're thinking."

"I'll try if you want me to.  Or we could tie the oxen on a long lead here.  If we leave them loose, they'll probably wander back to town eventually."

"Reckon we could lift the froggin' cart between us, if it came to it," Aarnr reminds Fergus.  To suggest otherwise would be a slur upon his manhood, and he's warming to the challenge.  Would have been too easy just to walk here.

"Thou know which is the way to the poxy wizard's tower ?" the priest asks Corian, the look on his face suggesting it had better be one or other of the paths before them.

The track is muddy, but once below the canopy of Grimwood, the going eases a little.  The oxen, though nervous, just keep trudging onwards, and the cart, naturally, follows behind them.  Progress slows from time to time, and at one point everybody except Fergus is forced to dismount and push the cart, but they do manage to keep moving.

Almost like a blessing from the gods, though probably not Bowbe, more of the footprints are found on the trail a little way into the wood.  It looks like whoever made them was following the ancient track.

The woods are darker as they move further in, though they remain eerily quiet.  Patches of phosphorescent fungi infest the trees, glowing in strange, sickly colours.  They're unpleasant enough that the sight of ordinary flames, glimpsed between the trees, is almost a welcome relief.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:55, Fri 17 Aug 2012.

The group move forward cautiously.

It becomes apparent that there is a clearing ahead, containing a ruined keep.  "Eralion's manse." murmurs Corian, "All of the treasures within shall be ours."

If he is concerned, at all, about large heavy individuals in large heavy boots, it doesn't show.

The structure itself is crumbling, and there are gaps in the walls in many places.  The flames seen through the trees turn out to be small fires, placed around the southern end of the building.

Concealed among the trees and undergrowth at the edge of the clearing, away from the fires, the bold adventurers study the structure, looking for any sign of whoever is still be using it.  Their concealment is aided by the shadows beneath the trees, and the general gloom of the rainy afternoon.

Apart from the fires, there is no sign of life.  The disused track curves around to approach the northern end of the keep, and the gatehouse.  The portculis is closed, but there seem to be no guards on duty.  None that are visible, at any rate...

Ozzy scans the way around the keep and sighs. " Looks like all the good holes in the wall are pretty well lit up." he says, " I would offer to scout ahead, but I'm not sure what the safest route in would be at the moment. Any suggestions?" he asks, already stretching his short legs and limbering himself up for whatever conflict would be next.

Erista hmms to herself.  "I say," she says, slowly, "We put out a fire, and ambush whoever comes out to start it again."

"An' while we're doin' that the tardy-gaited totters within'll be watchin' an' waitin' with their fobbin' bows," Aarnr snorts.

"If the reekin' roof is in as poor repair as the walls, why don't we just froggin' climb up the outside an' bring it to the gleepin' goat-biting gudgeons ?" the priest suggests, speculatively eyeing the dark-shrouded corner of the building, close at hand.

Ozzy considers both options, but holds concern for the dwarfs demolition suggestion. " I'm sure we could 'bring the roof down' - but wouldn't we all drop with it?" he says to Aarnr, looking thoughtfully toward the first torch on the NE corner of the keep. It was near a sizable hole on the east wall, easy enough to slip through without notice.
" Can you extinguish it remotely or does someone need to run up and pull a wet sack over it?" he asks Erista, seeking clarification on his preferred choice of plan.

"Ours?"  Eilieen cocks an eyebrow at Corian.  "Note the fires, Corian.  Others have laid claim before us.  It remains to be seen if their claim should - and could - be contested."

She studies the keep alongside the others, pursing her lips thoughtfully.  "Are we not putting the cart before the horse, so to speak?" she finally inquires.  "We know nothing of who - or what - might reside within this place.  We should determine that before carrying out bloody-minded plans, I would think."

Fingers drum against her spear-shaft.  "Perhaps scouting would be best.  Nothing serious - just enough to ascertain the nature of our potential hosts, wouldn't you say?"  Another rhetorical question.  "Would that be possible for the master thief of Tsar, Colwyn?  Or the light-footed Oswald?"

Fergus looks dubiously towards the ruined keep.  "Be careful.  I don't like this place at all."

Fergus jumps down from the cart and fetches out his kit, including his scythe.  Looking again to the fires he says, "Why are they out there?  I mean, the fires I can see are across from holes in the wall, right?  But if they're to light up people coming close, then why have them outside the walls?  Anyone could come and put them out.  You don't think they might be there to keep something in, do you?"

He sounds worried.

"Why are thou starin' at my froggin' belly ?" Aarnr is much distracted from the topic at hand by Ozzie's odd behaviour.  The priest is well over six feet in height and decidedly non-dwarvish, save perhaps for a penchant for violence. :P

Putting out fires without a wet sack sounds like witchery of the worst kind, so Aarnr elects to ignore the halfling and address Eilieen and Fergus concerns instead.

"The puttock says what's in there is his and ours," Aarnr reminds the priestess that their erstwhile patron is paying them for this service, albeit obtained under false pretences, and it's a bit late now for worrying about such niceties.

"Keep wolves away," the priest suggests to Fergus, grinning horribly at anyone who realises that means such beasts or worse are therefore out here where the party are gathered.  Which reminds him. "Hedge-pigs won't think it froggin' strange that their fire's gone out ?" he relents on his decision to ignore Ozzie. "We climb up and in, we can be stickin' our swords in the guts-gripin' giglet's gizzards before they can escape !"

Colwyn thinks for a moment, before venturing a guess, "Them fires is bein' outside the walls fer at some bugger's bein' inside watchin' them from behind some rocks.  They can see any poor sod goin' near the fires, without bein' lit up so bright theyselves.  There's bein' no fire near the gate, though, so I reckon that'd be a trap.  I's wagerin' most of them's bein' roun' there, waitin' on some poor fool ter be comin' in the front door."

Noting Eilieen's concerns, Corian says quietly, "I'd remind you that, in all probability, at least one of the items inside those walls, such as they are, has been stolen from a temple of Freya, and we are sworn to retrieve it.  I suspect that the thief, or thieves, will not simply hand it over to us without resistance.  Violence might become necessary."

"Scoutin' might be a good plan." Colwyn agrees, scratching at his cheek.  "I can go up the wall, quiet as a mouse, an' see if'n I can't get a look through some of them winders.  I ain't goin' near them fires, mind."

"An' I's agreein' with Aarnr... I's bein' damned if'n I's come all this way out of me way, jus' ter go back empty 'anded."

"We don't know it's there," Eilieen points out - reasonably - to Corian.  Faced with resistance from three sides, she sighs, but doesn't give.  After all, it's not the first time she's had to explain opposing viewpoints to a crowd of associates.

At least this time they're not all in various levels of undress.

"I merely note that we might want to ascertain what sort of people with which we're dealing before simply killing the first of them we can lure out," she explains, exasperated.  "I'm all for finding the Crucible and exploring decayed, damp ruins full of foul fiends pouring pustulance...all right, that's a total fabrication, but one hopes you see my point.  Scout first, so that the violence is at least morally defensible."

A hrrumph follows.  "Honestly, if people would only listen to what I'm saying...in any case, Colwyn also feels garnering some knowledge of the situation is wise, and as he is our scout, his thoughts ought to carry some weight."

She considers Fergus' questions and Colwyn's theory.  "It seems to make sense, about the fires.  I bow to your greater knowledge, Colwyn."  Her lips purse.  "On the other hand, it doesn't hurt to be wary in case Fergus' idea holds true."

"I didn't say anything about killing anybody!" Erista points out, giving Eilieen a faintly shocked look, as though wondering why the gentle looking Priestess's head is filled with such bloodthirsty notions.  "I wouldn't think an ambush would be any good less it brought us someone to ask questions.  But those fires don't look good for them, as I see it.  They've already got this forest to keep people away - nobody can be sitting ready all day, every day, in a forlorn place like this, just in case somebody comes along to invade.  Maybe if they've got those skeletons, I guess, they probably don't get bored, but fires like this can't be kept up all the time either.  They're ready and waiting, and that means they've got reason to think people might be coming after them."

Aarnr's brow furrows as he tries to follow Eilieen's line of argument, but he was well out of his depth with 'pustulance' which he's leaving well alone and on his way back to the shallows by the time the priestess got to 'morally defensible'.  Something to do with shoring up morale, perhaps ?

"Don't need the fires in daylight," the priest points out. "Wolves only hunt at night.  And," he concedes with ill-grace, "thou can see people coming at thee too."

There does seem to be too much talking going on for Aarnr's liking, and he's not keen to contribute to any more of it. "Get a look inside ... good plan," he tells Colwyn. "I'll come with thee."

<Backpost>In this non-city like situation Aramil is almost useless, though his sword would come in handy. He sighs as the group moves through the woods and isn't too surprised to see the fires. He feels having any fires in such an unwanted place is natural is not sure about the reasons people are discussing the need or reason for the fires. Being so out of his depth the half-elf refrains from commenting, but he does know a good suggestion when Ozzy talks about scouting. Finally in a break of conversation the half-elf opens his mouth and reminds the group he is with them.</Backpost>

"I agree with Ozzy about scouting. Going in without any knowledge of the situation would be unwise, even if you just want to remove the occupants from the tower. Aramil says with a smile at the large bear known as Aarnr. "I'd offer to help, but my ability to scout is lacking to say the least. Maybe its time to see the group use the their unique abilities, though writing ballads isn't going to help mush here I think." the half-elf adds to his previous statement.

Ozzy chuckles. His da had told him that playing music was never going to provide him a steady paycheck and that he would need other skills later in life. Fortunately for him, he had such. One talent, when he couldn't sing himself into a pocket of coin, was doing lookout work for other lowlife associations he had met from tavern to tavern. Relying on this unmentioned talent, the little halfling bard says, " Aramil says go and thats all I wanted to hear." and then pulls up his hood, ducking low to the ground as he scurries out of the underbrush in a beeline for the keeps outer wall. Once there, he stays low, moving along the west wall to the northern edge of the gaping hole, sliding through the firelit portion of the wall as little more than a moth shadow...

03:50, Today: Oswald Osbourne rolled (28) using 1d20+8. Hide ")

Ozzy moves along the western wall, staying low (even for a halfling), and picking his way carefully through the debris which lays scattered about the area.  He reaches the gap in the wall, scrambles up the slope of rubble, pauses for a moment, and then risks a quick glance inside...

Colwyn and Aarnr, meanwhile, approach the north wall and the portcullis.  Their approach is not quite as stealthy as Ozzy's, but luck does seem to be with them.  As they reach the gatehouse, Colwyn takes a look at the gate.  "Bloody thing be rusted solid." he growls, "They's like as not seein' no need ter guard it, since no bugger's bein' comin' in this way."

The rogue studies the wall for a moment, before taking a grip on a projecting stone and starting to haul himself upward... only to fall almost two feet as the stone pulls loose from the wall.  "Better ter be tryin' that again, I reckons." he says, grinning at Aarnr... 

Meanwhile, back on the edge of the forest, Corian notes Colwyn's false start, "Oh my, first there was that box, and now this.  I'm almost starting to lose faith in our self-proclaimed master rogue."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:03, Fri 24 Aug 2012.

Aarnr eyes the rusty portcullis speculatively, from the practical perspective of one who would be right at home in a besieging barbarian horde.  "Could probably bring the froggin thing down with the oxen," he suggests.  "Be gleepin' noisy, though !"

The big priest watches Colwyn's first attempt on the crumbling wall.  Having had recent experience in the partial demolition of the old cottage, he notes well not only the available hand and foot holds afforded by missing stones, but also those bits of it that are just waiting for an excuse to come tumbling down.

Grinning at the rogue, Aarnr spits on both hands before launching himself up the wall, exhorting Colwyn to, "follow me thou spleeny skains-mate !"

Erista watches, giggling a bit at Colwyn's expense, but says, "Oh, no, Colwyn's pretty good at what he does, really.  Everybody has bad days.  Look at Aarnr go!"

Aarnr climbs the wall with ease, like some sort of enormous spider.  Colwyn is close behind him...

As the priest of Bowbe reaches the window and prepares to take a look at whatever's inside, Colwyn slips again, sending a shower of small stones and debris clattering to the ground as he hangs from the wall by his fingertips. 

Corian sighs, "It seems that his bad day is extending into the following day too."  The mage looks for Ozzy, but can't see the halfling from this position.  "Perhaps we all should have taken a walk around the fortress, staying within the forest, and tried to see what we could."

Ozzy crouches still against the wall, peeking around the edge of the gap.

Aarnr glares at Colwyn, putting a finger to his lips and indicating he should froggin' well stay where he is.  Or that might just be the way the shadows of the fire make the priest look even angrier and more menacing than usual.

With the rogue warned off, Aarnr slowly peers in the narrow opening.

"Oh dear, oh dear."  Eilieen wrings her hands, bouncing from foot to foot in her concern for the scouts.  Or rather, in concern for Colwyn - Aarnr and Oswald seem to have their own situations well in-hand.  Bad days happen, but this seems to be a terrible one for the rogue, and at this distance should something awful transpire...

...well, she'll have the devil's own time reaching him swiftly.

"Disaster," she whispers when Colwyn slips.  "Erista, is their aught you can do?  You know, magically?"  The priestess wiggles her fingers.  "To assist him?"

Aarnr, at least, has made it within the castle without incident, and Oswald has completely disappeared from view.

"Ozzy'll find out what we need to know," Erista says, confidently.  "And Aarnr seems to be doing fine, for such a big...er, person."  She quirks her jaw to the side as she thinks about what she can do magically, and finally shakes her head.  "No," she admits, reluctantly.  "Colwyn is beyond help."

Having seen enough, Ozzy realizes that his friends may actually be concerned for his safety and well-being so he shrugs, turning slowly around to face the tree line. Once again ducking low and moving like a hunted rabbit, the little halfling slinks away from the hole in the wall, making a quick run through the firelight before scurrying through the grass in an attempt to regroup without being noticed by those he had overheard talking on the wall above him.

Ozzy rolled 17 using 1d20+8 ((9)) = Hide
Ozzy rolled 19 using 1d20+6 ((13)). = Move Silently

To Fergus, a mundane explanation for the sentry fires is quite welcome and he is perfectly willing to accept the others' explanations.  Scouting the keep also makes good sense.  Fergus won't be joining in, though.  He's far too big and clumsy to move with any degree of stealth.

Instead, he quickly checks to see that the oxen are okay before turning his attention to the woods around them.  Fergus thinks it unlikely that wolves would attack a group this size as Aarnr suggested but the Grimwood had an evil reputation and other, bolder predators may be about.

Listen 16, Spot low enough not to matter.  Fergus won't tether the oxen as they're unlikely to wander off while harnessed to the cart.  If something spooks them they'd likely snap the tether rope anyway.

Aramil watches as the three go off and start scouting, well sees Colwyn and Aarnr. He is happy not to be needed, but a little apprehensive at the rogue's issues with the wall. Even to the untrained eye the slips are obvious failures. Surprisingly though the bear, as Aarnr is now known to the half-elf but not to his face, seems to have a spiders touch. Looking at Corian he quietly says "What shall we do now? Are we expected to go in to retrieve whatever is inside? Do we attack and trust our luck?" The questions seem childish and without much thought. The half-elf is unsure of himself and its shows through his lack of understanding of the situation and what might be the outcomes of the scouting missions.

After a few moments, Ozzy returns, remaining close to the base of the wall until he reaches a point where the forest is closest to the fortress, and where he can make his way into the shadows beneath the trees.  From there he skirts  the edge of the clearing until he is able to rejoin his companions to make his report.

Colwyn doesn't move a muscle.  he simply hangs from the wall as, above him, Aarnr hauls himself up to peer in through the narrow window...

Erista pats Aramil on the hand.  "We just wait 'til Ozzy gets back," she says, reassuringly, not noticing the stealthy fellow-halfling coming up behind her.  "He'll have the answers we need."

Ozzy giggles, proud of himself for making it over to the keep and back unnoticed. Tugging on Erista's robe, he makes his presence known before rambling out a quick summary of his findings, " There is an open courtyard behind the wall, but my view was partly obscured by a crude wooden palisade which blocks the opening.  Through gaps in it, I could see that there is a small chapel to the left of the hole, though it looks to have seen better days.  There are also several burned wooden buildings in the yard - stables and storage sheds perhaps...and..." he pauses to take a quick breath and adds, " There are two goons on the wall speaking in a gutteral language I couldn't discern." Then he looks back toward the keep, wondering if Aarnr had yet found the two talking on the wall overhead.

Aarnr barely surpresses a cluck of disappointment.  He'd so been looking forward to gaining the roof and cutting a bloody swathe down the stairs, but this ...

Ah, no help for it.  He's just going to have to go back to the others !

Gesturing to Colwyn to begin his ascent, the priest follows swiftly after.  Perhaps a little too swiftly ...

While Ozzy reports his findings to the others, Colwyn and Aarnr start to make their way back.  Climbing on the rain-slicked stones of the keep  proves increasingly difficult, and both men are forced to drop the last few feet, and scramble to maintain their footing on the rubble-strewn ground.

Neither of them, fortunately, seems injured as a result of their venture.

They make their way back to their allies just in time to hear Ozzy mention that he heard voices talking on the wall above him.

Colwyn, perhaps to assuage his feelings of uselessness following his failed attempt at climbing the wall, feels compelled to mention his own findings, "Bloody gate's rusted shut.  Like as not ain't been open fer years.  Maybe not since ol' what's 'is name upped an' died."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:48, Fri 31 Aug 2012.

The priest swiftly overcomes his disappointment and seems inordinately happy as he rejoins his companions where they skulk in the bushes, though perhaps not so much with the trivial matter of the difficult climb, but with the news he has to impart.

"Spiders !" he informs the group with relish, pointing back up to that narrow opening wherein he peered, "Froggin' great big boar-pigs of spiders !"

He eagerly awaits their reactions ...

Ozzy eyebrow lifts on one side as he tilts his head quizically at Aarnr. Looking up at the big man he asks, " Spiders? Talking spiders?" he shakes his head finding it all hard to believe, " We were both looking into the same keep, yeah? Cause I heard voices Aarnr. A brutal language which I did not understand, but as far as I know spiders dont talk... do they?" he looks to the rest of his companions for answers and the next tactical move.

Erista waves a hand.  "Don't be silly.  It's like that story about the blind men and the hydra.  You were looking into different parts of the keep, right?  So Aarnr saw spiders, and you heard talking, probably by somebody who keeps spiders.  Giant spiders.  And lives in broken forts in haunted forests."  She quirks her jaw a bit, and then looks up at the wizard.  "Corian?  Who does that?"

"Yeah," Fergus smiles broadly, supporting Erista, "I got mixed up like that once.  Well, prob'ly a few times."

Fergus is curious about the possibility of keeping "frogging great big boar-pigs of spiders".  His knowledge of animal husbandry doesn't really cover monstrous beasts.  How would you house them to keep them from getting away?  What would you feed them?  Could they be bred?  Why would you bother, anyway?

"Maybe they're keeping 'em for spider-silk?"

"The hairy, spare-legged scuts were talkin' to each other," Aarnr assures Ozzie.  "I couldn't understand a froggin' word of it, though."

"Maybe they came down from the mountains and set up their hog-ribbed home here in the Grimwood ?" the priest remembers Martin's ... well, it was probably meant as a warning not an invitation, upon reflection.

"Spiders." Colwyn mutters, "Why'd it got ter be spiders?"  What little colour he had in his face has drained away.  "I bloody 'ates spiders.  The little uns is all right, but the big buggers... I 'ates 'em.  'ad a mate once what got nabbed by a big spider.  Bit 'im, it did, an' 'e could scarce blink an eye fer three days while it tied 'im up an' stashed 'im in its nest."

"Then it ett 'im.  From the insides."

Corian gives Erista one of his puzzled looks, "I'm afraid I have no idea who would live in a ruined fortress in a monster-haunted forest and keep giant spiders as pets.  But I suspect they are not the sort of people that you would invite home to meet your family.  Unless, of course, you really dislike your mother."

He studies the structure, rubbing at the back of his neck and frowning, "Looking at the window, Ozzy and Erista could probably get in there, though it might be a tight squeeze, and then they would need to deal with the spiders, of course.  So that would probably not be the best location to attempt ingress."

"Does anybody have any other suggestions, or shall we try to enter where Ozzy heard the voices?"

Aramil listens first to Ozzy then to Aarnr as they both describe what they saw and heard. Ozzy seems to have a more believable report, where as Aarnr's comment about talking spiders is just plain strange. There are many stores of old about creatures such as these, but till now the half-elf thought these imaginary tales of entertainment or warning. Now it seems they might actually be true. Unsure of how this will effect the actions of the party, he stands quietly hearing the others comment.

As Colwyn retells the story of his friend the half-elf pales to the point of almost fainting and hopes that they stay away from the spiders. Luckily for Aramil he has not thought ahead to the possibility of the spiders following group, so he quietly agrees to Corian's suggestion to go in where Ozzy went rather than where the spiders were spotted.

Once it is pointed out to him that one of a manly stature hasn't got a dog's chance of squeezing through the opening to attack the spiders, Aarnr readily agrees to Corian's suggestion.

"If the gimps are up on the wall, me and Colwyn can froggin' well climb up and gut them," the priest offers eagerly, thinking to dispose of the guards before they can raise any alarm.

"We can?  I means we can." Colwyn confirms, though his nod is more hesitant than enthusiastic.  "We can go up an' over the wall, an' off the buggers afore they know's we's there."

Then he notices the way Eilieen is looking at him.

"Well... I means we can go up an' see who they is, an' we's maybe offin' the buggers, once we's knowin' it's the right thing ter be doin' an' all."

"Look first, gut second,"

Corian nods, much more enthusiastically than Colwyn, "Splendid."

With the makings of a foolproof plan, the group set about securing the oxen to a tree, just for the moment (after all, once they have access to the building, they'll be able to bring in the cart for ease of loading).  Then they set off around the edge of the clearing...

Soon they are standing below the wall, listening to the voices talking above them.  Deep, guttural voices, speaking fairly quietly.

"Froggin' useless guards," Aarnr growls his disgust in Colwyn's ear. "Shouldn't they be marchin' about yellin' 'all's well !', not just froggin' standing there.  Puttocks."

"We're goin' to have to climb up, then fobbin' well work our way along the wall so we can come up behind the hedge-pigs."

(NPCd)

"The hedge-pigs are orcs." the Nameless Monk remarks quietly, "Or, at least, they speak the language of orcs.  They're saying some uncomplimentary things about somebody called Tavik."

A wry chuckle, "Apparently he can shove his orders... somewhere uncomfortable.  Seems that orcs hate their bosses too."

Colwyn nods in agreement, "I doesn't get all that, but it's soundin' like orc ter me."  He looks at Eilieen and grins, "So it's bein' all right ter be stickin' 'em, I reckons."

"Froggin orcs," Aarnr agrees, quite vehemently. "An' froggin Tavik too, whoever the sheep-biting scut is !"

"Let's get them," the priest growls, glowering up at the wall, "thou ready ?"

The question is directed at Colwyn, and, as Aarnr moves off without awaiting an answer, might well be considered rhetorical, though it would be unfair to attribute such linguistic manoeverings to the priest, when impatience vies with bloodlust as a far better explanation.

Aarnr fair throws himself at the wall ...

Erista gives Corian a cheerful look.  "So now you know!" she offers, making sure that he remembers to make a note for the next time someone asks him who would live in an abandoned fort and keep giant spiders for pets.

Without waiting for a reply from the priestess, Colwyn starts to clamber up the decrepit wall.  This time he actually does better than Aarnr, whose keenness to spill orcish blood seems to be distracting him from climbing.

Part way up, a sudden thought strikes the rogue - the two men are going to climb over the top of the wall, and will arrive there with their weapons still sheathed.  They've no idea how many enemies are on top of the wall (yes they heard voices engaged in conversation, but it could have been much more than two - he isn't enough of an expert to tell orcish voices apart when they're talking quietly - and there may be even more who weren't speaking at all).

Suddenly it all sounds like not so much of a good plan.

Below him a stone gives way under Aarnr's weight and hits the ground with a thump.  Colwyn freezes, expecting a head to appear over the parapet.  For several long, nerve-wracking heartbeats he waits to be discovered.  And it doesn't happen.

Finally he peers over the top, and a moment later Aarnr joins him. 

Colwyn pulls himself over the edge as quickly and quietly as he can, drawing his shortsword as he sets foot on the walkway...

(NPCd)

Eilieen frowns at the bloodthirsty attitudes displayed by some of her companions, and watches, bemused as Aarnr and Colwyn climb the wall.  To her ears, they seem to be making a lot of noise, but the orcs don't seem to hear it.  As the pair reach the summit, she clutches her holy symbol in both hands and silently prays for the miraculous to occur, and for both men to return unharmed...

Corian nods at Erista, "I live and learn, apparently."  He sidesteps a falling stone, and adds, "At least I do for the moment."

He sounds distracted though, his mind is clearly on other things as he watches Colwyn and Aarnr reach the top of the wall.  Perhaps he's considering exactly which of the means of arcane destruction he can unleash on the orcs to utterly annihilate them in the blink of an eye.

Or perhaps he's wondering if there might have been a better plan available.  He glances at Astral, not daring to tear his eyes off the two advance scouts for too long, "You know, it occurs to me that your marvelous little owl could have simply flown above the keep and reported anything it saw back to you."

Fergus helps tie the oxen and joins the others in the furtive dash across the clear ground.  Fortunately, those keeping watch do not seem particularly alert and no alarm is raised.

For his part, Fergus is still trying to decipher Colwyn's tale.  Eventually he decides that it must be impossible to eat someone from the inside.  Colwyn's clearly making stuff up to try and scare him.  It was common enough with stories of the Grimwood and Fergus resolved not to be fooled by this one.

As the Nameless Monk announces the presence of orcs, Fergus returns to the task at hand.  He may not understand the mysteries of giant spiders but with orcs you always knew where you stood...as far away as possible.  And, if discretion required, well then there was no standing involved, you ran in the other direction as fast as you could.

Still, Fergus figured that probably wasn't the right option here.  The group he was with was at least as handy to have about as the Highhill boys.  Sometimes you could stand your ground.

As Aarnr and Colwyn scale the wall and make the top, Fergus attempts to follow.  He finds the going difficult, not least because he can't find a good way of carrying his scythe and keeping his hands free for climbing.

"Maybe I'll wait for a rope." he says, embarrassed.

Climb = 8, sigh.

Aarnr scrambles over the parapet, landing lightly, crouching on the narrow ledge like a panther.  In one silent, fluid motion he rises, drawing his greatsword from its sheathe ...

"HEDGE-PIGS !" the priest roars, fair to shake a few more stones loose from the dilapidated walls, spittle dribbling down his chin as he challenges the orcs, his face a rictus of hate and anger. "MAGGOT-PIES !" he adds, charging towards them, sword held high.

"MALT-WORMS !  ARRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHH !!!" his bellowed insults become altogether incomprehensible as he closes with the foe, swinging his weapon with most deadly intent ...

Erista shakes her head.  "Naw," she replies to Corian.  "It doesn't qui---"  She breaks off when Aarnr's roar rings out.

Listening to the others getting ready to attempt the climb, Aramil eyes the structure warily and puts his pack with the oxen. No-one is likely to attempt to rub anything out here, unlikely anyone would be out in this terrible place, though there is little in the pack that would be devastating if it got taken. Putting his bow and arrows in his back and sheathing the sword he follows the others to the wall, a little shocked that they don't get noticed. Anyone with experience of this sort of thing might be thinking of other reasons, but the half-elf thinks its just the groups good luck rather than the sentries lack of perception.

As they walk Aramil quietly tells the tale of a great hero getting ready to attack an evil creature terrorising the area. As the half-elf recites the tale the members of the group sense the courage of the long dead hero and seems to take his courage with them.

Ozzy watches and listens from one of the darker corners of shadow near the base of the wall. All this nonsense of orc speaking spiders has him on edge and extremely wary of getting too far ahead of anyone else at the moment. Muted by his own fear, Ozzy stands silent, watching the others do what they do best. Now did not seem a good moment to be singing about anything.

"There went me silent death plan." Colwyn mutters as the orcs start to turn to see who's making all the noise.  With the sudden revelation of their approach, the rogue casts stealth to the winds as Aarnr rushes past him.  He too runs to attack, thrusting the point of his blade towards the orc's chest...

The orcs turn as Aarnr barrages them with a tirade of insults.  One of them starts to lift a horn to raisse the alarm, though with the noise the priest is making it's entirely possible that an alarm signal would probably be moot in any case.

Down below, Aramil starts speaking, loudly reciting the words of a poem concerning the deeds of great elven heroes. 

The orc draws a deep breath and puts the horn to its lips... and Aarnr's blade strikes, cleaving horn and skull in twain.  The orc falls in a spray of blood, bone and horn fragments.

Colwyn's own sword strikes its target, and glances off the creature's scale shirt with a screech of metal.  Squinting, the orc raises its axe, two-handed, and Colwyn falls as the heavy weapon smashes down into his shoulder.

The rogue lays, unmoving, in a spreading pool of blood as the orc turns towards Aarnr, snarling...

OOC:  Ooooh!

Next round Aarnr will get an extra +1 0n attacks and damage from Aramil's bardic music.

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Colwyn Akbar       11
Orc                 2   AC=14            3


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Colwyn Akbar    : Dying

Ozzy cringes further back into the shadows of the wall as he hears the unmistakable sounds of combat. He cringes as he hears a grunt of pain from Colwyn and then the loss of his voice to music of the battle overhead. He glances uncertainly toward Aramil, unsure of the words of the poem and adding his own small voice with uncertainty, echoing a few key phonetic syllables, but unsure of their meaning, " ...Ah... Or... Sereg... Goth..." he intones when appropriate, adding backup vocals to the poem.

Aarnr snarls back, flecks of spittle flying towards the orc.  The priest roars again for good measure (strangely in time to Aramil's main theme) as he swings his great sword around in an arc that would most certainly have been hazardous to Colwyn's good health were the rogue still possessed of such or even able to stand.

But as he lunges forward, Aarnr finds his footing uncertain on the blood-slicked stones, and nearly topples over, his mighty sword thrust passing a good way shy of the orc.  Reduced now to complete incomprehensibility, the sounds from his throat echo Ozzie's tenative efforts, though with no little vehemence and venom:

"SMA ... CO ... FRO ... NOG ... PU .. !"

The orc is half a head taller than Aarnr, and a little more bulky.  still, considering its size, it is surprisingly nimble.  Aided by Aarnr's uncertain footing, it dodges backwards and sneers as the man's sword plunges past, missing its chest by a hand's width.

Still, the ferocity of the priest's attack gives his foe pause, and its retaliatory axe swing also misses the mark, smashing into the parapet and sending fragments of stone down to shower the group of adventurers who wait below.

And through it all, Aramil and Ozzy continue to recite the poem, Eändil carne Elwändamen cimendur, telling the story of Elwändamen, and his victory over the wyrm Adaerthmaugh the Iron Tooth.

Believing that her companions might be in danger, and beyond her reach, Eilieen makes a decision, and attempts to climb the wall to aid them.  Unfortunately climbing is not a skill they teach in the temple...

The Nameless Monk proves to be much more capable when it comes to scaling the the rough surface of the structure...


OOC: The battle continues...

Next round Aarnr will get an extra +1 0n attacks and damage from Aramil's bardic music.

Combatant         Init
Nameless Monk      26
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Colwyn Akbar       11
Eilieen             7
Orc                 2   AC=14


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Colwyn Akbar    : Dying

All Aramil's senses dull in a strange way as he recites the poem in an almost chant like manner. This ability to lose himself in the story with an almost magical effect had earn't the half-elf a reputation of being needed an almost all large gatherings of importance back home. Very few locals could match his skill at reciting a ballad or saga. All the falling debris is ignored, the half-elf may wonder later at the dust, and the sounds seem to fit into the poem like it was scripted. Ozzy's help adds depth to the performance though Aramil is unaware if his help. Some have wondered what exactly happens when Aramil begins such a recital, and many have attempted to take advantage of the unobservant bard.

Concerned for the safety of his friends above (not least because Aarnr seems determined to alert the keep's defenders) and emboldened by what can only be a great and glorious saga of elven heroism*, Fergus resolves to make another attempt at climbing the rough stone wall.

This time Fergus is more successful at finding hand- and foot-holds on the wall and soon he is clambering up at a fair pace.

*Fergus' imagination is more than sufficient to fill the gaps left by his ignorance of foreign languages, which is to say, the entire story.  Fergus version lacks the lyricism, romance and pathos of the original but fares better in the action scenes.

The monk reaches the top of the wall and scrambles over, just in time to see a howling Aarnr's greatsword rip through the orc's mail vest, and spread the stinking creature's equally stinking guts all over the stone walkway.  The orc is dead, even before it topples onto the makeshift palisade below and smashes it, leaving an opening into the courtyard.

Fergus clambers onto the parapet and looks around for any sign of an enemy.  Currently, though, there are only the three humans up there, and Colwyn, who looks less than well, and still isn't moving.

Corian takes a quick look through the gap in the stonework, and spots the broken palisade.  "We can get in here!" he yells, and starts towards the breached defences, "Quickly!"

Somewhere in the courtyard, a door bangs open...

OOC:

Combatant         Init
Nameless Monk      26
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Colwyn Akbar       11
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Colwyn Akbar    : Dying

Ozzy chuckles as the orc drops down and converniently opens the way into the courtyard. Pulling a javelin from his pack, the little halfling takes advantage of the opening, moving into the courtyard and turning with javelin raised toward the sound of the opening door.

"Bother and rot!"  With this, possibly her worst curse ever (barring the time she caught the High Priestess waiting in her bathtub), Eilieen hurries for the broken palisade, terrified that something has gone wrong.  She needs to get in, and quickly, in case any of her friends are injured and in need.

I knew this was a bad plan! she tells herself.  But it's not congratulatory, nor will it ever be voiced as an "I told you so"; instead, it's a mental castigation that she hadn't spoken up against this idea, but rather let it pass in the hopes of keeping everyone in the group in a positive frame of mind.

Positive frame of mind...really, Eilieen!  Positive and dead do not go well together!

With several more (silent) curses for herself, the priestess hurries in through the opening, spear in one hand, holy symbol in the other, and hunts for a way up to her compatriots on the parapet above.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:18, Sun 23 Sept 2012.

For a moment it seems that Aarnr will leap down after the gutted orc, for the pleasure of hacking up the body some more, but then he hears the sound of further foes landing on the parapet besides him, and whirls, ready to spit ... the Nameless Monk and Fergus ?

Even in his far-gone frenzy, some spark remains that is not completely given over to the god's beserker rage, and Aarnr recognises that the pair are friends (if not the fate of poor Colwyn whose life's-blood ebbs swiftly away), and he stays his wrath.

But then Corian's call to advance reaches his ears and the priest is away once more, racing along the stone ledge, looking for some way into the structure itself, else down to the courtyard ...

The courtyard is littered with rubble and burned wood.  The remains of a couple of burned wooden buildings are still standing, precariously (Aarnr hasn't been anywhere near them yet).  There is a chapel of some sort just to the left of the break in the wall, but it has seen better days, and not recently.

In the relative quiet following the death of the second orc, while Aarnr looks for a new foe, the door of the chapel opens, and another orc steps out, walks a few steps, and proceeds to relieve himself in the courtyard.

For a brief moment, Aarnr is poised on the brink of killing Fergus, or at least trying to do so, and then he turns and starts down a nearby flight of steps, taking them three at a time as he descends to the rubble-strewn courtyard below.  Fergus and the Nameless Monk are left, standing on the parapet, with Colwyn's unmoving form.

Corian points out the new break in the palisade, and Eilieen and Ozzy follow him into the keep, readying weapons as they go.  The trio spot the orc at the same time as Aarnr, as it stands with its back turned, urinating on the rubble in front of the ruined chapel.

Outside the wall, Aramil still recites the heroic tale, as he moves toweards the break in the wall, accompanied by Erista.

There is a yell from somewhere overhead, and the orc turns its head to look up at the bell tower, and catches sight of Aarnr...

An arrow clatters off the stonework between the Nameless Monk and Fergus, apparently fired from the bell tower...

OOC:

Combatant         Init
Nameless Monk      26
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Orcs               11  AC=14
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Dying
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 18:47, Wed 26 Sept 2012.

"Well," Erista says.  "Looks like we're in!"  Looking around, she realizes that in fact, it's only herself and Aramil that aren't in yet.

She gives Aramil something of a, `do you want to go first?' look, but her hands flicker in front of herself, as she mutters, "魔術 鎧".  That important bit done, she starts moving forward herself.

"Oh dear, oh bother," Eilieen chants under her breath at the sight of the orc.  Disgusting, foul creature.  Irreverent, to boot, and things are about to get sticky, it seems (not due to the creature's activities, mind, but what comes next).  But it turns, glancing toward the other direction, from whence rises the thudding of boots upon stone.

An arrow flies, as well.

"Drat."  Heart leaping into her throat, Eilieen sprints forward, intent on removing the obstacle from her path.  No filthy creature of darkness will stop her from assisting her beleaguered teammates.  And fortunately it's facing the other direction.  Not that Eilieen is cackling over its open back; no, no.  Rather, she's relieved the relieving orc isn't facing her with its open front.

So to speak.

Action: Charge the orc.  Stab with spear.  Hope to finish it so that she can check the health of her compatriots.

If someone else gets their first, she'll keep going to where it was looking and where the arrow flew.

...that map looks like something from L1, The Secret of Bone Hill.

Attack Roll: Oh, forget it.  Why do I even bother?  :)  Total of 9 + charge bonus = 11, plus whatever bonus attacking from behind grants.

Damage (optimisim!): 4.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:56, Mon 24 Sept 2012.

Fergus spots the fallen Colwyn and rushes to his side.  There were no orcs left alive up here, which was good, but the rogue was clearly not in a good way.  "Aarnr?"  Fergus looks to the cleric for aid but Aarnr has the battle fury in his eyes and is already leaping down the steps.  Fergus knows that Aarnr is prone to battle-lust but is still outraged by the man's callous disregard for his friend's plight.  Standing, Fergus yells down, "Aarnr, if you don't get your maggot-sucking, addle-skulled, frogging arse back up these stairs right now, we're going to have words!"

Fergus' fury peters out slightly towards the end as his embarrassment at using bad language (and in front of ladies, too!) wars with his need to cut through Aarnr's red-mist.  Perhaps fortunately, Fergus is interrupted by an errant arrow.  He hastily ducks down again, before calling "'Ware, archers!" and turning his attention back to assisting Colwyn.

In practical terms, Fergus is trying a Heal check to stabilise but with a 4 it isn't going to matter much.  Also, BBR, which one is the bell tower?  I'm a bit confused.

Either oblivious to or else spurred on by Fergus's cries (and the accompanying whistling of the stray arrow) Aarnr continues his headlong rush towards the orc.

The rubble clatters beneath his feet as he rounds the crumbling corner of the chapel to espy the creature wetting itself in anticipation of its death.  Bellowing like a wild animal, the priest bears down upon it, his sword swinging wildly, though the wayward point dips slightly at the last second, as if beating in time with the cadence of Aaramil's recital.

Ozzy catches sight of the Orc coming out of the chapel and decides to take advantage of the moment. He pulls his small arm back, launching the little javelin in hand across the courtyard. It wobbles in flight, coming down short of the target and sticking uselessly in the dirt. Ozzy's eyes go wide as he sees Eileen then charge the Orc, he would have never guessed her to have such brass...

ATTK: 10 (d20+5)[5]

When the half-elf seems to come to enough to notice his surroundings he becomes aware of being left behind with Erista. A slight change of rhythm occurs as he starts to move towards the gap in the walls. "Well," Erista says.  "Looks like we're in!" reaches Aramil and he waits for Erista to move, working off his mothers training of "ladies first". Then he suddenly thinks about the lady moving into combat and he hastens in before the little halfing, with his recital completely ruined with the change of tempo again. Taking a deep breath Aramil walks into the gap and through it now in the new tempo that he continues the saga he is telling his companions.

The Nameless Monk moves across to where Colwyn lays and gently pushes Fergus to one side, "Let me see him.  I might be able to help."

She examines the wound, as best she can through the mangled remains of the rogue's leather jerkin, then removes a piece of cloth from her belt pouch, which she presses against the injury.  "I can't heal him, but I can staunch the bleeding until somebody comes to help.  With luck, he will live that long."

Colwyn, still unconscious, groans fitfully.

"That's encouraging."

OOC: 17 on a Heal check is good enough for first aid.

Fergus screams at Aarnr to return and heal Colwyn, to no avail.  The monk kneels and starts to work on keeping the rogue from bleeding to death on the cold stone of the battlement.  And she seems to be doing a reasonable job.  He has suffered a grievous wound, but the blood flow has slowed to a mere trickle.

In the courtyard a roaring Aarnr, too far gone to heed Fergus' calls for aid, charges the orc, even as Ozzy's javelin lands nearby.  Eilieen rushes forward from the opposite direction, to add her efforts to the attack.  The creature leers as it reaches for its weapon, and realises, too late, that it still lays somewhere inside the derelict chapel.  A fact the orc regrets for the rest of its life (about two heartbeats).  Aarnr's blade fells it with a single blow, and leaves no doubt that it will not be rising again, at least not in this life.

Aramil and Erista enter the courtyard, following behind their companions.  Aramil continues to recite the epic poem, even as Erista takes the time to cast a defensive spell before risking her life in an orc infested ruin.

Another arrow skitters off the cobblestones, missing the Nameless Monk, and Colwyn, by inches...

Fergus actually gets a quick glimpse of the archer, before it ducks back into the shadows of the belfry.  Which is better than Corian, who can't see where the creature is hiding, rendering his magics mostly useless.

And, finally, all the noise in the courtyard appears to have had some effect.  The door of the chapel opens, and three more orcs stumble out, finding themselves in close proximity to Aarnr and Eilieen.  These, though, are definitely armed...

OOC: Yay!  Plenty of orcs to go round!

Combatant         Init
Nameless Monk      26
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Orcs               11  AC=14
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 17:38, Wed 03 Oct 2012.

Aarnr roars at the broken orc for just a bit longer before he runs out of steam.  Huffing and blowing, the priest looks like he's ready for a nice quiet sit down but is too amazed to see Eilieen on the far side of the corpse, holding her spear and looking like she's ready for a good scrap.  He nods his appreciation for her assistance, though he's too short of breath to actually say anything.

Indeed, when the nearby door swings open and more of the foe pour out, Aarnr's response is one of tired resignation in stark contrast to his usual enthusiasm at the prospect of mayhem, though he dutifully raises his blade and swings it menacingly at the foe while he waits to catch his second wind.

Ack!  Orcs!  And close enough to smell their dinner.  Or possibly yesterday's dinner.  Ew.  Eilieen briefly considers calling upon her doggie again, then realizes the Orcs are a little bit TOO close.  Summoning something would leave her open to attack.

Better to help Aarnr get through them quickly, then get to any injured members of the group.

Thus, knowing her friends are at her back and the berserk priest is beside her, she grits her teeth, takes the spear in both hands (her holy symbol draping over her left), and aims to stab through the heart of one of the beasts before her.  To her amazement, the blow hits cleanly, just shy of truly impaling the unfortunate creature.

Ichor.  Ugh.

OOC -

Attack 23 (crit confirmation fails by 2!).
Damage total 9.

"Taflegryn yn y tywyllwch!" Corian intones, shoving one hand out and pointing a finger at the chest of one of the orcs in front of the chapel.  One of the spinning balls of light springs from his fingertip, swings out in a long loop, whirling about to seek the orc and strike it from behind in a shower of sparks and coloured smoke...

"Take that, you foul beast!"

Peering cautiously around the corner, Erista sets a stone whirling low at her hip, and then flicks her sling, whizzing it up towards one of her fellow new arrivals.

Late-joiners need to stick together, after all.

"Quickly Fergus.  Put your hand here and press down.  Hold the blood in, and pin his soul in place.  I can take care of our friend in the tower."  Still keeping one hand pressing the cloth over Colwyn's wound, waiting for Fergus to take over the duty of saving the man's life, she uses the other to drag her sling from wher it is tucked through her belt.

"With luck the orc won't bother us any longer and we can concentrate on helping Colwyn."

Ozzy hastily grabs yet another javelin from the bundle on his back and hurls it across the courtyard at the Orcs. His aim is much better this time, but he frowns as it strikes and only manages a deep scratch to his opponent. " I must remember to sharpen those better next time." he mumbles to himself with disappointment.

ATTK: 20 DAMG: 1

Fergus peers across the roof of the chapel to the bell tower and briefly considers a bold dash across the roof timbers.  He reluctantly concludes that the odds of a painful, and perhaps lethal fall, greatly outweigh the chances of getting to grips with the orc archer.

He is about to head down the stairs to join up with the others in the courtyard when Nameless Monk asks him to help Colwyn.  Fergus does his best to do as she instructs, copying her position and keeping pressure on the wound.  He doesn't seem at all disappointed to be missing out on the fight and seems set on keeping Colwyn's soul pinned firmly in place, through brute force if need be.  If Colwyn survives the ordeal he is likely to have a palm-shaped bruise, and maybe broken ribs, to show for Fergus well-meant enthusiasm.

Though Fergus attention is largely directed at the task at hand, he is briefly disappointed that Nameless Monk doesn't go flying across the roof.  Using a sling seems so... mundane.

Aramil continues to recite the poem, and it does seem to be helping his companions...

On the parapet, the Nameless Monk explains to Fergus exactly what should be done to keep Colwyn from bleeding to death where he lays, then she moves aside and starts loading her sling...

Aarnr seems to be tiring, and his next attempt to hit one of the orcs is easily batted aside by the creature's own weapon.  The orc laughs, clearly finding the attack amusing.  And then it stops laughing and falls flat on its ugly face as a stone from Erista's sling crashes into its skull, just above its ear.

The other halfling in the group also seems to be getting into his stride.  Ozzy hurls his javelin and strikes one of the other orcs, though not to such spectacular effect.  While he does succeed in drawing blood, mostly he simply draws attention.  The orc howls and rushes towards him, raising a battered and rusted greatsword as it does so.

Ozzy sidesteps, and the blade bites only earth and rubble, which doubtless adds a notch or two to the already battered edge.

Proving to be equally nimble, Eilieen ducks under a roundhouse swing and lines up a retaliatory thrust of her spear...

Another arrow comes from the belltower, missing the monk, even though she stands in plain sight.  "Next time!" she mutters, smiling, and her sling starts to move in an accelerating circle.  Fergus keeps his head down, and tries his best to follow the instructions he's been given.

Eilieen's spear, driven by all the strength the priestess can muster, pierces the orc's filthy mail cleanly - probably the only clean thing the orc has experienced in its life - and the bestial creature falls, without uttering a sound.  Certainly cleanliness has moved it closer to its gods.

An instant later, Ozzy's assailant is struck down by Corian's magical bolt and slumps to the earth with a smoking hole in its back.

All falls silent in the courtyard...

OOC: Boooo!  Not so many orcs to go round!

Combatant         Init
Nameless Monk      26
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Orcs               11  AC=14
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 20:05, Fri 05 Oct 2012.

Ozzy whimpers as the orc falls over dead, leaping aside just as the corpse hits the dirt. Seeing the hole in its back the little halfling smiles wide, looking over to Corian and giving an exuberant thumbs-up. He starts to shout an equally exuberant noise of gratitude, but quickly clamps his hand over his mouth lest he make more noise and attract more falling greatswords. Shooting a fearful look to the oversized weapon laying in the dirt next to him, Ozzy heads for the chapel door, certain there was an inner staircase up to the bell tower. Reaching the doorway, he listens to the inside of the building while silently signalling his friends to follow.

Ozzy stops to listen at the chapel door as his companions get their breath back after the battle. 

On the battlements, Fergus continues to administer first aid, of a rudementary sort, to Colwyn, while the monk, who has given up her name as a show of devotion to her order, stands nearby.  Her sling whirls in a circle as she watches the belltower.

There is a movement, and the orc steps out from behind the wall of the tower, raises its bow... and howls as a stone hits it in the face.  Still, it shoots its arrow, and the monk makes a futile attempt at parrying the missile, only to have the arrow slices past her thigh, opening a minor wound. 

The orc ducks back inside the tower, even as the monk reaches for another stone...


OOC:

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Nameless Monk      11
Orcs               11  AC=14
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 17:51, Sun 07 Oct 2012.

Aarnr growls angrily, both at the ineffectiveness of his blow and the amusement of the orc, but the growl soon turns to a snort of laughter as Erista's sling stone fells the creature.  Spitting on it for good measure, the priest strides forwards, pushing past Ozzie to kick the door open and reveal what lies inside.

"Froggin' flax-wench !" he grunts.

Having heard something inside the chapel, possibly the archer in the bell tower, possibly not, Ozzy crouches down and sneaks inside as he walks on the balls of his feet. Best to catch them off guard than to face down another greatsword toe to toe. He carefully draws the dagger from his belt, eyes and ears open as he enters the chapel.

Move Silently: 20 - Hide in Shadow: 24

The monk ignores the wound on her leg - deeming it no worse than the scratches she has received in her duties to the order.  Instead she spends her time inserting another stone, in the sling, and setting the weapon revolving, in preparation for the orc to show its face again...

While others catch their breath, and survey the carnage in the courtyard, Aarnr strides across and kicks the door of the chapel open.

The interior of the structure is a shambles.  Whatever deity the place was once dedicated too, it has now been desecrated.  The fine tapestries which once adorned the walls have been daubed with crude symbols, marked in blood and excrement.  Most of the pews have been smashed, and the pieces are strewn across the floor.  There are signs that a campfire has been burning in the middle of the floor during the last few days.

Some of the pews, at the front of the room, close to the altar, are still intact.  The altar itself is marred by the same foul markings as the tapestries, and on it stands an ornate goblet, containing a black candle which burns with a pale light...

Behind the altar, atop an ornate wooden pillar, stands a statue of a winged human female, her right hand holding a longsword, while the left is raised, as if in blessing, and a sad smile on her beautiful face.  The statue, unlike everything else which looks to be part of the original chapel, has not been defaced. 

There are two figures in the chapel.  One stands among the pews near the front of the room, turning as Aarnr opens the door.  An orc!  It answers Aarnr's yell with a roar of its own, and draws its weapon - a shortsword...

The other, a sallow faced, not-quite human individual, who looks to have more than a hint of orc in his bloodline, stands alongside the altar.  In one hand he holds a shield with the image of a hideous horned skull, while the others still bears the taper that he used to light the black candle. 

Meanwhile, up on the parapet, Fergus and the Nameless Monk hear the roar from below, and an instant later the archer appears in the bell tower again.  The monk sends a stone whipping through the air, even as the orc releases an arrow in her direction.

Stone and arrow pass each other in mid-air, only inches apart...

And the monk turns, raising her free hand to bat the arrow aside.  Completing the turn, she sees the orc falling from the tower to land in courtyard with a loud thud...

OOC:  As one playmate falls, Aarnr and Ozzy invite two more...

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Half-Orc           18  AC=??
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Nameless Monk      11
Orcs               11  AC=14
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 19:01, Sun 14 Oct 2012.

Eilieen pokes her head into the ruined chapel and immediately her face screws up in utter disgust.  It doesn't take much to determine what sort of deviltry is going on here; not the specifics, but the general idea.  "Blasphemy," she mutters, her free hand already tracing arcane sigils.

A flare of power splits the air as she sends out her call, energies sizzling and coalescing before her.  For an instant, there's the scent of sandelwood.  In the distance, an animal gives glad cry, its howling coming closer by the second.  Then a shimmering golden shape appears before the priestess as she completes her call to Zadastha.

One hand raises and points at the orc.  "Go, doggie!" Eilieen calls.

OOC - Summon Monster (Celestial Dog) and directing it to attack the orc.

"Froggin' oath," Aarnr agrees with Eilieen.  As stuck up, self-righteous goddesses go, Muir isn't half bad, sharing with Bowbe a keenness to wet her blade and hatred of undead.

But let's face it, these are orcs, whether full blooded or not - what more incentive would any self-respecting beserker-warrior need ?

"Thou take the whey-faced fobber on the le ... on the ri ... that one ... oh frog it !" as the priestess's golden hound bounds forward, "never thee froggin' mind !"

"Thou !" he points his greatsword at the link-boy as he strides down the nave, perhaps lacking half a pace after his earlier workout, "thou paunchy, fen-sucked canker-blossom !  I'll send thy pig-hearted soul to thy fat-kidneyed master !"

The half-elf's ode continues as he slowly walks along following the less patient members of the group. Still only half aware of the situation surrounding him, Aramil is fortunate that no-one has targeted him. Yet anyway. Noting that some have gone into the chapel Aramil raises his voice so that hopefully everyone can here his story and gain courage from it.

As Aarnr challenges the full blood near the entry, Ozzy slides to the right, scooping up a small rock from the floor as he goes. Setting it in his sling, he pauses in the corner. Spinning and then releasing with an accuracy that surprises even the little bard, he can only grimace in disappointment when it merely scratches the half-breed...

ATTK: 24 (crit?16)
DAMG: 1 (2 if crit)

With the orc in the tower no longer in the tower, the Nameless Monk moves back to Fergus and applies a little more pressure to Colwyn's wound.

"Fergus, go and find Aarnr or Eilieen.  Whichever one you find first, tell them that Colwyn is dying and they're needed up here if he's going to live."  Not the exact truth, of course, but it should allow Fergus to convey the right degree of urgency when relaying the message.

Corian doesn't enter the chapel.  Instead he stays just outside the door and points at the orc that Aarnr is attacking.  He takes a deep breath and yells, "Taflegryn yn y tywyllwch!"

A familiar sizzling ball of energy hurtles from his fingertips, zig-zagging towards the orc...

While the monk does what she can for Colwyn, she furnishes Fergus with detailed instructions for bringing help to the stricken rogue.  The big farmer nods his understanding, and starts down the steps to find the others...

Meanwhile, down stairs, Aarnr runs into the chapel and attacks the nearest enemy.  But there is... something... about the place which doesn't seem quite right.  Perhaps it's the stench, which was pretty foul even before Aarnr intruded on the place, or maybe it's the dimness of the light, but the barbaric priest misses his mark for some reason.

Erista, having previously been highly successful with her sling, decides to stick with a winning strategy, only to see her stone strike the back of one of the remaining pews in the chapel, and ricochet off into the darkness.

A deep booming laugh comes from the area near the altar, and the half orc points a finger at Aarnr and  starts to speak, "Näytän sinulle pelkäämään, että... "  He pauses for a moment as Ozzy's sling stone opens a cut in his cheek, but sneers at the halfling as he carries on, "... Orcus nimessä." 

Aarnr's opponent takes advantage of a sudden hesitation on the part of the priest to lunge at him with its shortsword, opening up a deep gash in Aarnr's belly!  Things could have been worse, but the man twists aside at the last moment, and he survives what could have been a lethal blow. 

Aramil and Eilieen take up positions with Erista, in the entrance of the desecrated chapel.  The former continues with his inspirational poem, and is glad, as the fight continues, that he chose one of the longer elven epics.  Eilieen calls upon Zadastha for aid, and is pleased to hear the bark of the celestial hound again.  Joy turns to dismay as the animal moves to enter the chapel, only to fall, cowering and whimpering in the entrance.

From outside, Corian launches another of his orbs of magical energy, which hurtles into the stinking structure and strikes Aarnr's foe.  The orc staggers, but does not fall...

OOC:

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Half-Orc           18  AC=??
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Nameless Monk      11
Orcs               11  AC=14
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 10:36, Sun 21 Oct 2012.

Oh, that's not good.  The poor doggie...  But Aarnr demands her attention, the furious priest now bleeding from a vicious blow of the short sword.  "Abdomen wound," Eilieen mutters, flicking from worried pet-owner to business-like healer in an instant.  "Doggie, do what you can!" she calls, indicating the brute battling Bowbe's bleeding priest before boldly bolting across the ruined chapels floor to reach her friend.

"Despicable thing...not you, Aarnr," she mutters, reaching a pale hand for his back while beginning her chant.  "Zadastha, thy mercies upon this ill-tongued, silver-hearted ally!"

Well, they can't all be gems.

OOC - Assuming I don't lose the spell (Combat caster!), Cure Light Wounds on Aarnr for 7 points.  Healing domain rules!

Moving over to stand near Ozzy, Erista adds her own stones to his, whirling her sling over her head and sending another rock towards the half-orc in the corner.

Bowbe definitely seems to be napping !

Aarnr looks down in surprise at the cut in his not insubstantial belly, as concerned as both the halflings at the near miss of his stones.  The almost unnerving incantation doesn't improve matters, save to earn the half-orc a baleful look and a "Half-faced, ill-bred skains-mate !"

The priest tries a roar as he overarms his greatsword, but all that earlier running around (not to mention loss of blood) seems to have slowed him a pace or two and doesn't trouble his opponent overmuch to avoid it.

"Spellcaster!" hisses Corian, guessing at the meaning of the half-orc's words and pointed finger, and decides not to bother with Aarnr's opponent any longer.  There is a more serious problem to be dealt with.

Again the apprentice mage utters the words of magic, "Taflegryn yn y tywyllwch!", and again a bolt of energy flies from his hand.  But this time it bypasses Aarnr and the orc, and flies towards the half-orc at the back of the chapel.

The vile half-breed howls as the spell strikes...

Fergus rounds the corner of the chapel and pushes past those still gathered in the doorway in search of the two, well one really, that he is searching for.

"Miss Eilieen!  Colwyn's hurt bad and needs help.  He's up on the wall still.  There's a lot of blood."

As Fergus' eyes adjust to the darkness inside the chapel, he notices the orcs' desecration and scowls.  He roughly jerks his scythe from the crude sling on his back and stands ready to avenge the insult.

Those still outside might want to think twice about coming in.  Fergus is going to need a bit of room to swing.  Ossie, Erista, stay low ;P
This message was last edited by the player at 02:26, Fri 19 Oct 2012.

Moving a little closer, Ozzy lets fly with another sling stone, only to see it fly wide and strike  the one undesecrated statue in the chapel, before ricocheting off into the gloom.

The halfling grumbles as he readies another stone...

The desecrated chapel is filled with the yells and screams of combat...

Aarnr lashes out at the orc, and misses as the stinking creature steps aside to evade the wildly swinging blade.  Perhaps the half-orc has something to do with it.  Certainly he does seem to be chanting something again, and pointing at Aarnr...

A stone from Erista's sling strikes the half-human spellcaster above one eye, and produces a brief pause in his chant and a roar of pain, but the pause does not last long, and the chanting soon resumes. 

Ozzy sends another stone hurtling into the gloomy interior of the chapel, with little effect.

Outside the chapel, Aramil continues his own chant, strengthening his companions with words of courage and victory over dark foes.

Meanwhile the orc uses the momentum from its dodge to swing around full circle and drive its shortsword at Aarnr's face, only to have the priest raise his weapon at the last instant and push the filth-encrusted blade aside.

Fergus enters the chapel, angered by the destruction and sacrilege that he sees before him.  Quickly he passes on the Nameless Monk's message to Eilieen, even as he prepares to punish those who have defiled the chapel.  Eilieen reaches out her hand and touches Aarnr... and a pale, rose coloured light suffuses the man's frame. 

Standing just beyond the door, Corian directs another crackling bolt of energy into the building.  It strikes the half-orc in the chest, bringing another howl of pain, but the creature refuses to die...

OOC:

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Half-Orc           18  AC=18
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Nameless Monk      11
Orcs               11  AC=14
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 17:40, Wed 24 Oct 2012.

"There's a start," Eilieen mutters, glad to make up for the fact that her poor doggie continues to cringe and cower at the front steps.  Hefting her spear, she prepares to join Aarnr in his assault upon his orkish foe...'fair play' not being any part of the (mostly) sensible Priestess' lexicon.

But Fergus' shout catches her attention and, galvanized, she takes a quick glance to ensure she's not in danger before turning her back and bolting for the door.  "Zadastha's grace, thank you Fergus!" she cries, passing him en route.  With Fergus and the others, surely they can handle a single orc and his horrid master.

Bursting out through the doors, she hangs a left, knowing full-well she came from the right and there was no easy way up to the wall in that direction.

OOC - Full-out sprint for the stairs to get to Colwyn; since I was behind Aarnr, I figure I'm not really open to an AoO.

Fergus steps around the end of the nearest pew to come at the orc from the side.  Unfortunately, he finds it difficult to get a clear swing in the confines of the chapel and it is relatively easy for the orc to dodge away.

(It would help if he were left-handed, as it is Fergus has to swing overhand to avoid Aarnr).

OOC: It would also help if the dice roller would co-operate :P  Attack = 11

Ozzy does his best to remain unnoticed by the aggressors, even going so far as to sling another stone into the rafters which clatters harmlessly to the floor, coming nowhere near the intended target. " Huh... maybe I should be using the bullets he sold me with this." he says as he looks at the seemingly useless sling in his chubby little hand.

Attack: 6 :(

Erista chuckles, whirling her own sling.  She spares her attention briefly to give Oswald something of a `show you how it's done' look, which distraction is doubtless responsible for why her own shot - although somewhat closer - is also well away from the actual half-orc that she was aiming at.

Aarnr staggers for a moment as the whey-faced wizard attempts to unman him with dark magics, but though tired as he is, his sheer cussedness enables him to shake off the effects.

And luckier yet, he is able to distinguish Eilieen's healing touch from the other assaults on his person and avoids attempting to behead her in return, even managing a mumbled "thank ye" as he turns to renew his assault upon the foe.

Though whatever ails the pribbling pignuts fighting at his side appears to be contagious, as Aarnr fares no better, and indeed considerably worse than his comrades in arms, his own blow passing a good foot above the orc's head, though the stream of foul language directed at the orc, himself and his god is right on target.

Corian glares at the half-orc.  Apparently his magic had little effect on the bestial creature, and the apprentice is running out of options.  With nothing else to try, all he can do is send another bolt of energy into the chapel.  This time though, he aims at the orc, considering that if the orc falls it will allow Aarnr and Fergus to challenge the half-orc.

The mystical orb hurtles through the air, swirling in to strike the orc in the gut...

Aarnr swings at the orc, but misses as the disgusting creature ducks and thrusts at the man's groin with its own sword.

Erista and Ozzy hurl more stones at the half-orc, which chuckles evilly as both halflings miss their aim.  It reaches down to the side of the altar and hefts a weapon from where it leans there, a heavy iron mace, the head shaped like  a horned skull.  As the half-orc lifts it, sickly greenish flame flickers over the surface of the metal, and a grin appears on the bestial face as the monster walks forward, towards Aarnr!

Outside the chapel, Aramil continues to provide support for his companions in the form of inspirational verse.

Aarnr twists aside, and the orc's blade misses its mark, even as the foul thing is forced to evade Fergus' attempt to behead it...

Eilieen, meanwhile, takes the opportunity to run back outside - an action which the half-orc seems to find highly amusing, and its laughter follows her out the door.  The golden hound starts to its feet as she passes, and then fades away as the spell expires... 

A ball of crackling energy weaves through the chapel, passing between Aarnr and Fergus, and strikes their opponent with a discharge of mystical force which throws the orc backwards.  It crashes through one of the remaining pews and lays still, a thin streamer of acrid smoke rising from a gaping hole in its belly...

OOC: Well, that evened the odds a little.

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Half-Orc           18  AC=18
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Nameless Monk      11
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 14:19, Wed 31 Oct 2012.

The priestess flicks a rude gesture over her shoulder at the half-orc as she bolts out the door, praying Zadastha will forgive her the trespass.  "Disgusting brute," she mutters, haring for the stairs as quickly as her legs can carry her.  "Don't worry, Colwyn; I'm on my way," she gasps as her shoes strike stony steps.

OOC - Not much more to say than that...still running, and it'll take the full round for me to reach Colwyn, so I'll wait and see if something stops me halfway rather than assume!

Ozzy is determined to master the art of slinging rocks, so he tries - and fails - yet again to swing one of the jagged rocks from the floor towards the half-orc.

Attack: 11

Deciding that she might try something different, Erista points at the half-orc and snaps, "暈眩!", instead.

With Fergus at his side, Aarnr was poised to vent the half-orc's spleen ... but so distracted by he by Eilieen's rude gesture (some things, it seems, mean the same in any language) that he no more than waves his sword vaguely in the creature's direction.


"Him or ..." the priest inquires of her departing back, loosing one hand to point to the half-orc and then himself, though it seems the question is more in the nature of a genuine inquiry, rather than hurt feelings.

Corian steps forward, into the entrance of the chapel.  "Oh dear, that does not look good." he announces, needlessly.  Then he frowns and utters the tongue-twisting words of a spell, "Canfod unrhyw a phob hud yn yr ardal."

And he stands in the doorway, hands outstretched towards the half-orc, and nothing seems to happen...

The Nameless Monk watches helplessly as Colwyn's life trickles between her fingers.  The piece of cloth she had used to stop the flow is soaked through and does little now to absorb any more blood.

Certainly there is nothing more she can do.  If aid does not arrive soon, she fears, she will be forced to leave the rogue so that she can assist her friends.  The sounds of battle rising through the rickety, decaying roof are not encouraging.

And then there is another sound, somebody is coming up the steps.  The tread is too light for Aarnr, so hopefully it is...

"Eilieen!  Hurry!  He's dying!"

With the orc fallen, Fergus advances on the half-orc.  He is more conscious of his position on this occasion, and of his footing between the pews, but again his strike fails to penetrate the creature's defences.

All good things come to an end, and though the sagas can seem to last a lifetime around a good fire with a warm drink, here in the midst of battle it end all to quickly. Moving forward and peering in the doorway with the final lines issuing from his mouth, the half-elf sees the mass of bodies facing off the half-orc threatening them. Quick to realise there is greater need than his voice that is starting to object to the projection itis enduring, Aramil continues talking using the continuation of the story into a new ode.

Aarnr, distracted by Eilieen, swings his massive sword at the half-orc, and misses as the thing sidesteps and raises the vile mace, which continues to glow green and emit wisps of viridian vapour.  The creature leers as it prepares to strike, and then it's expression freezes and its eyes seem to glaze over as the mace, gripped loosely now, pounds instead against the floor, cracking one of the flagstones.

Whatever Erista did seems to have had an effect, as the half-orc stands in place, slack jawed and rocking slightly from side to side.

Perhaps the sudden lack of movement is what causes Ozzy to miss - clearly the arc of his sling stone had been calculated to account for the creature's next pace.  Because that pace doesn't occur, the stone whistles past the target instead of hitting squarely.

In the doorway now, Aramil continues to encourage his companions to greater success, even though the stench of orc in the chapel almost causes his voice to catch in his throat.

The Nameless Monk, still attending to Colwyn, urges Eilieen to hurry while the thief himself does nothing more than bleed through her fingers...

Although it's swaying like a man in his cups, the half-orc retains enough wits to stagger out of the way as Fergus swings a vicious blow at it, and then it shakes its head and the eyes start to clear.

Eilieen reaches the top of the steps at last, and drops to her knees next to Colwyn, panting for breath, even as the monk rises to her feet, blood dripping from her hands, and turns to face the bell tower...

Down in the chapel, Corian is clearly working some kind of spell, but it doesn't seem to injure the enemy, or have any other sort of effect.

OOC: Maybe now Colwyn will get the help he needs.  And nicely done Erista.

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Half-Orc           18  AC=18
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Nameless Monk      11
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 18:51, Wed 07 Nov 2012.

The froggin' half-breed's ignoring him now !  The pig-blooded mold-warp is just standing there humming to itself !  Such an insult can't be ignored !

The fact that the half-orc moves out of the way of Fergus's scythe just makes the insult more dire, and weary though he is, the priest finds his blood starting to boil once more (though since it's usually sitting on at least a low simmer, it didn't have far to travel).  And with one of the minstrels croaking out some ballad while the other seems to be trying to hit Aarnr with his sling casts, he's had just about enough.

With a roar that comes from somewhere in the depth of his bowels, the priest brings his sword around in a wide arc, seeking to remove at least one of those annoyances ...

Edited: just to be clear, he's aiming for the half-orc ... ;>
This message was last edited by the player at 05:54, Fri 02 Nov 2012.

"Ware!" Corian calls out, "There is much magic here... powerful magic, to boot."

The apprentice mage stands, still, at the door, his hands held out before him, and an expression of utmost concentration on his face.

The Nameless Monk considers the bell tower.  I would wager that there's a way down into the chapel there.  Of course the roof lays between her and this potential route, and the roof does not look particularly sturdy.  Setting foot on it could result in her entering the chapel by a different method, and considerably sooner.

Wisdom tells her that this might be a dangerous approach.  But wisdom also tells her that speed may be of the essence.

She starts to hurry along the roof, which groans alarmingly, staying as close to the edge as possible, calling over her shoulder, "Take good care of him, Eilieen."

Pulling one of the actual 'bullets' provided with the sale of his sling, Ozzy spins it once again and launches with perfect timing! The bullet cuts through the air and strikes the half-orc HARD in the side of its head, bringing a chuckle from the little halfling in the corner of the chapel. " Huh. Guess I shoulda' been usin' those all along." he says to himself as he pulls another bullet from the pouch and loads it into the sling.

ATTACK: 24
CRITICAL? 19
DAMAGE: 6 (3 x2 crit)

*thud*  Pain shoots through Eilieen's knees, but it's unimportant in comparison to Colwyn bleeding his life away.  Immediately, she places hands in replacement of those of the Nameless Monk, lips already moving in a chanted prayer to her Goddess.

"Zadastha, bringer of mercies great and small, I pray you offer succor to this soul in need!"

Bright power flares about her palms as the divine energies bleed from her own spirit into Colwyn's body.



"Go!  But be wary," Eilieen cautions over her shoulder.  "A priest of darkness battles our friends."

OOC - Casting CLW on Colwyn.  This leaves me with Cause Fear/CLW Swapout left for today.  Poor roll gives 5 points back to our injured friend.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:06, Mon 05 Nov 2012.

With the length of both sagas and the foul odour from the chappel it seems Aramil will loose his voice by the end of the fight. Feeling sure that numbers will win the day, he tries to get his voice to carry to all parts of the room to aid his friends. If he had time to think the half-elf would be surprised to realise that this motley crew of a group have worked their way into his affection, since he is slow to trust, with few blessed with the title of friends.

The battle continues in the desecrated chapel, while pieces of wood and plaster rain down from the ceiling...

Aarnr finally manages to connect with his heavt blade, and the half-orc howls and staggers backward as his blood splashes onto the floor.

Pleased with the success of her spell, Erista quickly follows up with another stone from her sling, but misses.  Ozzy waits a little longer and makes his own shot count, striking the evil cleric square in the forehead, even as he regains his balance after Aarnr's attack.

The noise which follows seems out of all proportion to the impact.  The ceiling breaks open, dropping rotting timber, plaster and roof tiles to the floor with a loud crash, which momentarily drowns out Aramil's verse.  The Nameless Monk lands awkwardly, and the half-orc swings the vile mace at her.  There is a flash of green light, and the jaws of the horned skull which forms the head of the weapon seem to gape and bite at her, and the woman falls.

Fergus retaliates for her, his scythe slicing downwards in a vicious arc which, literally, disarms the dark priest of Orcus, who falls back onto the broken pews, clutching at the bleeding stump of the limb.

On the wall, Eilieen prays to Zadastha and channels the blessing of the goddess into Colwyn's limp and motionless form.  There does seem to be some improvement in the man's condition as the flesh and bone of his destroyed shoulder and chest begin to knit together.  He is unconscious, still, but a groan escapes his lips.

From the doorway, Corian yells, "Don't touch the mace!"  The warning may be superfluous, as foul green fumes boil forth from the fallen weapon.  The horned skull, wrought of iron though it is, begins to laugh...

The battle seems to be over, at least for the moment.

OOC: Victory it seems.

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Erista             20
Half-Orc           18  AC=18
Oswald Osbourne    13
Aramil             12
Colwyn Akbar       11
Fergus Andarson     8
Eilieen             7
Corian Barade       6
Nameless Monk       -


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Unconscious
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    ????
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 14:04, Sun 02 Dec 2012.

The silence in the chapel is broken only by the sounds of heavy breathing, the falling of pieces of timber from the broken roof, and the grumbling of the half-orc as he grips the stump of his severed arm.  Even the mace has fallen silent, though foul vapours continue to roil from it.

Then the half-orc raises its voice, "Olet ehkä kukisti minua, mutta Orcus kostaa minulle."

"I'll froggin' kuckisy thy minua, thou rancid corpse-botherer !"  Aarnr puts the point of his blade under the half-orc's chin.  Corian's warning is unnecessary, for the priest has no intention of touching the ungodly mace, nor in breathing in its foul humours, prefering not even to look at it, lest he be provoked to paroxysms of rage.

"Is the folly-fallen monk still breathin' ?" he inquires of Fergus, nodding his appreciation of that severing chop.  Even he has to admit that was an impressive entrance, spoiled only by her failure to land on the half-orc's head ...

"Oh... this is bad." Corian mutters, "Very bad."

He moves closer to the mace, while staying away from the half-orc, which sits there glaring and clutching what's left of its arm.  "I can't tell what that is," he says, jabbing a finger towards the mace, "which means it's either strong magic.  Or cast by somebody far more powerful than I.  Either way, it is very bad."

He turns away from the mace and looks at its owner, "Why is he smiling?  If I had just had my arm cut off, I don't believe I'd be very happy about it."

Fergus seems a little surprised by his own handiwork, but soon recovers himself.  Immediately, he turns towards the Nameless Monk.  It gave Fergus no satisfaction that his own suspicions about the state of the roof had been confirmed.  Why did she have to go and try that?!

Stooping beside the monk, Fergus tries to figure out what's wrong, but her injuries are beyond his meagre talents.

"I don't know." Fergus confesses to Aarnr, his voice cracks and he seems on the verge of tears.  "You gotta help her Aarnr, call on your god or something.  I'll handle this."

Fergus appears to be referring to the half-orc with his last remark and there's a pretty good chance that "handle" will involve terminal violence.  Anyone wanting to question the cleric had better be quick.

"Colwyn?  Colwyn?"  No dice.  With a sigh, Eilieen sits back on her heels, blowing a lock of hair from her face in frustration.  She could always carry him herself...

The thin priestess glances down the stairs, then lets out a bitter laugh.  "Not likely, that," she murmurs.  "Right, then."  Laying her hands upon the badly injured man, Eilieen again calls upon Zadastha, releasing more of her stored divine power in a surge of pinkish energy around her palms.  "Lady of Love, cast your favour upon this fallen warrior; let him rise to once again hold your standard high."

It's a stretch, but some artistic license is always demanded in this situation.

OOC - CLW, again, leaving me with CMW for the Nameless One.  Colwyn receives 8 points back!

"Cut his froggin' head off," Aarnr suggests to Fergus as he reluctantly lowers his blade and leaves the half-orc to his friend, "that'll wipe the smile off his pig-fobbin face !"

The priest picks his way through the wreckage of the roof, pushing teetering beams aside carelessly as he makes his way to the Nameless Monk, careful of the fiendish mace and pausing only to inform the two halflings, "an' if she gleepin' well tells me I'm a gobbin' leaf on the reeky wind, I'll finish her off myself !"

Squatting down besides the monk, Aarnr casts a professional if somewhat jaundiced eye over her ...

Ozzy has always known there is a time for fight and a time for flight. What few understood was the third choice of not choosing either one. He winces as the vile orc priest loses a limb and hears warnings to avoid the mace shortly after the roof caves in and he overhears both Fergus and Corwyns words of concern and lost hope. Ozzt decides that if death is going to find him in a contaminated church, at least let it find him singing...

Farewell, Aunty Jack
 We know you'll be back
 Though you're ten feet tall you don't scare us at all
 You're big, bold and tough
 But you're not so rough
 There's a scream as you plummet away

Goodbye, me little lovelies!
 And don't forget to tune in next week to the show,
 because if you don't, I'm going to come round to your house,
 and I'm going to rip your bloody arms off.
 And I will too. Don't forget it!

He hopes the lilting tone of his voice echoing within the unhallowed walls will somehow inspire and shift the losing attitudes of his friends to a more positive note. He is after all, counting on them for protection and he was a long way from home...

She rides a black blight
 I do.
 And drives through the night
 She's big, round and fat but don't dare tell her that
 I bloody well aren't!
 Else she'll turn so mean
 Her glove starts to gleam
 There's a scream as she plummets away!

Do you want a good smack in the mouth?

Oh farewell, Aunty Jack
 Don't you know you'll be back
 Though you're ten feet tall you don't scare us at all
 You're big, bold and tough
 But you're not so rough
 There's a scream as you plummet away!!

Eilieen calls upon her goddess again, to no effect.  And then Colwyn's eyes open wide and he sits up suddenly.  So suddenly, in fact that he almost knocks the priestess down the stairs, "Orc!  In the belfry!"  He looks around, noting that there are only himself and Eilieen present, "Allo.  Where's they all gone?  Did I miss aught?"  He flexes his shoulder, "Why's my bloody shoulder feelin' like Fergus 'it me?  An' where's all that blood on my shirt come from?  Did Fergus 'it me?"

In the chapel, Aarnr examines the Nameless Monk as Ozzy fills the once-sacred space with song.  The monk isn't breathing, and her open eyes are staring, unblinking, at the hole in the roof.  Where the vile mace struck her, a portion of her clothing looks to have rotted away, revealing flesh which resembles that of a weeks-dead corpse.  It seems unlikely that she will, ever again, be gifting the priest of Bowbe with any words of wisdom.

Under Fergus' watchful eye the half-orc still grips the stump of its severed arm, and the bleeding is slowing.  But the creature looks weaker with every passing moment.  Its eyes have glazed over, and the smile has faded into slack-jawed apathy.  It still breathes, but that breathing is laboured...

Aarnr's eyes narrow.  Here he was, all prepared to put the monk out of her misery and she's gone and died on him.  "She's froggin' dead," he reports shortly to those congregating in the chapel.  "No bugger should have to go like that though."

For a change, the priest find's Ozzy's tune inspiring.  Or at least something move him to head over to the half-orc, squat down and smile nastily at him.

"Thou will tell us what that soul-sucking mace of thine is and what thou are doing here an' I'll give thee a good death.  Othewise though can froggin' bleed out and rot !"

Erista shakes her head sadly at Aarnr's news.  "Knew th' risks," she says, and moves resolutely to the doorway to keep watch while Aarnr conducts his skillful interrogation of the dying Half-Orc.

Corian moves closer still, avoiding the mace by a respectable distance.  "He seems to be unconcious.  Probably... " he's interrupted as the half-orc's eyes blaze with hateful life again, "Olen Tavik, palvoja Orcus. Ei ole häpeä kuolevat minun jumaluuden nimi. Olin lyöty voimakas vihollinen. Ei häpeä."

"I believe he's saying that he follows Orcus.  I recognise that word, at least, though the rest is lost on me.  Is he speaking orcish?"

The foul creature (the half orc, not Corian) is muttering now.  The words are indistinct, but there is a definite rhythm to them, a repetitive cadence...

"A prayer perhaps." suggests Corian.

Erista moves away to stand in the doorway, where she can keep an eye on the courtyard, while most of the others watch over Aarnr and the follower of Orcus, or stare at the body of the fallen monk in shocked silence.

And over all else, Ozzy sings his strange song, which somehow fits the occasion perfectly.

On the parapet, Eilieen tells Colwyn what he's missed, and helps him, carefully, to his feet...

"Froggin', ruttish, bone-lickin' maggot-pie !"  Aarnr hastily elects to give the half-orc that quick death he'd threatened to withhold, standing quickly so as to give himself room to spit the death-peddler with his greatsword.

"Thou droning flax-wench !" he remonstrates with Corian once the deed is done, though his one has more contemptuous disbelief at his patron's calm manner than the heartfelt hatred he'd put into the invective directed at the half-orc. "Thou don't let a pribblin' priest rattle off a pukin' prayer lest the puttock damn ye or curse ye with his last breath !"

Aarnr gives the worshipper of orcus a quick death, though not with any merciful intent.  The blade rips through the man-beast's robe, and through the dark mail which lays beneath.  It certainly isn't going to stop for mere flesh and bone.  Whatever the vile creature was saying is terminated in a bloody gurgle.

Corian's face drains of colour as Aarnr kills the half-orc, "Q-quite.  Yes.  Of course.  I'm afraid I'm quite new to all of this, but I shall remember for... for next time."  Then he turns away quickly and vomits.  Which does nothing to help the mess in the chapel, or the stink.

Outside, Colwyn stumbles as he descends the steps.  He leans up against the wall, "Jus' gimme a bit ter get sorted out." he explains to Eilieen, "These stairs is a bit dodgy, an' I isn't quite awake just yet."  The steps are, indeed, in poor repair, so it's probably better to take things a little slower.

Truth be told, Aarnr is feeling quite pleased with himself.  He's wetted his blade with orc blood, silenced one of the foul followers of the demon lord of undeath and made Corian vomit.  Now all that's need to end a perfect day ...

"We should fobbin' well set fire to the filthy place," the priest grins horribly.

"Now, now," Eilieen cautions Colwyn, taking his arm to offer assistance down the stairs.  But not pulling it, no, just giving support.  "I have no idea who injured you, Colwyn, but given the wound I suspect it wasn't Fergus.  You'd be missing that arm, and as of yet, there would be little I could do."  She beams.  "Aren't we lucky, then?"

Not exactly a spectacular bedside manner, but it's positive.

Down the steps then, into the defiled church.  It's a slow pace, given the help she needs to give Colwyn, but at some point they enter and then...

"Ahhh!"  About to dash to the fallen Nameless One, she hesitates, places Colwyn's hand on the doorjam, then bolts across the room to drop beside the woman.  "Aarnr, why didn't you -"

Eilieen stops.  Brushes back her hair, sits back onto her feet.  "Oh."

A moment of silence follows, then she reaches out to gently brush back the Nameless Monk's hair before moving to arrange her limbs into a more comfortable position with shaking fingers.  "Zadastha...oh, gods, I don't know your beliefs.  Some of them, but not..."  Her lips join her fingers in trembling.  "Zadastha, please take this woman...this b-beautiful soul...into your arms.  Bear her...n-no, walk beside her where she needs to travel, safeguarding her against the dangers of the way...oh, gods above."

Taking up the Nameless Monk's cooling hand, she squeezes it gently.  "I'm sorry," Eilieen whispers.  "I'm sorry."

Colwyn stands in the doorway... well, "leans" would be more accurate... close to Erista and watches as Eilieen moves to heal the fallen monk.  Only she doesn't heal her.  Instead she acts like she's preparing a corpse for a funeral.

"Oh, bugger." he murmurs quietly.

Unsure what he can do, if anything, he looks around the room and realises that it's a chapel.  But it's in a bit of a mess.  As well as the stench, everything has been smashed.  Which isn't that surprising with Aarnr and Fergus standing in the middle of it all.  What is surprising is that one statue, behind the altar, is still in good condition.

He wonders idly if the people who desecrated the place had a reason for leaving one statue intact.  Then the word "orcs" floats through his thoughts, and pretty much explains everything.  Nothing orcs do has to make sense.

He pushes himself away from the door frame, tests his balance for a moment, and staggers into the chapel.

Erista wipes an arm across her face, and then waves it, and calls out in the sort of whispering version of a shout, "I see you.  What?"

Aarnr finds himself ... disturbed by Eilieen's grief. "I'm sure her soul will find many more battles to fight," he suggests comfortingly.  The riddling way the Nameless Monk spoke, they'll be queuing up to fight her !

The priest's attention is drawn by Colwyn's curse, and he waves his sword reassuringly to the thief.  "Don't thee worry - we won !"

Though he notices that Colwyn's attention is drawn to a statue behind the altar that has escaped destruction.  Idly Aarnr wonders if he ought to do something about that ...

Fergus seems quite intent on visiting bodily harm upon the fallen half-orc and takes Aarnr's instruction with surprising enthusiasm.  Only Aarnr's move to interrogate the creature prevents Fergus from beheading it on the spot.  As it happens, Aarnr is the one to do the necessary deed.  As Fergus' anger is gradually dulled by grief he finds it in himself not to be disappointed.

Then Eilieen and Colwyn re-appear, and seeing the rogue back on his feet does something to restore Fergus' spirits, though Eilieen's distress at the sight of the Nameless Monk does not.

Casting about for any convenient distraction, Fergus spots something on the altar.

"That cup-thing, with the candle burning.  That's what Shandril always uses at temple.  I reckon that'd be what we're looking for?"

While Eilieen tends to the body of their fallen comrade, and Erista waits outside, the others look around the interior of the chapel...

Aarnr's attention, now that there's nothing left to kill, is drawn to the statue behind the altar, which seems to be the only part of the chapel's original decor which has not been befouled and desecrated by the most recent occupants.  The winged woman, armed with a longsword, and with her empty hand raised in blessing, gazes sadly on, as Eileen does her work. 

Fergus is more interested in the silver chalice, and the foul-smelling black candle which now stands in it, burning with a smoky red flame. 

Aramil and Ozzy study the interior of the building, peering at markings, and at the damaged remains  of the chapels' fixtures and fittings. 

Colwyn is about to sit on one of the more intact pews, but then 8after closer inspection) chooses to stand instead.

Corian hurries across to Fergus and lays a hand on his arm.  "Be careful.  There is something unwholesome about the candle.

Outside the door, Erista's attention seems drawn to the keep's gatehouse...

Ozzy lets out a low whistle, shaking his head as he looks around at the desecration of the temple. It was so bad in here, he had no idea who the original place was built for. " Ya know, I heard these orcs do this kind of thing quite often. The befouling of the chapel is typical of them, and is said to be done to stop the original deity from entering it a shrine again." he says as he kicks a pebble up the aisle. " I know if MY house looked like this I wouldn't move back."

"Muir," Aarnr says with some authority, waving his sword in the general direction of the strangely intact statue. "Stuffy sort of flax-wench but undead really get her froggin' riled, so she can't be all that bad."


More than ever the priest is pleased to have fallen into the company of the big farmer, for it seems the two are ever of one mind. "Froggin' right !"  Aarnr agrees, enthusiastically.  "That'll do nicely to burn the place to the ground !"

"Cleansin' flame !" he grins evilly.

It's a hard thing for Aarnr to offer any kind of sympathy, Eilieen knows - knows from watching him, and knows from simply knowing Bowbe and his priests.  So she takes what he offers in the spirit of its offering (or at least, the spirit she assumes it holds).  "Thank you, Aarnr.  One hopes she will have time for contemplation and meditation upon her mysteries, as well."

Miserably, Eilieen glances up at the cup Fergus indicates; she gives a little nod at Aarnr's enthusiastic acceptance of their retrieval of the artifact, and hiccups out a small sob.  Reaching down, she pats the Nameless Monk's hair.  "We won," she whispers.  "We got it.  Thank you."

Then the priestess settles back with a long sigh.  Igonring the tears on her cheeks - they'll streak, but she doesn't care right now - she leans back and looks around.  "Muir," she whispers.  "This place is unholy, now.  It should be cleansed, but I do not thing we have the capacity."

"Um...sure," Erista calls out again.  "Just hold tight, we'll probably be up in a jif."

She steps back into the chapel, turning around.  "Hey, guys?  There's somebody named Bilfro being held prisoner up in the gatehouse.  Asks for help like Corian would - you know, `terribly sorry to interrupt, old chap, but if it's not too much trouble, could you spare a moment to get this trap off my leg?  It does hurt, rather.'  All proper, like there's a fork we should be using when we pick his lock.  But I figured since we're here anyway..."

<Backpost> Standing in the doorway Aramil watches with a mixture of awe and shock at the Nameless Monk's surprising entrance and then the attack by the half-orc. The shock effects his recital and he falls silent just looking at her unmoving body, recognising that its sprawl in not as the gods intended for a healthy body. He just continues to watch as the others react, unable to move or talk with the shock and then grief for the loss of their companion.

When Colwyn and Eileen return to the group, Aramil seems not to notice and it only the death of the foul creature that seems to return the Half-elf to the land of the living. Moving around like in some kind of daydream he can't seem to do much good, and only after the comments about intact statue does his voice once again inhabit this violated chapel. </Backpost>

"Well lets hope that Muir preferred the ending to this violence towards her." the Half-elf comments to the others, though maybe more to himself. Expanding his thoughts to the others he continues"I have heard it said that preserving one statue or painting of a chapel/holy place causes the deity of the place to witness the violence directed at them by their enemies."

Then hearing Erisa's comment he continues again "If there is someone here we should aid them. I'm sure the Monk would prefer to have died helping others than just recovering the cup for the Priestess."

"Bowbe would gleepin' like that !" Aarnr vouchsafes to Aramil's explanation as to how Muir's statue survived this long.  "He'd be able to work himself up into a froggin' proper right old state !"

The priest brightens further at Erista's mention of the prisoner ... though all in all he's a bit busy at the moment to be collecting any slaves of his own (and there's that sneaking suspicion that most if not all of his new friends might be just a teensy bit against it).  Oh well, depriving others of their prisoners is a mark in the plus column.

"Let's go then," he tells Erista.  Basking in the warm glow of victory, Aarnr seems to have got his second wind, for there is certainly a spring in his step.  "Thou too," he tells Corian.  "Glad thou survived after all, thou fobbin' sheep-botherer," he congratulates the rogue.

"I beg your pardon?" Corian actually seems quite offended by Erista's comments on his mode of communication, "I most certainly do not speak like that.  I have no idea why you would say such a thing."

Colwyn grins and slaps him on the back, "Don't yer be worryin' none.  She jus' be gettin' back at yer fer that whole bit when yer was lyin' ter us the other day.  Doesn't mean nothin' by it.  Prob'ly."

The crucible, for such it appears to be, is pure silver, engraved with complicated knotwork designs, framing swords and sheaves of grain.  The candle still burns within it, and oozes a blood-like fluid, which gathers in the bottom of the cup and stains the silver.

At Aarnr's urging, people start to wander outside to see what Erista is talking about.  High up on the eastern half of the gatehouse, an arm juts out of a narrow window, waving frantically.  "Hello there!"

Outside, Ozzy notices the man waving at them and cannot help himself from waving back just as enthusiasticly, " Hello Bilfro!" he shouts back, then looks to his friends for the volunteer needed to go up and pick his locks. " We'll be up to get you inna sec, just be patient!" he adds with another zealous wave of his little arms.

"Thee and me," Aarnr nods to Colwyn, "if thou can't spring the gleepin' lock, I'll soon pick the pig-slubberin' hag-heap with this !" he waves his great sword in the air. "C'mon ..."

The crucible is retrieved, and he strange candle is extinguished and removed.  The silver interior of the cup has been stained and darkened by the blood-like  liquid which has oozed from the burning taper.

They head outside, crossing the courtyard to the heavy oak door on the eastern part of the gatehouse.  As they approach the structure, a voice calls down from above, "I say... sorry to be a bother and all that!  I really wasn't expecting everybody to turn out to help me!  Which is not to say that I am not grateful!"

Colwyn makes the journey under the watchful eye of Eilieen, and bends to take a look at the door and the large lock which secures it.  "Will yer look at that bugger?  I could near get a bleedin' 'and in there ter work it.  But I like as not ain't strong enough ter do the job."

"So we's lucky some bugger's already busted it."

He reaches out and pulls the door open, to reveal a small rectangular room, the floor covered with wet straw and a few old blankets.  The broken remains of a ladder can be seen piled up against one wall.  The ceiling is of stone, about nine feet off the floor, and there is a wooden trap door set into it.  Unfortunately there is no way to reach it...
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:55, Wed 12 Dec 2012.

Erista looks abashed when she sees she's hurt Corian's feelings.  "Deepest apologies, good sir," she offers, solemnly.  "I'm sure I misspoke."

Once Colwyn gets everyone into the gatehouse through the simple but effective method of being there second, she looks up at the trapdoor with a frown.  "Hm.  That looks too heavy for Mage Hand."  She scratches at her head briefly.

"Should we just tell him we tried?" she asks.  In a tone that's almost certainly joking.

Fergus follows the others across to the gatehouse.  He is still holding the chalice, turning it this way and that in his hands as he tries to think of a way to clean the stain from the bottom of the cup.

Eventually, he puts the problem (and the chalice) away and turns his attention back to the present.  Eyeing the broken ladder and the trapdoor, Fergus considers.  He could probably jump and reach the trapdoor easily enough but if it is jammed or locked he wouldn't be able to force it.  Still, the solution seems easy enough.

"I'll just stand under it and someone can climb up and sit on my shoulders.  Should be able to reach easy enough, it's not that high."

With a final glance over her shoulder for the Nameless Monk, resting peacefully, Eilieen hurries after the others, sparing a curious glance for the cup in Fergus' capable hands.  "We'll have to go back for her before we leave," she murmurs.  "I'm not leaving her there."

Her eyebrows rise at the call from above, but she keeps an eye on the still-injured Colwyn as he examines the lock.  "Fortunate indeed," she answers as he opens the portal into a less-than clean room.  The Priestess lifts a somewhat stained sleeve, holding it across her nose.  "Mould," she sighs, following the others in and looking up at the trapdoor.

Goddess, how to open that?

"It's awfully high up," she agrees with Fergus' assessement.  "Perhaps Erista could perch upon your shoulders, or Oswald?"  Pursing her lips, she considers further.  "If that proves a touch too short, I might try.  Though...I have no skill at opening locks.  Perhaps it's just latched from this side."

Ozzy perks up at the mention of his name, slowing his step as he approaches the mountain that refers to itself as Fergus. He look the big farmer up and down with chin in hand as he tries to determine the best way to climb. Walking around behind him Ozzy says, " Bend down Fergus, I'll climb up on your shoulders. Then you stand up - carefully - and I'll try to stand on your shoulders. Should be easy enough!" he looks from the top of Fergus to the trap door, estimating that he should be able to reach the trapdoor well enough to put his shoulder into if needed. Although only an inch taller than three feet, Ozzy always felt bigger than he actually was.

From up above, Bilfro's voice can still be heard, though it is muffled by the intervening layer of stone and wood, and the words are too indistinct to be understood.  He sounds vaguely enthusiastic though.

A plan is put into motion.  After a very brief discussion it is decided that Ozzy will balance on Fergus' shoulders (the reverse possibility not really being feasible) and attempt to unfasten the trap door.  With luck it will not swing downwards, and the prisoner will not be standing on it when it opens.  One dramatic and precipitous entrance is probably enough for one day.

A few moments later, Ozzy finds himself somewhat higher than he's ever been before without the benefit of a sturdy floor to support him.  Fergus' shoulders, though, are a more than adequate substitute for such a floor.  The halfling has a fairly steady platform to work from.  He studies the wooden hatch for a few moments, before reaching up to push at it.

Standing atop the giant farmer, Ozzy pushes up against the trap door. He grunts with effort, but fails to lift it more than half an inch. He tries again and again it only rises half and inch. One final push and he holds it open to yell, " Quit standin' on it Bilfro! I can't get it open with dead weight on top!" He strains to hold it open just long enough to hear the mans response.

While Aarnr isn't one for planning ahead, he does know something about taking care of slaves, and the trouble it is taking to reach the trapdoor has him somewhat flumoxed. "How'd the stinkin' sheep-bladders get the prattlin' pumpion up there ?" he asks, somewhat angrily. "An' how did they fobbin' feed him ?"

"I 'opes all this skrikin' ain't attractin' the wrong sorts of notice." Colwyn says, watching the work being done by Ozzy and his support team.

While Ozzy waits for a response for as long as he can, he doesn't actually get one.  Bilfro is still shouting from somewhere above, but his voice is still indistinct.  Something, water perhaps, trickles around the edge of the trapdoor just before the halflng drops it for the third time, and drips to the floor.

Aarnr's question gets the rogue's interest though, "Aye, maybe as there's another way up..."  He stops speaking and sniffs the air, "Ye gods an' blue-arsed monkeys!  What in the nine bloody 'ells is that stink?"

Corian blanches and gasps, "Oh my goodness... " as he grabs his nose.

" Eww, ew, ew, ew!" Ozzy squeaks, his small hands slapping at the top of Fergus' head as he squirms on his shoulders, " Lemme' down! Lemme' down! I think we just dumped his chamber pot! EWWWW!" he squeals as he wiggles and does his best to try and climb down off the big farmer.

Aarnr roars with laughter at the sight of the halfling trying to avoid the sudden shower.  "P'raps the loose-bladdered pumpion figured thee for a froggin' orc !" the priest jests, as he heads back outside, following Colwyn's advice, to look for an easier way up to the cell.

Eilieen skitters back, a look of absolute horror on her face, and brings her sleeve up over her nose.  She tries to speak, fails.  Fails again.  Finally, the priestess shakes her head, unable to summon words to express her feelings.

Her wide eyes and tiptoed steps back across the floor, away from the foul sprinkle, speak volumes.

This...this horrid jaunt they've taken.  Dirty camps.  No showers.  Filth.  The stench of beasts.  And now this.  It's almost too much for her sensibilities.  While this list is not the heaviest she bears (the other one holds 'killing', 'people they couldn't save', and 'the Nameless One's death', and is by far the weightier), it's the one currently uppermost on her mind.

For a moment, her teeth grind as they clench against a shriek of frustrated disgust.  She needs an inn - a real one, with baths or showers.  A tailor.  And a bed, a good, comfortable, empty one!

Which, of course, is the main reason she left the Temple, the Priestess must admit.

Fergus hastens to lower Ozzy safely to the floor, but doesn't seem either alarmed or disgusted by the unpleasant smell and the stream of liquid dripping around the edges of the trapdoor.  His dad wasn't wealthy enough to keep much livestock, but Fergus had been able to turn a bit of coin in the off season by helping muck out stables and ox barns and wasn't at all concerned about bodily wastes.  You did what you needed to do then you went for a wash.  Simple.

"Nevermind, Ozzy, I reckon I can get it."

Fergus drew out his scythe.  Between Fergus' height and the length of the shaft, it was easy enough for Fergus to use the back of the cutting blade to push on the trapdoor.

OOC: Strength check?

Fergus pushes up on the hatch with all of his strength.  He is more successful than Ozzy, the wood lifts three whole inches, then a fourth.  It also releases another shower of foul-smelling wetness to splash on the floor below.  At this point, to add insult to... er... insult, it refuses to move any further...

Colwyn eyes the trap door critically, "D'ye reckon as 'e might be wadin' roun' up ter 'is knees in it?  Maybe's 'e's 'avin' some trouble... yer knows..." he points to his groin, "... down there.  My ma's brother's kid's uncle were like that.  Couldn't 'old 'is water I means.  Least ways, not after 'is accident."

Ozzy and Eilieen both move away from what threatens to become a sizeable puddle.

Aarnr steps outside, and the voice calls down from the window, "Ah... there you are."  The hand waves again.  Which at least shows that, unless he has very long arms, it can't be Bilfro standing on the trap-door.

A quick look around reveals that there is a flight of steps leading up to the parapet.  Aarnr can see a door up there, leading into the side of the gatehouse.  It looks to be secured by a heavy wooden bar, and by one of the chapel pews which is jammed against it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:40, Sun 23 Dec 2012.

Even Aarnr is a teensy bit suspicious at this point ... though tempered by his habitual bloody-mindedness, of course.  At least the pew is something that the priest can certainly do something about before having to worry about any of the rest of it.

Unhurriedly, Aarnr takes to the stairs, sheathing his greatsword so as to leave both hands free to deal with the bench, though still looking around hopefully in case any more unfortunate orcs hove into view.

"Froggin' sheep-bitin', slack-bladdered grunter !" he mutters, though it is unclear exactly who this latest invective is directed towards.

With no more orcs immediately obvious, Aarnr wrenches the heavy pew away from the door and hurls it, angrily, into the courtyard below, where it breaks apart.  Then he lifts the wooden bar to release the door.

Which bursts open and allows a thin, grey-bearded man to hurriedly exit the structure, and almost fall down the steps.  He halts, just in time, and leans against the wall, breathing heavily, before gasping, "Oh, thank goodness!"

The reason for his shortness of breath might be that the chamber beyond the door, a rectangular room which occupies the entire interior of the gatehouse at this level, stinks like an extremely badly designed latrine.  Like the chapel, the walls and floor are daubed with excrement, of varying ages.

A pile of blankets lays in a position which, by Aarnr's estimate, would place them atop the trap-door.  They seem to be wet, very wet, and surrounded by a pool of more liquid.  For some reason, they look to be twitching...  At the far end of the room are two bodies, which appear badly decomposed in the light which filters in through the narrow windows.  These, fortunately, are less animated than the blankets.

"Those dastardly orcs kept me secured in there, and they came in and... and... relieved themselves several times each day.  To further torment me they informed me, quite helpfully, that there is an egress under those blankets, which they knew I could not touch because of the aforementioned lavatorial activities.  You have my undying gratitude, Sirrah, for liberating me."

While Aarnr is less fastidious than, well just about everyone, even he shows no sign of wanting to enter the rather unpleasant prison.  Indeed, he is even minded to be sympathetic, but the old man's mention of 'undying' garners him a long and suspicious look as the priest assures himself that it was but a figure of speech.

Finally satisfied that the old man is not himself undead, Aarnr thinks to clear up a few other points ...

"Froggin' Bilfro, is it ?  Friends of thine ?" with a nod towards the two bodies.

"Thou got gleepin' rats in there," pointed look at that twitching blanket.

"An yer welcome, thou haggard."  Just in case anyone accuses him of being ill-mannered.

"Ah, you almost have it, Sirrah!  Bilfro Gabbins, at your service," he bows down deeply.

"Most assuredly no rats, they most wisely decamped most eagerly many days ago."  Peeking around his rescuer into what had been his resident for an untold time he shudders.  "Mark my words, that did start but a few moments after having lost sight of you all magnificent people!"

"I never did have the pleasure of socializing with the late occupants, at my arrival in this... most educating situation they had already transcended this mortal coil, indubitably to a somewhat better locale."  The expression upon Bilfro suggests most any locale would be somewhat better than said room.

"Great Scotty!  Hermonious!"

He jumps as if startled and post-haste mobilises just shy of the entry of the odorous room just beyond.

"Whence art Thou, Obidaia Mojo?!"  The shout traverse into the room whilst the area near the door-case is being intently scrutinized.

"What the frog art thou prattlin' about, thou reeky, flap-mouthed mumble-news ?!!"  Aarnr asks the old man angrily, having understand barely half of Bilfro's reponse.

"Thou had better follow me an' direct thy priblin' prattle to those who have the ear an' patience for it !" he snarls, waving generally in the direction of the stairs before turning his back on Bilfo and heading down the stone steps himself, shaking his head.

"Got the hedge-born haggard !" the priest calls out to his companions below.  "An' thou are welcome to the mammet !"

"Sounds like Aarnr's findin' this 'ere Bilfro cove." Colwyn remarks, cocking one ear towards the open door and the fresh air beyond.

Corian's immediate response to that is a heartfelt, "Oh, thank goodness for that!  We can go outside again."  He moves towards the door, demonstrating a turn of speed which is quite remarkable for one so profoundly immersed in the sedentary pursuit of academia.

Never let it be said that a wizard can't run when the mood strikes him.

Outside, and just around the corner, Aarnr and Bilfro can be heard chatting like old acquaintances...

Ozzy had already bolted through the doorway the moment his little feet hit the ground. Having stood outside gasping great lungfuls of air, he finds the worst part is that he cannot escape from himself, which still carries the lingering scent of orc offal and urine. He sits with his back against the wall, watching Aarnr and Bilfor converse, one high brow, the other low; fascinated that they can even understand one another. Then his mind turns to the challenge of how on earth he could ever write this rescue mission into a proper heroic ballad. " Huh." he mumbles to himself, " ...what rhymes with odiferous cess pool?"

"Aarnr?" Erista says - although it's difficult to tell if it's in response to Oswald's question, or just a startled reaction to Colwyn's news.

As she walks back outside, though, she looks at Oswald and suggests, "Carnivorous toadstool?"

Eilieen stares down at Oswald with amused horror.  "You would compose a song about this?"  How she arrived there is a mystery.  A cunning watcher might have only seen her vanish at the time the door opened, moving with such speed she might as well have teleported outside the room.  Now she glances to the newcomer, blinking her eyes to relieve them of some of the stinging...and still keeping her distance.

After all, who knows what other living things he's keeping in those clothes.

"Brave, brave Oswald," she murmurs, then raises her voice.  "If we can find a means to wash him off," she calls, "I can check to see if he's healthy!"

Healthy of body, in any case; after the Obidia Mojo part, she's uncertain about his mind.  Perhaps he's a wizard, and his familiar has gone missing?  She can only hope; the alternative is a real friend (no doubt killed and eaten by the orcs) or an imaginary one (preferable, but still disturbing).

"What do thou froggin' want now ?" Aarnr asks Erista brow furrowing as he finds himself addressing her back.  "Where ?" he follows up with much more interest as she mentions the carniverous toadstools. "They are the ones thou can eat, aren't they"

"Just a bit o' muck," Aarnr assures Oswald.  "Keeps evil spirits away."

"Ah, Hermonious!"

Hands eagerly reach down and scoop something, or nothing, up from the ground.

"You are indeed Death Unseen, my friend!"  It is a proud proclamation aimed at the cupped hands.

"Pestiferous numbers pool!"  The call goes out like a challenge.  "Healthy, but needs bath!"

"AH!"  He jumps again and dashes down the stairs.

"Oh!"  His journey ends abruptly in front of Erista.

"My most profound apologies, fairest of ladies, for I erred your fetching visage for that of a mere human child.  Can you ever find in your indubitably beautiful heart to pardon such a calamitous social transgression?"  He waits doe-eyed, much like a condemned prisoner awaits the fall of the headsman's axe.

"Bilfro Gabbins at your service, milady," he adds quickly to save himself from another fateful offence.

Erista looks up at Bilfro and blinks.  "I'd have to have a look..." she begins, her mind mostly having picked out something about `fetching' and `finding' and assuming he's asking her to give him stuff, now, on top of rescuing -- well, engineering his -- undeniably bringing him to the attention of somebody who then, as a direct result, rescued him.

But that's as far as she gets before the back of her mind starts prompting with other words like `service', `pardon', and `beautiful'.  She finally replays his whole sentence, breaks it down, and says, "Oh! Er, right.  Yeah, it's OK, it happens.  'Specially from far off like that, probably easy to do.  You're welcome.  I'm Erista."  Grateful that she has other alternatives available than shaking hands, she plucks up her skirt and offers him a quick curtsey to formalize the greeting.

Introductions are made, explanations and apologies are offered.  Colwyn eyes Bilfro suspiciously.

"So 'ow come's yer 'ere, then?  I mean, we ain't 'xactly close ter nowhere what a man of breedin, like yerself'd live."  The rogue stands with one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sheathed dagger.

Corian, showing the keen intellect which is required by those who study the arcane, takes in Bilfro's pointed hat, robe, and beard, before asking, "Are you, perchance, a practitioner of the thaumaturgic arts?  My name, sir, is Corian Barade, lately apprenticed to Dasidar of Reme and, technically, the leader of this band of stalwart heroes.  I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

Oddly, Corian's expression hints at even more suspicion than Colwyn's.

And at that precise moment, almost as if it were an omen of some sort, a shaft of golden sunlight pierces the sullen, cloud-filled, western sky, and lances down into the courtyard, where it brightly illumines an area of ground some three or four feet to Bilfro's left.  A particularly grotesque beetle, caught in the sudden effulgence, freezes for an instant, before starting to burrow into the mud...

"Ah!  Delighted, milady!"

Bilfro bows down so deep the tip of his hat touches the ground between the two.  But a heartbeat later he springs up like a weed, holding out his two cupped hands towards her.

"Allow me to introduce my loyal companion, Hermonious Obidaia Mojo.  Hermonious, meet Lady Erista.  Lady Erista, meet Obidaia Mojo."

The hands fold apart to reveal what must be one of the smallest tortoises in existence.  It peers critically, if that is possible for a tortoise, at the Lady and nods, speaking silently with a small hiss.  Or perhaps it merely sneezes.  While this introduction carries on Bilfro turns to Colwyn.

"A most astute question, Sir!"

"Indubitably, my good Barade, whilst the pleasure is all mine!  I am most...  Ah!"  He claps his hands around Mojo as he leaps into the air and starts to look about, everything else apparently forgotten.  "Great Scotty!  Have any of you stalwart rescuers seen my meagrely earthly gauds and claimed property?  They are most precious indeed!  My goodness!  My book!  My staff!  My precious!  By golly!"

He would appear to be getting quite animated.

Shifting up next to Colwyn, Eilieen gives his wrist a sharp rap with her fingers.  "None of that, now," she mumrurs.  She eyes the newcomer with some curiousity, nodding along slowly with Corian's question.  She doesn't know anything about wizards and their garb, though there was one priest back at the Temple famous for his 'robe and pointy hat'.

Though, curiously, Corian seems somewhat skeptical.

"Apologies good sir," she replies after he clamis his...pet?  Familiar?  She has no idea.  "I have seen naught of such goods, though in truth, we have not carried out a full search of the area.  Perhaps your...erm...precious materials are not far, merely hidden under a pile of rubbish?"

In which case, it won't be Eilieen who finds them...

Colwyn glares at Eilieen and rubs at his wrist, "Yeah,  We should poke 'round the place a bit.  See if we can't find all the treasure what Corian promised us was 'ere.  An' that old bugger Feriblan's wizardin' gear as well."

Now it's Corian's turn to glare.

"Then we should be scarperin', in case there's more orcs 'bout.  We should be lookin' out fer them bloody spiders what Aarnr said 'e seen as well.  Can't say as I  likes the idea of leavin' them lollygaggin' 'round the place, waitin' ter sting travellers an' eat them's insides."

" Oh yeah... the spiders..." Ozzy says, his head bowed as the fear creeps back in on him. He had all but forgotten the 'talking spiders' with the fighting and rescue mission. While the thought of finding some forgotten treasure appealed to him, the thought of being a spiders entree did not. " ...guess we should take care of that." His effort is less than zealous even though he supports the idea with his answer. Using the tip of one dagger, he kneels down to flip over a small rock and look underneath. Then he sighs, his eyes scanning the top of the wall for any indication of arachnids...

SPOT: 17:30, Today: Oswald Osbourne rolled 15 using 1d20+4. spot.

Aarnr finds the exchange between Corian and Bilfro quite bewildering, but the rap on the wrist that Colwyn gets from Eilieen is only too clear, and the priest's own hand moves slowly away from the hilt of his greatsword so as not to earn a similar reprimand.

The tortoise ... isn't a toad, and that's good enough for Aarnr.  Indeed, he's impressed by the pumpion's fortitude in surviving his incarceration, given the generally fussy and fastidious nature of those that call themselves civilised, and on that basis alone prepared to overlook Bilfro's other manifest faults.

Running away from orcs is not in Aarnr's playbook, but hunting and killing giant poisonous spiders most certainly sounds like a fun way to spend the afternoon.

"Ye and me then," the priest grins malevolently at Ozzy, clapping the halfling on the shoulder~ish, before gazing around the courtyard speculatively, trying to work out how to get to there (the room in which he first spied the spiders while scouting ahead) from here.

It takes Aarnr only the briefest of consideration before he decides on which tower is the correct one.  He starts moving towards the structure in the north-east corner of the fortress.  The rest follow, though some seem more reluctant than others.

The door to the tower refuses to open under Aarnr's touch.

"Lookin' like it's bein' locked." Colwyn pronounces expertly, and steps forward.  He studies the lock for a few heartbeats, before selecting a pair of tools from his kit.  Then, before he starts work, he announces, "I's not wantin' anyone be'ind me while I's workin'.  I wants ter be able ter get clear when the lock pops, so's I ain't becommin' a spider's supper."

With that clear, he starts work on the lock, muttering, "'ello Sweet'eart, I's bein' named Colwyn.  Now, why doesn't yer jus' open up like a flower for me?  Nice an´ easy, like?"

Then, more loudly, he adds, "Bugger!  Mus' be rusted solid or summat."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:45, Fri 28 Dec 2012.

<backpost>
Fergus is one of the last to leave the lower gatehouse.  He seems disappointed not to have succeeded in raising the trapdoor but his immediate attention is directed at cleaning his scythe.  Beyond that he doesn't appear overly concerned by the damp or the smell.

When breaks in the conversation allow Fergus, adds briefly "I'm Fergus." and "Good job, Aarnr."  He seems otherwise content to lurk in the background.
</backpost>

As the others continue talking, Fergus wanders off towards the well in the middle of the courtyard.  With a little bit of luck, it won't be dry.  With a bit more luck, the orcs may have left rope and a bucket.  Just because he doesn't find the smell distressing doesn't mean he likes it.

As a result, he misses the mention of giant spiders.  He's not so preoccupied, though, as to miss the others making their way to the northeastern tower.  Fergus abandons his investigation of the well and rejoins the group.  He is careful to follow Colwyn's instruction, for which some of the more fastidious group members should be grateful as it keeps Fergus further away (although he's not as bad as Bilfro, who has been steeped in the stuff for longer).

"Hairy-legged chumpers don't use doors," the priest offers his considered opinion as he dismisses the recalcitrant lock.  "C'mon," he tells the mistakenly keen halfling,  "we'll see if there's another froggin' way in up there."

With a meant-to-be-subtle-but-failing wink to Fergus to join them, Aarnr takes to the nearby stairs and upper walkway.

"At least thou'll earn an honest death here," the priest comforts Ozzy.  "Better than whatever unclean end thou'll find when thy bones are blasted by wizard-spells !"

Alright, maybe the prospect of a horrible death from merely glancing upon the paraphanalia of Eralion which Corian seeks, isn't that comforting.

"Milady, 'tis not buried, these Orcs of erroneous cordial reception did liberate my appurtenances most diligently, I assure you!" he says with lament to Eilieen.

"Bilfro Gabbins, at your service, young man."  A grateful bow to Fergus and anyone else introducing themselves.

Fluttering around, undoubtedly searching for his precious belongings, he ends up at the door that valiantly has refused both Aarnr and Colwyn, once the door is abandoned.

"If this be the place," he says under his breath and bends over to peer into the keyhole, "I must petition ingress post-haste."  The tip of his finger prods the keyhole as if it could unlock it.

"By Voluminous generous girth, how utterly thwarting!"

He leans his back against the door, one hand at his back, the back of the other wiping his forehead. 

He then percolates significantly and eagerly pursues Aarnr toward the upper walkway.

"Onward!"

Aarnr hurries up the stairs and looks back along the parapet, towards the tower.  There is a door there.  Even from here he can see that it appears to have had boards fastened across it, as if somebody wanted to ensure that it would not be easily opened.

Meanwhile, Bilfro examines the lock, without any apparent result, then follows his new friend Aarnr up to the wall.

Ozzy seems more reluctant to tag along in the priest's footsteps.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:43, Wed 02 Jan 2013.

<Backpost> After his suggestion to help the voice that the halfling heard, Aramil follows the others out to the trapdoor. Seeing that he could be of no real help, the half-elf stands to the side and when the shower comes down he receives only a small amount. Wrinkling his nose at the smell he smiles slightly remembering the game of chicken that he played as a boy. Stand under Mrs Smyth's upper window at the required time and see who would last the longest when she emptied her chamber pot. But wait too long and then smell for the rest of the day, and get the ribbing of the others who were there. </Backpost>

Moving back out into the courtyard, he is less pleased to be reminded of the giant spiders that Aarnr saw, in what feels like a lifetime away. With wary footsteps the half-elf starts up the stairs following the giant man to the walkway above hoping to be of some use this time, though not in the direct path of said spiders.

Giant spiders.  Giant talking spiders.  It's the talking part that renders them unpalatable (not in an edible manner, of course...though Eilieen wouldn't consider eating arachnid, either).  Shaking her head at the thought, Eilieen grips her spear more firmly and hurries after the group.

"A small warning," she voices, trundling in their wake.  "My own divine prayers are mostly exhausted for the day.  We shall have to rely upon those of Aarnr."  A pause for consideration follows.  "His divine demands, in any case."

She shoots a mildly disappointed look at Colwyn.  "You're not having much luck with locks, dear Colwyn."

Ozzy reluctantly keeps pace, staying close to the barbarian for his own safety, but not truly wanting to get into a death match with a gang of oversized spiders. Still, he is no fool and understands that no matter where Aarnr goes, there will be a fight. So with that in mind, he carefully loads one of the bullets into the pouch of his sling, ready to shoot if it gets too intense.

"Don't froggin' worry," Aarnr reassures Eilieen as she confesses the depletion of her gods-granted gifts, "I've still got the this'd better not miss, thou bugger prayer at the ready, if I need it."

"Oh an' ..." the priest speaks a few incomprehensible phrases that sound both confrontational and rude, causing the blade of his weapon to shine with a bright light "... that's better - now we'll be able to gleepin' see what we're fobbin' killin' !"

Aarnr looks about him, gratified to see he has not one but both the minstrels with him, ready to witness what he hopes will be worthy of a spot in the sagas.  With a nod to his audience that is at once acknowledgement and warning, he swings his sword over his head, slamming it into the wooden boards that barricade the door.

Colwyn scowls at Eilieen, "It's bein' rusted solid.  Best locksman in the 'ole bleedin' world couldn' do nothin' with the sod."

There is a loud grunt, and a louder bang as Aarnr smashes his massive sword into the newly-discovered portal.  The extra boards are sturdy, but the door itself is apparently rotting.  The blade makes a deep notch in the edge of the wooden barricade, and tears a hole, big as Aarnr's head, right through the door.

The impact also rips some nails loose, causing the board to drop a couple of inches at one end, though still held at the other.

Interestingly the blow also shakes loose a couple of small stone fragments from the wall above the door...

Colwyn sighs, "So much fer that there elephant of surprise."

Erista jumps a half foot into the air, landing with a little bit of a squelch.  "Well, I was surprised!" she admits.  "If there is anybody in there, we're half like to find them dead of shock.  I bet it was twice as loud inside."

On top of Colwyn's confirmation that he won't be opening this door, she follows the others trail over to see what Aarnr is doing.  Although she stays a good way back, and finds herself a nicely shaded spot to watch from.

Having already demonstrated an impressive practical knowledge on matters architectural¹, as Fergus and the additional ruination of the cottage in the woods can attest, Aarnr is little perturbed by the falling masonry, and continues his efforts to remove the offending barricade, grabbing the damaged board and trying to prise it off with brute force, and resorting to his blade once more if unsucessful with that different approach.

¹ such as testing for structural soundness by hitting something until it breaks

Fergus waits to see whether Colwyn will manage to open the lock.  When the disreputable (but undoubtedly well-meaning) gent gives that up as a bad job, Fergus hurries up the stairs after Aarnr and the others.

Finding the big cleric wrestling with a boarded-up door, Fergus pushes forward.

"If you'll stand back, Aarnr, I'll have that down for you.  My axe should get through those boards easily enough.  Right tool for the job."

Fergus seems a little embarrassed to be telling Aarnr what to do, but he frees his axe from its belt loop and stands ready to do his best lumberjack impression.

With one hand on the loosened board, his other tightly gripping his sword, and lips curled in bloody-minded determination, Aarnr's glance back to see who is interrupting him is less than friendly ...

... but once his eyes alight on Fergus, the priest is happy enough to step back and allow his friend the honour of storming the barricades.  That's what friends do.

Aarnr rips away the extra board before stepping back and allowing Fergus to hack away at the decaying door itself.  Between the two of them the barrier doesn't stand a chance.

Light floods into the chamber beyond the ruined door, beams of radiance striking through the clouds of dust which fill the air, and revealing piles of broken wood, old furniture apparently thrown into the room at random, strewn across a floor which doesn't seem to be in much better condition than the door had been...

Cobwebs too, grey curtains of silk shrouding the farther reaches in dust-laden gloom.

And in the silence that follows the assault on the portal, there comes a new sound.  A combination of hissing and chittering, and a second, similar voice responds.

With people edging towards the door, Colwyn chooses to hang back close to Erista and the head of the stairs.

And there is a movement in the darkness of the room... a large spider, about the size of a medium-sized pig, crawls carefully out from among the cobwebs near the ceiling.  A moment later, a second picks its way delicately across the debris-strewn floor, which creaks and groans beneath the weight.  The two continue a conversation in their own bizarre tongue...



OOC: Rolls for Diplomacy, Gather Information and Sense Motive Initiative would be good about now, and attack rolls if necessary.

As noted, spider #1 is on the roof, about eight or nine feet off the floor, and spider #2 is scuttling about, trapped in the bathtub on the floor.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:28, Wed 09 Jan 2013.

"I need my gear!"

Bilfro continues to put some distance between himself and the door being worked upon, searching high and low for his missing possession.  That in itself is a n easy task in the current location and thus he moves at considerable speed back towards the top of the stairs.

"My book!  My staff!  My precious!"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:18, Wed 02 Jan 2013.

Eilieen stands back with some amusement as the two, muscled men have at the door.  "A fine thing to have such strong men around," she muses, then pats Colwyn on the arm.  "Of course, I understand.  Perhaps you should invest in some oil.  Or acid.  Or something of the sort, for when these locks are...well, exposed?"  Beaming, the priestess pats his arm again, glad to have come up with a solution.

And, of course, when are the locks with which they're concerned not going to be rusty?  But that thought she keeps to herself.

The door comes down and a storm of emotions plays across her sharp features, finally settling on disgusted horror.  The dust.  The chittering.  Ugh.  It's too much.

The pig-sized spiders are mildly odd to her, but not really an issue.

Dangerous, though, and so she hefts her spear in preparation to defend herself (knowing full well that, any second now, there's going to be a roar from Aarnr and everyone in the doorway will be in grave danger of decapitation by a wildly swung sword).  And she won't let him and Fergus enter into battle alone!

OOC - Initiative of 17, Attack roll of 17.  If the spiders attack, or if anyone moves to attack them, Eilieen will attack as well with her spear, moving in to stab at a convenient target.

Damage: 9

Goodness!
This message was last edited by the player at 13:59, Wed 02 Jan 2013.

"Can we eat it ?"  Aarnr thinks to ask Fergus as he spots the pig-sized spider.  Rash the priest is, aye, and oft careless of his own safety and that of others ... but still wise in the ways of war, and particularly in the matter of safe footing, for a single mis-step in the fens might be your last.

"Ware," he holds his arm out to forestall any advance.  "If the fobbin' planks of the floor are in so poor condition as the festy door, I'd not trust 'em.  Let the goatish, sheep-biting mumble-mews come to us and we'll carve 'em up !"

Aarnr seems almost proud of his cunning and risks a glance back at the minstrels to see if either is taking notes, before setting himself, sword at the ready, to swing at a spider that ventures too close.

Erista, quite comfortable in her spot both away from the spiders and on the other side of many well-armed friends, takes her time in picking out a stone and setting it to her sling.