With no obvious sign of Bilfro's belongings, the group head across the courtyard to the tower diagonally opposite the former den of spiders.  Around them the air grows cooler as the cloud-filled sky darkens with the approaching dusk.

Approaching the structure reveals that it stands at the corner of a second courtyard, strewn with rubble and detritus.  A close examination of the tower reveals a door at ground level, reinforced by planks nailed to it, but not in such a way that they look as if they were intended to seal the opening.

A flight of crumbling steps, many of them missing, and others canted at sharp angles to the horizontal, lead up to a door on the upper floor.  The stone balustrade on one side of the steps is entirely missing.  The upper door does look as though some attempt was made to close it permanently.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:58, Wed 13 Feb 2013.

Ozzy crouched near the crumbling remains of a wall that once separated the two courtyards. He watches the sky anxiously, not at all pleased with the approach of nightfall. He then scrutinized the ground around him (for spiders, even little ones)) before turning his attention to Aarnr, almost certain he would get to witness the mans skillful use of a 'two-handed lock pick'.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:03, Sat 09 Feb 2013.

"Up there," Aarnr seems to prefer the more dangerous and better barricaded entry on the upper level to the easily breached barrier below.

"That froggin' orc I killed," the priest ponders, "the puttock that fell off the ledge," he clarifies. "Maggot had an axe, didn't he ?"

Enthusiastically, Aarnr returns to the first courtyard, looking to locate the creature's broken body in the ruins of the pallisade and retrieve his weapon, the better for prying open reluctant doors.

Fergus follows the others to the tower opposite.  The general condition of the keep did not inspire confidence and the stairs to the upper level of the tower ahead were no better.  Still, Fergus could see a kind of sense in Aarnr's suggestion, except for one thing...

"Aarnr, I got my axe right here." he calls after the priest.

"Back in a froggin' minute !" Aarnr assures his friend, not really paying attention to what Fergus is saying, so intent is he on locating the spot the orc fell.

Aarnr seems determined to get himself killed before his next birthday.  Or tomorrow.  Whichever comes first...  He heads back to the scene of the first battle with the orcs of the keep, and his triumphant entrance to their grim abode, to search for an axe.

His friends, meanwhile are left to ponder the condition of the tower.  The gathering dusk makes the assessment uncertain, and does not bode well for a safe ascent of the ruined stair.  Colwyn peers upwards in the fading light, "I reckons as I could be climbin' the wall an' takes me a look in that there window.  Could be good ter know what's bein' in there afore Aarnr's eatin' 'is way through the door.  Easy work fer me, with all them 'oles an' cracks an' stuff in the stone."

Corian eyes the rogue uncertainly, doubtless remembering all the previous occasions when Colwyn has avowed that some task would be simplicity itself for him to complete.

Meanwhile, amid the wreckage and the blood, the dead orc's axe is not easy to find.  Aarnr spots it, though, and picks it up... and it turns out to be a stick laying next to a piece of stone, in such a way that they had looked like an axe.  He tosses the useless piece of wood aside, and looks around again...

"Yeasty, common-kissin', dankish, fen-sucked, toad-spotted ..." Aarnr provides him opinion of the orc, its parents, and sticks and stones in general as he impatiently throws aside the debris in his pursuit of the elusive axe ...

"I...wonder," Eilieen murmurs.  She glances about with some concern.  "I have exhausted my goddess' favour for the day, and I'm certain others find themselves less-than-optimal.  Might it be better to rest for the night somewhere safe, then return here in daylight, refreshed and readied?"

The priestess cocks an eyebrow at the searching Aarnr.  "It might be more easy to discover the axe in full daylight as well," she murmurs.  "Or, by that time, convince Aarnr that yours is sufficient, Fergus."

Standing with the others Aramil again wonders at the sense of a city slicker like himself running off willy nilly into the countryside seeking adventure and other noteworthy exploits to make the greatest ballad ever told. So far it has nearly cost him his life, and certainly the life of one friend, and most of his sanity, though his sanity is slowly returning. Looking at the tower there seems nothing notable and the half-elf seems quite taken with the idea of resting and starting again tomorrow.

While Aarnr is busy searching for the soon-to-be-his axe amidst the wreckage of the broken palisade, without much success it seems, his companions are equally busy studying the soon-to-be-plundered tower.

Corian pays particular attention to the doors, "I feel that the lower entance would provide easier access." he opines thoughtfully, "While it does appear to have been made more sturdy, none of the boards have been affixed to the surrounding walls."

"Perhaps whoever reinforced it still intended to use it as a means of ingress and egress."

"Yer wha?" Colwyn responds, still eyeing the wall wistfully.  "Oh... yer reckons it might be bein' open?"

Eilien's suggestion brings a grin from the rogue.  "Bloody good plan that. i could be doin' with some kip.  Who wants ter tell Aarnr that it's bein' time ter stop playin' an' get ready fer bed?"

This message was last edited by the GM at 20:27, Fri 15 Feb 2013.

Erista looks off towards Aarnr, or rather, towards the sound of his voice.  "Maybe we should just let him work it out?  On his own, like?" she suggests.  "Meantime, we should pick a spot and get some food going.  Bad news always goes down better with food.  Good news, too, come to think of it, but nobody ever says that, do they?"

Aramil looks at the little halfling and nods in agreement with her statement. He wouldn't like to try and stop Aarnr from doing what he wanted, especially when he has something in mind. "Not used to organising the camping ground I'm happy to go with your suggestions, but I"m very capable at getting dinner on when we are set up." he comments hoping that dinner and a bed will soon be available.

As the groups intent turns toward spending the night within the crumbling ruins of the keep, Ozzy sighs, his shoulders slumped as he catches another whiff of his clothing. Knowing he will never be able to sleep well wrapped in such a stench, he wanders over to the well, looking for a bucket, a rope, and the hope that it hasn't run dry yet.

As the others talk about finding a place to camp, Ozzy makes his way across to check the nearest potential source of water for bathing and cleaning his soiled clothes.  There is an old bucket near the well, mostly intact, thought the rope attached to it has rotted away.

Peering down the well itself reveals only darkness more profound than the blackest of nights, but in a stroke of pure luck Ozzy almost falls into the abyss as part of the wall gives way when he leans against it.  The resulting splashes, echoing up from the depths, certainly give an indication that there is, at least, something wet down there.

Aarnr, meanwhile, picks up another useless stick with the intention of throwing it at something, only to find that it is almost entirely unsuited to the task, due to having an axe blade attached to one end, which spoils its balance...

"... sheep-bitin', elf-skinned, goatish, clackdish !"  Aarnr finishes triumphantly, his prayers answered as he discovers himself holding the much sought after axe.

His good humour, however is short-lived as he returns to his comrades-in-arms to find them deep in discussion regarding the merits of a good night's sleep. "We're done here then ?" he inquires puzzledly, "Thou think there's naught else in this froggin' pile of stones that would have been disturbed by us dealin' with the orc's an' their pets ?"

"The minstrel has the right idea," the priest notes approvingly as Ozzie continues the demolition of the crumbling structure.

"Well," Erista reasons, "If there is anything, then either it sleeps at night like us and it'll leave us alone until morning, or it sleeps by day in which case we woke it up and it'll be groggy, giving us the advantage."

She wanders over towards Ozzy, watching him look into the well - although it must be admitted she stays a good five feet back.  "There's been enough rain the last few days," she points out.  "Might do better to just look for a good pooling, with all the broken stone around here."

"See, that's bein' the sorta thing it's bein' good ter know." Colwyn points out as Erista wanders off.  "If'n some bugger lives in there, it's bein' good ter know which 'e is... jus' headin' fer a bit öf shut-eye, or jus' thinkin' of 'avin' 'im  a bite of brekkie.  Could be that infermation's turnin' out ter be vital, like."

"Tha's why I shoud be climbin' up ter look in the window.  I mean, me'n'Aarnr was lookin' in the other window, an' that's 'ow we was knowin' 'bout the bloody spiders."

He looks about to see if anybody supports his plan, then hits upon a new argument, "Yer never knows, might be that there's bein' a good place ter sleep up there, an' 'ere's we, all plannin' ter bed down in the dirt down 'ere."

Fergus waits for somebody to make a decision.

He can see the sense in stopping and resting, though he's certain that Aarnr at least will want to press on.  At first, Fergus had thought this would mean leaving the keep and finding a good spot in the woods but having turned his mind to the forest outside the walls and the fires around the keep's perimeter, Fergus decides that a secure place within the walls might be better.

"I'll give you a boost, Colwyn."

Fergus goes to stand close to the wall of the tower, where he can help Colwyn start his climb.

"Oh, very good plan, Colwyn, Fergus!"  Eilieen, quite overcome with the idea of having a rest and - dare one hope? - the opportunity to cleanse, hops in place and claps her hands together with giddy delight.  "Please, please find us a place where we might spend a few hours in slumber.  And warmth.  And not being rained upon."

Spiderwebs and dust?  Unpleasant, but she can deal with that if it means they can actually sleep.

"With any luck, there might even be an old bathtub!" she exclaims to Oswald with ridiculous optimism.

"Could be more of those fobbin' spiders !" Aarnr agrees enthusiastically with Colwyn's assessment.  The priest tucks his newly-aquired axe through his belt as he latches on to this new venture.

Bathtub, eh ?  His brow furrows as he ponders on this.  Some sort of oath used by the denizens of these strange lands, perhaps ?  Certainly worth adding to his repertoire ...  Thou rancid, fish-baitin' bathtub !  Yes, that'd do froggin' nicely.

Near the well, Ozzy pulls a coil of rope from his pack. Kneeling, he takes the necessary time to secure the bucket to the rope then grins happily as he hefts it over the edge and lowers it down, hoping to pull up a bucket of water or two to help wash out his clothes before bedding down for the night. He hears the others discuss the possibility of sleeping inside, looking up at the window so high above the ground and making no effort to volunteer to climb just yet. He was far more concerned with ridding himself of the stench of urine soaked clothing before worrying about scaling some wall just before nightfall. After pulling up a pail of water, he strips down and begins the process of laundering.

Taking a few moments to drop his pack and much of his gear, Colwyn gladly avails himself of Fergus' offer of aid.  It seems to make all the difference, as the rogue goes up the decrepit wall with ease.  He catches hold of the sill of the narrow window, hoists himself up, and peers into the interior.  At which point he scrambles back down far more quickly than he had ascended.

Pale faced, he raises a finger to his lips in a signal for everybody to stay quiet, then says, in hushed tones, "I doesn't reckon there's bein' a tub, Eilieen, unless'n it's be'ind the bloody ogre what's sleepin' in there."

"Ogre?"  Eilieen blinks, working through the little she knows of such beasts in her head.  Ogres.  Large, nasty creatures.  Smelly.  Filthy.  Dangerous to billy goats...no, wait, that's trolls.  Somewhat obscene, depending on whether or not they're of the Ral or Grenadier tribe.

Also, they eat people.

"Well, enough of that," she staunchly states.  "That thing must be defeated before it consumes any more innocents.  But are we in any condition to do so?  Two of our strongest are hurt, our magic and divine forces are at a low ebb..." Pausing, she glances about, then quickly looks back to the middle of the group, face carefully blank.  "...and Oswald is grossly unprepared, being naked."

"Ogre !"  Aarnr's eyes light up at the challenge.  Large, nasty creatures.  Smelly.  Filthy.  Dangerous to billy goats.  Somewhat obscene.  Also, they eat people.

Yes, he's got an awful lot in common with them.  Though technically speaking consuming the hearts of the mightiest of your foes so as to gain their courage probably doesn't count.

While Eilieen counsels caution, the big priest has his axe out and is halfway to the crumbling stone stairs when he feels Fergus' disapproving gaze upon him, bringing the enthusiastic approach to an abrupt halt.

Remembering a certain conversation with his agricultural friend along the lines of 'not getting your friends killed', Aarnr shuffles back to the gathering with bad grace, to catch the tail end of the priestess's comments regarding Oswald's state of undress.

"Good lad," he nods approvingly.  "Scare the froggin' nargals off the puttock !  We should all ..."

Having been here and there and then elsewhere, Bilfro sighs heavily.

"My precious.  Nowhere.  Nowhere!"

The woe is strong in this one.

"Oh, is it laundry day already?" he asks in surprise upon seeing Ozzy doing his.  Peering at the sky and sticking a finger up he murmurs and shrugs.  Then he stirs and starts jogging about the area.

"I need my gear!  It must be near!  Oh dear!  But where?"

With all of the sudden attention, Ozzy actually blushes from head to toe. His small frame trembles as he hastily works on a final rinse for his pants, slapping them on the side of the well and twisting out most of the water. Once done, he struggles to pull the damp garment on, nearly tripping onto his face when his heel gets caught halfway through pulling on the first pantsleg. Finally finding both the balance and strength needed to work his way back into his pants, he sighs, turning back to work a little longer on the shirt. Better half-dressed than not dressed with all the talk of Ogres lurking about the ruins. Shivering, he wonders if any of them will ever come to enough agreement to at least start a fire for the evening meal. While he scrubs, he watches Bilfos panic with amused interest.

"I would posit that we have just two choices at this stage." Corian suggests quietly, "We can either leave the area, post haste, or we can assault the vile ogre.  Retreat would certainly be the quietest option, in my opinion.  However, we did slay two of the repugnant things on the road here, so one should present less difficulty."

"The third option, that we should simply settle down in the fortress for a rest while the monster yet lives, is not really viable, as it places us in considerable danger should it wake up during the night and decides that it's feeling a tad peckish."

A brief pause, and then the mage adds, "Indeed, for all we know, it may be largely nocturnal.  It might, in fact, wake up at any moment."

"Nocturnal ?  Nah, they're froggin' meat-eaters," Aarnr advises their patron, though the young codpiece seems to be favouring dealing with the Ogre sooner, rather than later ... as least given a certain, perhaps biased, interpretation of his words.

"That door's pretty well sealed shut," he waves the axe in the direction of the upper portal, "but we should be able to get the one down here open without much gleepin' trouble."

"Unless anyone wants to froggin' knock politely an' wait for the toad-snouted bladder to poke his nose out ?"

Still making certain not to stare in Ozzy's direction, Eilieen misses the amusing twists and turns.  Instead, she struggles to follow the direction of the conversation, only to surrender in the face of Aarnr's vicious beating of the language.

There's a pause to consider Bilfro's gadding about, and a slow rise of the eyebrows.

Then it's back to the ogre (who might actually have Bifro's 'stuff').  "You may have a point, Corian," she admits.  "Though I am loathe to trust to luck the lives of our friends.  One blow from an ogre might lay one of them down for good, especially without healing to be had."  Pacing, she ponders possibilities.  "Perhaps we should make the attempt, assuming we can enter the beast's lair quickly and quietly?  If we take it by surprise...."

'Honorable combat' certainly isn't something taught in Zadastha's temple ('All is fair, etc, etc'), nor would Eilieen subscribe to such values with the lives of her friends on the line.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:36, Mon 25 Feb 2013.

Ozzy, finally cleaned and damp and still not entirely smelling like his wonderful self, squeegees his pinky finger in one ear to clear the water as he says, " An Ogre? No foolin'? ...I thought you guys were just trying to scare me!" Shaking the water from his hair once more he adds, " Well, if there IS an Ogre in residence, I for one, will not sleep well until its dealt with. So where is it?" He looks toward the tower with the barricaded door, then to the Aarnr both expectantly and questioningly, wondering why the big man hasn't launched an all-out attack on the Ogres presumed chamber of residence. " Do you want me to go knock and see if he wants to come out and play?"

Fergus, standing with his back to the tower wall, has a good view of Oswald's antics at the well.  He smiles and tries, unsuccessfully, not to laugh, though he does cover his mirth with one broad hand.

Once he has recovered his composure, Fergus suggests, "No need to be shy, Aarnr.  I reckon you're right.  We all saw what those ogres did back on the road.  We should stop this one now."  For all his attempts at grim resolution, Fergus is still a little reluctant to talk of killing things.

"We don't need to go charging in though.  If we can get in downstairs we could set a fire and smoke it out.  And then, like, we could put a rope across the stairs or some'at and trip it an' all." Fergus' careful articulation starts to break down at the thought of what, for him, is a remarkably clever idea.

Ozzy smiles broadly, admiring the sudden inspired bit of tactical skill revealed by what he had always considered a brute farm boy. " Genius Idea Fergus! A little smoke, a little fire, a panicked Ogre tripping over the doorstep and right under the cold steel of the gathered heroes! Pure genius man!" He grabs for his pack, looking for pen and paper with which to write it all down. Even if it didn't work, it would certainly make for a good story to tell later. Finding both, he sets them aside and then begins gathering what scraps of wood there are to be found, " I can help with the fire. C'mon everyone, lets get this done so we can have our dinner and get to bed before sunrise."

"And my property!"

Raising a hand Bilfro makes an effort to be noted.

"For without it I am ashamed to admit I am of little use to anyone, unlike my dear companion here, Death Unseen, as his nickname is."

He holds up the other hand and displays once more the tiny tortoise.  In response to this re-introduction the little tortoise proudly stretches its neck as it strikes a potentially heroic pose, as far as tortoises go.  Or mayhap it is merely looking around.

"But wood, that I can gather!" says Bilfro proudly and sets out to do so.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:20, Tue 26 Feb 2013.

Planning.

Aarnr shudders.  Nothing good ever came of such foulness.  And like as not it'll all go wrong.  Even the damn minstrel is eyeing him funny.

The priest shrugs. "I'll open the froggin' door then. Quietly." that last looks like it burned his tongue on it's way past his lips.  Though with any luck there'll be a few more ogres in the lower chamber of the tower ...

Bilfro heads off to gather some wood.  It turns out to be fairly easy, as there is broken furniture scattered all around.  Meanwhile the others, even Aarnr, are concocting a plan.  It is during this discussion that Erista notices marks in the muddy earth in front of the lower entrance to the tower.  The door has been opened, and recently.

Corian smiles happily.  "If the lower door can be opened, then it would be much quieter, and easier than breaking through the other one."

Colwyn's ears prick up at that.  "Unless'n it's bein' locked.  Which case. I's the man ter be openin' it." he adds, patting at the pouch hanging at his belt.

"We may even be able to take the ogre by surprise.  Though I should warn everybody that I do not have the strength to use much more magic today.  My contribution to any battle will likely be in the form of well-place crossbow bolts."

And Bilfro staggers back, his scrawny arms cradling a sizeable quantity of flammable material...

Colwyn looks about, grinning, "Right then...  If every bugger's bein' ready, I's ready ter open the blöödy door, an' we can be seein' if it'll be right fer startin' a fire in there."

He steps closer to the door and looks at the lock, before letting out a low groan.  "Bleedin' lock's bein' broke, innit."  He seems shocked, though, if the truth be told, he probably should have expected it - the ogre had to get into the tower somehow.

The rogue grips the edge of the door and pulls, dragging it open with a scraping sound as the bottom edge of it drags across the ground.  The stench which exudes from the opening almost causes the rogue to gag.  Inside there is inky blackness, and a guttural voice snarling...

[Language unknown: "Ver?  Ivewitate ndestihat?"]

There is the sound of movement in the darkened chamber...

OOC: Initiative checks please, and an attack roll from aarnr, because I know he's going to charge in there...  :)

Leaning over Colwyn's shoulder, Aarnr all but shoulders the rogue out of the way in his eagerness to bring sudden death down upon whatever creature lurks within, be it spider, ogre or toad-kissin', fen-sucked demon lord !

Bellowing his intentions in an incomprehensible but loud and spittle-flecking litany of challenge, threat and insult, the priest bounds towards the opening ...

OOC:

14:18, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 15 using 1d20+2. Initiative ?  What's that ?
14:19, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 22 using 1d20+4. Premptive Strike.
14:21, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 11 using 2d6+4. Wot's the Damage ?]
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 18:13, Sun 03 Mar 2013.

Colwyn hurls himself aside, with some assistance from Aarnr, and lands sprawled on his belly on the muddy ground...

Corian, meanwhile, casts about on that same ground, and snatches up a jagged fragment of stone.  Holding it in his open left hand, he gestures over it with his right, while hurriedly pronouncing what is either the words of a spell, or a sign that he's drunk too much wine when nobody was watching.

"Bydded goleuni.  Gadewch i'r tywyllwch cael eu halltudio."

The prone rogue starts to scramble to his feet, yelling a warning, and his own words are fortunately much clearer than those of the apprentice mage.  "'ware!  Orcs!"

Orcs?  MORE orcs?  "Oh dear," Eilieen whispers.  Things are spiralling out of control - the ogre will surely be awakened, and trundle down to 'greet' his visitors, already weakened by battle against his guards.

Corian begins to cast a spell, but Eilieen has no idea what it might be.  She can guess, of course, given the darkness within the open portal, but she can't be sure, and...whoops, there goes Aarnr.  Of course.

No time to plan, no time to work out who casts what.  Grimacing, Eilieen passes her hand over the tip of her spear.  "Zadastha, give your people a glimpse of the brilliance of your heart," she whispers.  A sprinkling of glittering dust seems to fall from her fingers, coating the spearpoint, then the weapon's tip begins to burn, a warm light radiating forth from the steel.

That finished she strides into the room in pursuit of their apoplectic priest.

OOC - Casting Light on my speartip and moving after Aarnr.
Initiative: Hooray, a 3....

Erista bravely readies another rock, setting it into her sling and getting ready to throw it once she can see something.

At Colwyn's instruction, Fergus stands ready.  He's not on his guard, though.  Surely nothing could stand to share the same tower with an ogre?

Unfortunately, Fergus' assumption is wrong, as Colwyn is challenged by something within the tower, which is in turn challenged by the belligerent Aarnr.

Fergus is rather slower to react, though he hurries as best he can, particularly after Colwyn announces the presence of more orcs.

OOC: Initiative 7

Ozzy hand pulls the javelin from his pack before he even knows he has a grip on it. Shivering all over - probably from damp clothes, certainly not the fear of being an appetizer at the next Ogre dinner - the tip of the weapon quivers in the dim starlight. He's up, he's ready, ...he just doesn't find himself willing to stand nose to groin with an Ogre right now. So he watches, wondering how it will all play out so that he might write down later.

20:56, Today: Oswald Osbourne rolled 20 using 1d20+7. Initiative.

"I say, mind you language!"

It is utterly unclear who the scrawny man refers to as he desperately starts to browse through the firewood he gathered.  Perhaps he misplaced his sanity in there somewhere.

"My gear, my gear!"

So far has seems to have little to no luck finding it amongst the pieces of wood he has gathered.


OOC:
Initiative: 21
Staying and/or moving back

Bilfro drops his burden and starts looking for a weapon.  As look would have it, there is one amongst the wood that he has collected - a broken length of wood which has the rusted remains of a spear head still attached to it.  The point itself is long gone, but the steel socket is still fixed to one end, while the other end  of the shaft is a mass of splinters... 

Ozzy and Aramil draw their weapons in unison. one a javelin, the other his shortsword, which gleams surprisingly brightly in the dim light.  Neither of them, it seems are prepared to follow Aarnr as he plunges into the darkened room at the base of the tower.

In the confined space, the stench is terrible, but the orcs will just have to put up with it...  There is just enough light for Aarnr to see dark, moving shapes around him, seeming to rise up from the floor.  His blade lashes out, and one of the shapes goes back down, followed a moment later by a second. 

Erista, like Ozzy and Aramil, wisely decides to give Aarnr room to work in the tower.  The halfling  prepares her sling and waits for the priest to drive the enemies out to her. 

Cupped in Corian's palm, the stone starts to glow palely.  The mage picks it up with his right hand, and hurls it towards the door.  Only to see it strike the frame and land in the mud whence it came.  It lays there, glowing and pretty.  Pretty useless...

The orcs, numberless in the Stygian darkness, close in on Aarnr, and seem to be able to see him clearly.  The priest feels the bite of steel along his ribs, even through his mail... 

Fergus arrives outside the door, a little more cautious than Aarnr, and uses his toe to flip the glowing stone into the darkness to reveal the carnage within...

To one side of the doorway, Colwyn gets to his feet and draws his own blade.  He makes no move to enter though, choosing instead to stand alongside the door, ready to strike should an orc step out...

And Eilieen, clearly encouraged by her success with the spider, goes past both Fergus and Colwyn and steps into the room, her glowing spear adding more light to the scene.  She sees a half dozen orcs, and two more dead on the dirty bedding which covers the floor.  Aarnr is swinging his heavy blade to keep the creatures back for the moment.  The priest of Bowbe is covered with blood.  Some of it might not be his, judging by the state of the dead bodies...

OOC: Action and adventure and really wild things.  :)

Combatant         Init
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Oswald Osbourne           20
Aramil                    20
Aarnr Foultongue          15
Erista                    10
Corian Barade              9
Orcs                       7  AC=14
Fergus Andarson            7
Colwyn Akbar               6
Eilieen                    3



Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

It seems the two performers have become one as they both prepare for the coming onslaught and then give the greatest weapon at the groups disposal room to swing. Sensing some of the others reluctance to again take to the fight, the half-elf hums quielty to himself for a moment and then starts to frame a story of a great fight and then tells the ode to the group.

OOC:inspire courage

When it comes to dealing out sheer mayhem, Erista has nothing on Aarnr.  Nevertheless, as light moves into the tower, she sends a stone whizzing in to ping quite solidly off an orc's forehead.

It'd been a long day and Aarnr was quite prepared to go easy on the orcs ... indeed the turbulent priest had even been considering letting them flee if they chose, so keen was he to get at the ogre above.  But once the froggin' curs have the temerity to fight back, and spurred on by Aramil's rousing battle-chant, Aarnr abandons any pretence of civilised behaviour and lays about him with little regard for life or limb, least of all his own !

If his battle cry was incomprehensible before, now it sounds like a wounded owl-bear has suddenly joined the party going on in the lower tower ...

"By the power of Greybeard!  I have the power!!"

Triumphantly raising the no doubt once-proud spear Bilfro strikes a pose before peering towards the door, slightly less eagerly.

"All dead?" ask he of no one, voice hopefully yet doubtful, all whilst craning his neck and wringing his quarterstaff, or perhaps more accurately dubbed, his fifthstaff or maybe even two-seventh-staff or...

...whatever.

Either way, he does not yet move from his post of observation, indubitably carefully considering any number of opportune tactics and manoeuvres.

Oh dear.

Once again, Aarnr's headstrong nature has brought him into grave danger.  But Eilieen doesn't have time to sigh and roll her eyes now.  Gritting her teeth (possibly against a series of invectives), she charges forward to assist, leading with the glowing tip of her spear.

It's possible some of her brief weapon training comes back to her, or maybe it's luck; either way, her spear strikes true, lancing deeply into one of the foul beasts attacking Aarnr, the bright glow dimming briefly before she wrenches the tip free.

Has the light taken on a crimson sheen?

OOC -

Attack roll: 21!
Damage roll: 6 + 2 = 8!

Pressed up against the side of the door, Colwyn hears the sounds of combat inside the tower, and the colour drains from his face (though with the mud, and the fading light, it's not so easy to tell).  The yells, the crunches, the thuds, the screeches of agony, the indescribable squelches... all play on his imagination and paint the scene inside in lurid colour and horrific detail.

He looks to his companions, those still in the courtyard, and yells, "The bloody orcs's killin' them!"

Then, bolstering his courage and steeling his nerve, he steps around the doorjamb to lend assistance to his beleaguered companions, sword raised to strike.  He is entirely ready to sell his life dearly (or just flee in shame) if that is what it takes...

Ozzy holds tightly to his javelin. The sounds of combat terrify him however; so much noise, pain and suffering his imagination cannot help from calling up his worst nightmares from the depths of his mind. He holds his place in the courtyard, ready to bring down anything that tumbles out of the tower - except of course, our profane barbarian.

Fergus steps forwards to support Aarnr.  The battle-crazed priest has already taken a heavy toll on the orcs, though at the cost of his own self-preservation, neither of which particularly surprises Fergus.

Fergus swings his scythe, in the hope that a solid blow or two will quickly finish the fight, but his limited combat experience comes to the fore and, in the end, he's lucky not to hit his friends.

OOC: Rolled a 2...

The battle continues in the foetid orc nest...

While Bilfro and Ozzy await the opportunity to act without stepping into a confined space filled with a berserker priest of Bowbe, Aramil starts to recite an epic rhyme of bravery and valour, aimed at encouraging his companions to feats of great martial prowess...

the sudden influx of extra light inside the chamber does nothing to hinder Aarnr,  The barbarian priest uses his massive blade to good effect, and two more orcs fall in a welter of gore and blood.  They do not get up again, though one still twitches feebly.

A third orc goes down, blood welling up around the sudden indentation in its forehead produced by Erista' sling stone.  Eyes open, but glazed, it struggles to rise, but seems unsure exactly which way is up.

Back outside the tower, Corian readies his crossbow and prepares to join the battle...

Fergus does enter the fray.  His scythe swings at one of the orcs, but the beastial creature's face cracks into a wicked smile as its own weapon, a large axe, lifts to deflect the blow, and send it sliding towards Colwyn, who ducks frantically.  The orc, meanwhile, follows through with his own attack, and the axe slams into the unbalanced farmer's side, spilling yet more blood onto the already stained floor. 

Another orc swings its own axe at Eilieen, sneering as the blade bites into the priestess' unarmoured hip, spilling much blood down her sorely mistreated robe and eliciting a cry of pain from the young woman, as she staggers backward.  The orc starts to follow, intent on finishing the battle. 

Eilieen's cry is answered by a bellowing roar from above... a sound which seems to shake the very walls of the tower, and even echoes across the courtyard beyond, scaring sleeping birds from their roosts in the forest.  Inside the confined space, it is deafening...

The third, and last, of the remaining orcs decides to try its luck with Aarnr.  The big barbarian, for all his disdain for safety is not quite insane enough to let the blow land.  The priest of Bowbe steps aside, and the orc's weapon, a greatsword to match Aarnr's own, smashes down onto the filthy bedding which covers much of the floor...

Colwyn reacts to the awful sound from above by switching from pure fear, to sheer mind-blasting terror.  The neares orc is the one attacking Fergus, and that battle has now carried the creature between the rogue and the exit, leaving the man with only one way out.  He thrusts with his shortsword, aiming for the creatures kidneys... or heart... or spleen... or... something (he's a rogue, not a chirurgeon, and he can't remember all that stuff).  No one is more shocked than Colwyn when the orc grunts and collapses in a heap, like a marionette whose giblets have been cut...

Nearby, Eilieen pushes away from the wall and meets her attacker half way.  Or rather her spear does, sinking into the throat of her foe, and lending a dark red tint to the light from her spear.  The creature drops, gurgling out the last of its life... 

OOC: One orc left, and the ogre just woke up.  His name is Smasho M^cSmash, and he hates Mondays.  :)  People are getting hurt, I notice.  I have to wonder why you still insist on following Aarnr about?  His "tactics" are more of a danger than the monsters.  :)

Combatant         Init
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Oswald Osbourne           20
Aramil                    20
Aarnr Foultongue          15
Erista                    10
Corian Barade              9
Orcs                       7  AC=14
Fergus Andarson            7
Ogre                       6
Colwyn Akbar               6
Eilieen                    3



Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Critical
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Critical
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Oh.

Oh, that...that...

Some part of Eilieen's mind quietly reminds her that this, this is why she chose Zadastha, or perhaps was chosen by the deity.  Ignore the sniggering rumors (and truths) about their gatherings and habits, things Eilieen has always eschewed; wounds are terrible things to be cleansed with the goddess' loving touch.  And now, she herself has fallen victim to the bite of steel, and virtually none of the goddess' power remains to her.

The wound is terrible, the pain worse.

Her gray vision skates across a trapdoor in the floor; blinking, she takes stock of it for a moment before the glow of her spear shines across the blood spattering to the floor between Fergus' feet.  For a long moment she stares, her wound consuming her thoughts, before her mind focuses.  The farmer is besieged.  Above, the ogre bellows its displeasure, but that remains an issue for another time.  All Eilieen can focus upon is the injury to her friend.

"No."  It's a gaspy breath from between her lips, nothing more, then Eilieen staggers forward, reaching out not with her spear, but with her hand.  Faithful to her cause until the end.  "Zadastha," she pleads, with nothing left for poetic entreaties.  And a dim, flickering glow takes form at the tips of her fingers.

OOC - Dropping 'Detect Magic' for Cure Minor Wounds on the injured Fergus.

"Great Scotty!"

Bilfro announces his flabbergasted state at the subtle indication of someone waking up on the wrong side of the bed and finding the whole day in quite a livid disagreement with their very existence.

"Most consternation kerfuffle ballyhoo of unimagined magnitudes escalates unhindered!" he kindly explains and waves his on the spur of the moment rather not very sizeable stick about in a most animated fashion.

He then in a most impressively resolute manner begins to run in a small circle, flapping his arms about.

Even in the throes of his battle-rage, though the bloody haze of the red mist that clouds his vision and his mind, Aarnr is aware that his friends have been hurt by these toad-kissin' hedge-pigs.

With a roar worthy of an entire party of owl-bears, the priest spits his defiance (quite literally; wouldn't stand too close) in the ugly face of the remaining and luckless orc, then has at the creature with his mighty blade, with a blow that could almost be likened to the flowing movement of a skilled dancer, should the art of dance be so brutal and bloody.

Erista actually darts up and in, but presuming that Aarnr can probably handle just one orc by himself, she decides to prepare for the Ogre instead.

She does this, of course, by disappearing.  Because really, what other sensible precaution can a Halfling take to prepare for an Ogre?

While Aramil still sings, and Bilfro, Ozzy and Corian prepare to fight, inside the tower Aarnr takes the battle to the enemy...

The priest's battle blade strikes again, and the remaining orc is cloven from shoulder to gut.  The light fades from its eyes before it even starts to fall, but by then Aarnr is searching for another target...

Erista avoids the man as she enters the structure and quickly positions herself beneath the stairs which run down the wall to the right of the entrance.  A heartbeat after she gets there she hears the sound of the ogre starting to descend the staircase, grumbling angrily as it does so... 

Taking advantage of the sudden lack of orcs, Colwyn dashes out of the door and screams at those in the courtyard, "The ogre's bein' awake!"  It doesn't occur to him that his warning might be unnecessary...

And Eilieen takes the brief pause in the conflict to go across to Fergus and use what small portion of Zadastha's blessing remains to her to aid the man. 

The ogre, part way down the stairs, stoops, and peers into the room below, sniffing the air.  Its face breaks into a smile, filled with malice and the desire to kill...  [Language unknown: "N!  Trwete nd?"]

OOC: No orcs left, but the ogre is moving about... obviously.  :)

Combatant         Init
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Oswald Osbourne           20
Aramil                    20
Aarnr Foultongue          15
Erista                    10
Corian Barade              9
Fergus Andarson            7
Ogre                       6
Colwyn Akbar               6
Eilieen                    3



Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Critical
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Critical
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 10:53, Wed 13 Mar 2013.

"Aarnr," Eilieen gasps plaintively, hoping to head off the hirsute holy man's incipant incursion into the ornery ogre's offal* lair.  "Fergus needs assistance..." she cries, then takes in a deep breath.  The pain hits - hard - and she uses it, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her fists.  "...NOW!" the tiny priestess shrieks in the same sort of tone that has pushed high priests into a headlong, utterly confused flight from her bedroom.

She's utterly worthless in the upcoming battle - a glancing blow from the ogre will drop her in her tracks - but there is one thing she can accomplish: buy time.  Jaw set, Eilieen takes up the spear in her hands and readies herself to throw.

* Artistic license...sue me.  ^_^

OOC - Eilieen holds her actions and readies her spear to throw.  If the ogre sticks its face into view, she'll attempt to perforate it.

She really doesn't have much else to offer at the moment.

Standing outside the half-elf is almost unaware of hie surroundings, so Colwyn running out and shouting that the ogre is awake is actually useful. Still chanting his ode, Aramil notes the voices inside, but only clearly hears Eileen's "now". Unused to such a forceful use of her voice Aramil takes out his sword and ducks his head inside the doorframe. Seeing how all inside are injured, well those he can see, the half-elf makes an unusual choice. Calling on his nerve he moves inside to stand by the very injured Eileen and Fergus and prepares to deflect any attempts at removing either from this world. Still quite shocked at his grief from the loss of the monk, Aramil is not prepared to loose any more companions at this stage.

Fergus cries out as the orc's axe bites into his side.  His eyes lose focus and he stumbles for a moment as pain and shock kick in.  By the time he has recovered sufficiently to steady himself, Aarnr has already dispatched the offending orc.  Glancing down he can see that his armour is split and the tunic beneath is already soaked and matted in blood.

Fergus is no healer but he knows deep down he can't take too much more.  With the knowledge of his own mortality the fear, always creeping around the edges in these situations, comes to the fore.  Fear that he might die, yes, but also fear for his friends.  With that thought, Fergus' control starts to slip.  As ever, Andar's voice comes back to him, Fergus, you don't know your own strength - Fergus, stop, or you'll hurt someone - You're in so much trouble young man.  This time, Fergus answers I know, Da.  I can't get in much worse trouble.  But I do know my strength and by golly I am gonna hurt someone.

As the ogre starts to come down the stairs, Fergus moves to intercept it.  As he walks past Eilieen, he pushes her firmly back.  He doesn't mean to do it roughly but he wants her safely behind him and he doesn't have time to explain.

"Come 'ere, ugly, an' I'll teach you to fear the reaper."  Fergus winds up, preparing for a blow that is intended to stop the ogre dead, literally, in its tracks.

Ozzy paces one way as Bilfro goes the other, changing direction as the shouts and cries of battle within the tower amplify and echo into the courtyard. Finally, curiousity outweighs his need for personal safety and he marches to the doorway with javelin in hand, pausing at the threshold to get a better view of the carnage within. Fergus brings an old song to mind, but he holds his voice. He didn't want to come off as discordant with the lyrical tones of Aramils own battle ballad.

With an ogre on the move, Colwyn is very sure of one thing: he doesn't want to get anywhere near the stinking brute.  Not that the smell is his major concern...

He wipes the orc blood off his blade, leaving his sleeve bloody instead, and sheaths the weapon as he moves towards Corian.  Another thing he's sure of is that a mage won't be putting himself in danger of being flattened, so if he sticks close to Corian, he should be safe.  Safer, at least.

As he approaches the man, he unslings his own crossbow and starts loading it.

"'ello Corian, matey.  I reckons as 'ow I'll be givin' yer some protection, since yer's not 'avin' no magic left."

"Ah!"

Bilfro's circle grows upon hearing Colwyn and he ends up behind both him and Corian.

"Oh?"

He shows his stick to them as if making an point of some sort and proving it thus.

"Eh."

He hunkers down and readies his mighty weapon for a mighty blow should the mighty ogre dare came close enough for his short stick to poke it.

"Ha!"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 06:37, Sat 16 Mar 2013.

Eilieen's plaintive and loud demands do in fact penetrate the battle-haze that grips Aarnr ... but the priest knows full well in some tiny portion of his brain that the only way Fergus will survive the battle is for the Ogre to be swiftly slain.

The priestess of Zadastha does, however succeed in distracting¹ the crazed warrior, for though the roaring charge towards the foe is as impressive as ever, the sword stroke that follows it passes far wide of its intended victim.


¹ Well, it's got to be somebody else's fault ! ;>

The ogre roars and starts down the stairs, walking awkwardly as it tries to fit its huge feet onto the narrow steps.  Beneath the stairs, Erista is showered with dust, grit, and dislodged insects...

Ozzy hurries forward and risks a quick look around the doorframe.  There is a lot of blood visible in the magical illumination that fills the room, and a fair bit of it seems to belong to the halfling's friends.

Aramil goes even further, stepping into the room to help Fergus and Eilieen, should they need it.  The half-elf stands with them, blade in hand.

Foaming at the mouth, and yelling almost as loudly as the ogre, Aarnr rushes at the monstrosity and hacks at its legs as it descends.  The angle is wrong though, and his blade is deflected as it strikes the edge of a step and fails to hamstring the creature.

Erista lurks, still, beneath the steps, as the ogre's ponderous footsteps thud on the stone above her head...

Corian raises his crossbow and prepares to send a quarrel in through the door, he aims high, and only intends to shoot when he sees the monster.  Hopefully this won't endanger anybody else...

Bilfro steps into position behind the mage, brandishing his broken spear.

Ignoring Aramil, Fergus moves to attack the ogre.  His weapon has better reach than the priests, and the ogre has descended a little further.  The big farmer's scythe slashes across the ogre's fat gut, spilling even more blood in the room.  The beast leaps down from the stairs, swinging its own weapon, a massive, spiked club, two-handed towards Fergus' head.

Aramil rushes forward and raises his own blade to deflect the blow, but the ogre is too powerful.  The club knock's the bard's sword aside and fells Fergus... 

Corian shoots, but the bolt goes wide of the mark and strikes the wall behind the ogre...  The mage starts to reload.  Colwyn yells, "Fergus!" and shoots at the ogre too, but the shot is hurried and even manages to miss the doorway.

And Eilieen hurls her weapon.  But the shock of seeing Fergus struck down causes her to miss her aim, and the spear clatters against the wall and falls onto the stairs...

OOC: Oh dear...

Combatant         Init
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Oswald Osbourne           20
Aramil                    20
Aarnr Foultongue          15
Erista                    10
Corian Barade              9
Fergus Andarson            7
Ogre                       6  AC=16
Colwyn Akbar               6
Eilieen                    3



Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Critical
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Dying
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Ozzy's eyes go wide with horror at the sight of the Ogre, it was almost as scary as Aarnr in one of his fits! Pulling back his small arm, he hastily launches his javelin at the monster, grunting with the effort of release, ...and then pouting as the point sticks firmly into a crumbled beam on the interior of the tower.

14:11, Today: Oswald Osbourne rolled 6 using 1d20+5. throw a javelin

Erista peeks out from her spot as the Ogre steps over her - and fortunately not on her, although by less of a margin than she might have liked.  Raising her hand, she says, "彩色 浪花," shooting a spray of rainbows almost straight up.

"Fergus!"

With nothing left - not even a weapon, now - Eilieen reverts to type.  Still stumbling from her brutal wound, the priestess staggers forward and falls to her knees next to the downed man.  The ogre towers above her, roaring, but there's little she can do right now to change that - hopefully the more martial members of their battling band will land a critical blow upon the beast.

All she can do now is drag Fergus from the battle and strive to keep him alive.

OOC - On her (horrible) initiative, Eilieen moves to take hold of Fergus.  IF she can, she drags him back this round - 5' step, repositioning?  If not, she'll do that next round.

Aarnr is not so gone in his battle-frenzy as not to recognise a death-blow when it falls ... and the sudden thrill of blood as he realises that fatal blow struck another and that he is still amidst the living is all it takes to rouse the god within him once more, forcing tired muscles to even greater heights.

The low growl within Aarnr's throat rises to a rumbling crescendo as it bursts past his lips in a exhalation, as the feral-priest swings his sword once more, seeking the Ogre's vitals ...

Shock from the situation and the devastating blow to Fergus, Aramil falters in his recital. Coughing away the feeling of dread and the tears that form in his eyes the half-elf roars at the beast and moved forward to defend the downed farmer. No-one will attack Fergus while I still stand he thinks to himself, forgetting both the ode and his own safety for the time being. Guilt at doing nothing while the others get hurt has caused the bard to neglect his own life as he attempts to save another.

"Monster, you shall not have this man for dinner!" he intones in a loud voice, lacking the poetry of his vocation yet with the feelings they portray. Then raising his voice once more Aramil begin a new ode, based on courage and war with descriptive language rarely used in common tellings around the inns and taverns of the land. It tells of the horror of combat, the blood, guts and pain that is usually ignored for glory, honor and victory that is assured in the poems and songs bards frequently use. Raising his sword again the bard swings, this time safe in the knowledge that the only Aramil is in the line of fire.

OOC:10:26, Today: Aramil rolled 2 using 1d6. Damage.
10:25, Today: Aramil rolled 19 using 1d20+1. Attack with sword.
Crap just missed my critical!

"Goodness!"

Bilfro jumps back where he stands outside the tower and behind the other two men.

"By Greybeard!"

A moments of deep brooding, if such a feat is indeed possible, and then the scrawny man begins to wave his arms around in the air, monotonously chanting "Domuzlar ve uçan inekler azalan, ben jambon gergin olabilirim!" over and over.

The occasional not overtly friendly sound escaping the doorway seems to make him twitch but not break his concentration regarding, well, whatever it is he is doing.

Fergus lays still, blood seeping from a nasty head wound...

Bilfro starts to gesticulate, and chant the same strange words over and over and Corian turns his head to stare, his face a mask of confusion and horror.  "What are you doing?"

A javelin flies from Ozzy's hand, misses the monster entirely, and embeds itself one of the oak beams which supports the ceiling of the room.

Aramil swings his shortsword at the giant, and the ogre bellows in rage as the weapon slashes across its ribs, opening a shallow wound and spilling yet more blood in the room, which looks more like an abattoir every moment...

A snarl answers it, and Aarnr's heavier blade hacks into the creatures side, releasing yet more blood in a hot crimson spray which adds a real red mist to the one which exists solely in the priest's vision.  The ogre lifts its club to retaliate, roaring something in its foul tongue...

And the weapon drops, as a flare of rainbow light illuminates the chamber momentarily.  The monster's eyes glaze over, and it stands, swaying and slack-jawed as its roar falls to a low groan...

Eilieen seizes the opportunity to grab hold of Fergus, and pull at him, with a strength born of fear and determination.  The big farmer's body moves slowly away from his assailant, dragged by the priestess, who is perhaps only half his weight.

OOC: Huzzah!  Teamwork!

Combatant         Init
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Oswald Osbourne           20
Aramil                    20
Aarnr Foultongue          15
Erista                    10
Corian Barade              9
Fergus Andarson            7
Ogre                       6  AC=16
Colwyn Akbar               6
Eilieen                    3



Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Critical
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Dying
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Colwyn blinks as coloured light limns the ogre brightly, and seems to stop it in its tracks.  "Good job!" he yells to Bilfro, not realising that Erista had actually cast the spell, followed by, "Nadgers!" as another crossbow bolt fails to hit its target.

"What what?"

Bilfro proudly represents the very essence of the living epitome of confusion as he looks at his hands, Corian and Colwyn before again looking towards the doorway where, by now, the rainbow has faded.

"I say, utterly unintended effect.  Need more study, yes, return to drawing board, yes," mutters he as he scratches the back of his head.  "Also need book for notes.  Notes important."

He remains where he is, now one more brandishing his broken spear as a crude staff, prepared to slay anything that ventures close enough for him to reach it before performing a strategic relocation post haste.

Corian shakes his head, though its not altogether clear whether he does so due to awe or denial.  The young apprentice drops his crossbow and unslings his pack, then starts rummaging through the contents in an effort to find something.

"Where is it?" he mutters, "It must be here somewhere.  I saw it only yesterday."

Almost as surprised at the successful attack and the ogre Aramil is buoyed and attempts again. This time it has more behind it and Aramil is thrilled to feel the blade slice through the ogre's flesh again.

OOC: 08:44, Today: Aramil rolled 5 using 1d6. Damage.
08:43, Today: Aramil rolled 18 using 1d20+1. Attack.

The priest roars yet again, spitting defiance in the Ogre's face, an eardrum busting bellow which ...

... quite frankly puzzles Aarnr greatly that his best challenge elicits no reaction.  Wearily he lowers his sword, the red-mist fading as his battle-rage fades, the fight seemingly over.  "Sheep-biting puttock," he absently chastises the Ogre, looking on as Aramil skewers the beast, but not deigning to attack a helpless a foe.

Now ... what was that bawdy, common-kissin' lewdster flappin' about ?  He scans the surprisingly well lit chamber, looking for the priestess of Zadastha, frowning as he sees her, badly hurt, yet trying to drag a fallen comrade from the fray.  Which ?

"Frog it !" the priest breathes, lips tightening as recognition comes.  His long legs take him quickly to the priestess.  "Thou leave him be !" he tells Eilieen urgently, but not unkindly, dropping his blade and falling to his knees at Fergus' side.  He eyes the shocking head wound inflicted by the Ogre's club, a fatal wound if ever he's seen (or let's face it, inflicted) one.  "Thou tardy-gaited lout," he chides Fergus gently.

"A good dea ..." he begins looking up at Eilieen, though just a glimpse of the priestess's face, seeing the determination with which she's ignoring her own wounds and willing the farmer-turned-warrior to cling to life brings him up short as precious little else in this world might.

Squaring his shoulders, Aarnr prepares to wrestle Fergus soul from Hel's cold grasp, only too aware that his god will not look kindly on his demands ...

"Bowbe," the priest shakes his fist at the heavens, "thou artless, fly-bitten skains-mate !  Thou mammering, bat-fowling bum-bailey !  This is not his froggin' time !  Send him back thou elf-skinned giglet !"

Aarnr places his hands over that terrible wound on Fergus head and hopes ...

Aramil strikes again, and his blade sinks deep into the ogre's filthy flesh, spilling more blood.  The monster staggers and topples, and the half-elf narrowly avoids being crushed beneath its massive bulk.  The impact as it strikes the ground is almost deafening in the confined space.

The room is eerily quiet, but only for a moment...

Aarnr turns away from the ogre, disgusted that the foe refuses to fight any longer, and realises that Fergus has fallen.  He kneels beside Fergus' motionless form and growls a few pithy insults at his god.  Then lays a hand on the farmer's head.

Aarnr's shoulders slump, the battle for Fergus life more wearying yet than the fight with orcs and ogre.

"He'll live," the priest tells Eilieen, "I could do little enough and can manage no more, but the loggerheaded clot-pole is a warrior to the end.  All that was needed was to kindle the froggin' spark."

He grimaces as he sees the priestess's own wound, mindful that he can do nothing for her.

As the ogre topples the half-elf shakes visibly though he is not sure from what source. Aramil drops to his knees next to the big creature unable to stand anymore with the weight of emotions that are cursing through him at the moment. Happiness at his first successful kill, relief that it only to two attacks by the bard, terror as the thought of death for Fergus, himself and the others.

Hearing the comments that Aarnr speaks Aramil realises how close a call the farmer had to leaving this life. Turning his head and looking at the pair standing over Fergus the half-elf shakes becomes worse, to the point that anyone looking may be surprised he manages to stand. Walking over, on very wobbly legs, he stops at the prone figure and leans in close. "Stay with us my friend. We haven't finished your story. Many greater deeds are yet to be recorded." Straightening up he walks towards the door leans on the doorframe and with a clarity that is unexpected tells the others "Fergus is alive, but I think only just. Eileen is also hurt and I'm still unable to tell about Aarnr. I think it would be best to get ready for night, those injured will need some food and warmth."

Still half-panicked, Eilieen releases Fergus into Aarnr's tender(?) care when the priest leaves combat to assist.  It's such a rare occurance, it actually leaves her speechless for a long moment as Bowbe's servant(?) pleads (???) for his god's assistance in a time of need.

Beyond the little drama, Aramil strikes a second at the somnolent ogre, his sword stabbing surely.  The creature slumps sans sound, save for the slap of suet against stone.

And silence, like the ogre, falls.

Eilieen sags, placing her hands palm down against the filthy floor.  One rises to press against the pulsing wound in her side as Aramil arrives.  "Well...well struck, my friend," she whispers.  "Well fought, in truth."  Then her gaze rises to Bowbe's priest.  She should really do something about her injury, but...

"...'elf-skinned giglet'?"  One thin, pale brow cocks.  "Oh, Aarnr."  Reaching out, she pats the burly man on his cheek, offering him a weak smile.  "You are a gem.  And thank you.  For the kindling."

They have defeated the ogre, with no loss of life.  Yet.  Perhaps, Eilieen prays, they can hold through the night until both she and Aarnr have regained their deity's good graces.  Or whatever passes for such among Bowbe's priests.

"Thou earned a place in the sagas thyself," Aarnr also congratulates Aramil. "That was froggin' well done.  Big apple-john wasn't it ... wonder if he has a friend ?"  The priest eyes the stairs with interest, though when he rises to retrieve his sword it is with difficulty.

"Thou too," he looks upon the priestess with new eyes. "Strumpet thou may be, but thou have also the heart of a lion !" he praises her.  "Thou would not be disgraced in the company of my people !"

"Best we not move Fergus ... an' if he does die this night then how better than surrounded by the bloody corpses of his foes ?  We must give Bowbe first choice of their arms in payment for his aid in the battles we have won this night."

"Someone go up there and see if thou can find the reeky lich-staff and trappings," he orders the uninjured. "An' bring us food and drink that we may feast !"

Erista stands up from the rubble and looks at the fallen ogre with a satisfied smile.  After a moment, she realizes nobody has the faintest idea what she'd just done... and only a moment after that sees Fergus and Eilieen, and doesn't care.  "Alright," she agrees to Aarnr's proposal.  "I'll go have a look upstairs.  You better keep those two alive 'til I get back," she warns.

She turns and starts climbing the stairs, quietly.

Erista makes her way up the stairs, making no more noise than a falling snowflake.  Which might, perhaps, be unnecessary, considering the awful din that everybody else was making just a moment ago. 

Downstairs, preparations are made to spend the night in the tower.  Orc-fouled and crumbling it may be, but it will, at least, provide shelter and a little protection.  Those who had remained outside make their way in to view the carnage...

"My precious!"

With utmost haste the scrawny man ambulates towards a specific location with the room, avoiding the centre of the room with a suspicious glare.

"I do in earnest profess my dire yearning to uncovering my holding in what would be regarded as an unsullied state," he mutters rather loudly.  Reaching out with his Stick formerly known as Spear he lifts up and attempts to move aside various rugs and blankets.

"May the powers that be have preserved my chronicles and scribblings throughout this most miserable occurrence!"

He soon retrieves both staff and pack, immediately opening the latter to search its content.

"Oh dear oh dear oh dear...."

The priest glowers at Bilfro.

"An' thou has to decide what thou are to do with the flap-mouthed, guts-griping haggard," Aarnr reminds Corian as he casts about for something to use to wrap about the bloody gash on Fergus's pate.  "Thou can enslave him or sell him ..."

To his certain knowledge, any prisoners that the foe had taken become the property of the victors and are counted amongst the spoils.

"What of thou," he asks Eilieen gently. "Lion or no, thou bleed well, an' neither of us has the strength to berate the gods to bestow their gifts.  But I may bind the wound for thee ?"

Corian takes Aarnr's question with all the seriousness the priest lends it.  He ponders for a moment, and glances at Bilfro who seems to be poking through a stack of soiled orcish bedding (though, for all the mage knows of the domestic habits of goblinoids, the orcs might have changed their bedding this very morning, and that could be the clean stuff).

He looks back to Aarnr, "You are, indubitably, correct.  The man is our slave to do with as we please.  However, I would mention that he did seem to cast a mighty spell which helped in felling the ogre.  A spell so mighty that I have, in all honesty, never seen its like before today.  It is my belief that he has, through his part in the victory, in fact earned his freedom."

Heartened by both Aarnr's healing of Fergus and his unexpect compliment - though 'strumpet' unsurprisingly receives a raised brow - Eilieen settles back into a daze for a long moment, her head spinning, her wound a dull, pulsing heat in her side.  "Stay alive," she agrees rather dumbly with Erista's suggesting, nodding her head.

A good plan, that.

With the further discussion, she rouses herself.  "No slaving, please," the priestess weakly protests.  "We freed the man, it would hardly do to remove said freedom."  She glances down at the wound.  "I do bleed, don't I?" There's a touch of wonder in her tone.  "Well.  The clothing can hardly be ruined further, I suppose."

Focusing herself, she blinks several times at Aarnr.  "Ah.  Yes.  Binding of the wound.  Indeed, Aarnr, I would request your aid in that."  Another pat to the other priest follows, this time upon the shoulder.  "Very kind of you...we shall have to berate our gods on the morrow."  Shrugging out of her cloak, she glances down at her gown in some dismay.  "Well that I am used to baring myself before others," she states with a certain weariness.  "'Strumpet' indeed, though I have not earned the reputation of my peers."

With a few whimpers and twitches of pain, she manages to divest herself of the upper portion of her gown and pull up the shift beneath to expose the wound.

Ozzy stands silent in the doorway, his wide eyes blinking in disbelief. He had arrived in time to see Aarnr wound the Ogre and then watched as first a rainbow of color appeared, and then Aramil cut the monster down. Aramil? His travelling companions never ceased to amaze him. Pulling notepad from his pocket, he begins taking notes while the scene is still fresh in his memory. Occasionally he glances up from the scribbling to look toward Fergus and Eileen, both wounded, one more seriously than the other. He quietly hoped the big farmer didn't die today, but he had a feeling he would lose more than one friend before he made it back home.

"He's your fobbin' prisoner," Aarnr replies disinterestedly to Corian, his tone suggesting his own options would involve blunt instruments.

Lacking the delicate sensibilities of the civised world in general, and having been forewarned of the libidinous proclivities of those who follow Zadastha, the priest is in no wise surprised or perturbed by Eilieen's casual baring of her flesh ... indeed all his concern is centred upon the bloody gash in her hip caused by the orc's axe.

The wound is indeed a bad one, and once more the priestess rises in Aarnr's estimation, both that she earned it by her bravery and now suffers it stoically. "I'm going to have to teach thee to froggin' duck," he tells her blithely but with good humour.  "Were it not for the gifts bestowed by the spleeny gods, I'd sew that up ..."

"As it is ... I'll wash and wrap it and thou will gleepin' well do naught this night that'll make it worse !"

Colwyn enters the tower and wrinkles his nose in disgust, "It's stinkin' worse 'an that place what Bilfro were locked in."  Then he laughs, "Maybes tha's meanin' as not all the stink there were comin' from 'im."  He grins at Bilfro, to show that this was just a little light-hearted banter.

The smell, the filth, and the blood do nothing to deter the rogue, who starts searching the room...

Bilfro is going through the pack that he had found.  Taking items out, examining them, and setting them carfully aside.  He does seem familiar with them, even going so far as to clutch one book to his chest, turn his eyes upward, and sit there in that posture, smiling for a moment. 

Colwyn completes a quick circuit of the chamber, "Fer thiefs an' murderers, they wasn't 'avin' much stuff.  Jus' blankets, rugs, rotted meat, cheap beer, an' wine what smells so bad as I wouldn' be given it ter me worstest enemy's ugliest brother."  Drawing his sword, he approaches one of the dead orcs, and uses the tip of the blade to move aside its ragged tunic.  "Them's 'avin' no end of louses an' ticks though."  He flicks the blade, and angles it upwards, a purse hanging from the tip.

"Least one of the buggers were 'avin' some savin's by the looks of it."

"I must express gratitude that the olfactory sense is the first to yield in an unending assault upon it!"  Bilfro certainly sounds relieved as he answer Colwyn and then retreats to a place with more light and air circulation to continue his study of his reclaimed belongings.

"Great Scotty, I must peruse the state of my paraphernalia with unmitigated expedience!"

He sits down and carefully examines one item at a time before painstakingly placing them back into his pack as if doing a jigsaw puzzle.  One item gets placed aside, however, a bar of soap.  He pats his lovingly before turning to the last item.  A large, expensive looking book.

As before he turns his eyes upward but this time more pleading than smiling.  With an audible gulp he opens the cover of the book.  He stares intently into it for several moments.

"AAAAEEEEIIIII!!"

Holding the book in both hands in front of himself he shoots up as if he had just seated himself upon something rather painfully, er, painful, eyes as wide as whatever any spectator may consider wider than humanly possible.

"Blasphemous and uncouth motherless progeny of lower and questionable subspecies!" he shouts in an outrageous tone, lifting the book towards the sky, still staring at it.  Then he plops down on the spot, looking more dejected than a puppy that received a kick instead of a pat on the head.

Erista prowls quietly about the Ogre's chambers...

"Stop thy fen-suckin' sheep-scarin' racket !"  Aarnr bellows.  Perhaps if he'd understood Bilfro's barrage, he might have enjoyed both the valiant attempt at insults and learning of the implied damage to the assumed spellbook ... but as it is, the priest is rightly concerned that the noise will disturb his patients, not to mention curdle the cheap beer.

Eilieen sits silent as Aarnr bandages her wounded hip.  It's uncomfortable, but better that than bleeding.  She accepts his commands with good grace, bowing her head in agreement.  "Well that I DID learn to duck, Aarnr.  Certainly a skill worth developing...and I do promise not to aggravate the injury."  Her smile is weak but true.  "Better that than suffering under the needle."

An ugly thought; it would leave a scar.

"The morrow will bring relief for Fergus, and our other injured.  Including yourself."  The priestess sighs.  "We merely need to live through the night.  Of course, foul as it is, an ogre's den is likely a decent place for that, safe from immediate invaders."  Her lips twist into a thoughtful moue.  "Though I hope his relatives do not drop by for dinner."

Her lips twist further at Corian's mention of lice.  "Goddess," the priestess sighs.  "Safety or cleanliness?  I suppose the one is already far gone...I shall require the purchase of new clothing at the next town, in any case."  Her eyes turn to Bifro as the old man cries out; she winces at Aarnr's rejoinder, though the priestess agrees with the spirit of the command.  "What on earth is he on about now?"

"I believe that is probably a spell book." Corian answers quietly, "And I would surmise that the orcs have damaged it in some way.  Perhaps they have defaced the pages, or simply torn them out to use for kindling.  In any case, if they have made the book unusable, then they have robbed poor Bilfro of his magic."

The mage thinks for a moment, then tries a different explanation which might work better, considering his audience.  "Imagine that, as a priest, your god suddenly stopped answering your prayers... " a glance at Aarnr, "or started ignoring your demands, now matter how profanely you couched them.  You would suddenly lose your ability to heal people, or ward off dark powers."

"With his book destroyed, Bilfro has no access to magic until he can replace the lost spells."

Colwyn, meanwhile continues searching the bodies, punctuating the activity with the occasional brief pause to crush assorted ticks and lice.  "Don't want these crawlin' on us while we's sleepin'." he explains to Ozzy, "More as we's killin' now, less as we'll 'ave ter fight off in the night."

"Oh dear," Eilieen whispers.  "Poor Bilfo."  It sounds absolutely miserable - working one's entire life to master the discipline, painstakingly assembling a book of spells, then having a bunch of orcs use it for toilet paper.  Horrid.

She screws up her sharp features in concentration.  "If only I had a prayer to cleanse such a book.  But if it has actually been physically defaced, torn or shredded...I know not.  I will meditate on this - perhaps Zadastha might provide me with insight upon the morrow."

OOC - Guess I'll be looking through the spells to see what I can find... :)

"The gods of magic have rejected Bilfo for his failure," Aarnr nods his understanding of Corian's explanation.  "The foamin' flapjack must try harder to be worthy."

"He could scrub the hell-hated book in well-water," the priest suggests, "perhaps that would make them heed the gabble-mouthed ruttock."

"An' unless this 'meditation' thou speak of involves sittin' on thy pleasingly-proportioned posterior and not fobbin' shifting, thou're not doing it !" the healer informs his patient, fixing her with a steely glare that brooks no argument.

"Now ... lest thou wish for Bowbe to deny those claims I make of him, we needs gather up the arms an' armour from these feckless curs," Aarnr points to the corpses of the orcs and ogre to show just which feckless curs to which he is referring, "an' pile it up so the god can take his earned portion of our spoils.  Come, thou skinny, patch-bearded wastrel, thou can help - if thou cannot hold thy head up before thy own gods, then thou might at least give mine his due !" in his own way the priest attempts to cheer Bilfro up by getting him involved in the task (or else is just sick to his back teeth of the snivelling).

Ozzy snickers in the background, clearly enjoying the drama? comedy? He is unsure of which at the moment, so he spends his moments watching it all play out. When Aarnr gestures to the fallen and suggests collecting their gear, he walks over and begins the arduous task of disarmoring a corpse. He keeps his ears open as he searches the bodies, still half-interested in Bilfro and his own personal loss. He says to the old man, " Don't worry, stick with us and we'll have a new tome of spells for you in no time! I believe I heard mention earlier of  the 'effects of the mage Eralion.' - mebbe' we'll find what you need then." He nearly topples over in the effort of loosening one of the shoulder straps on the cadaver, catching himself just in time. He adds, " Don't despair. There is always Hope. An old paladin friend of mine was found of reminding me that Hope never disappoints. This too shall pass, but Hope springs eternal." When the buckle finally ends up breaking loose, the little bard ends of falling on his arse anyway.

Erista stops herself before she starts whistling softly.

Corian and Colwyn assist in gathering what they can and, under Aarnr's direction, piling it all in heap near the stairs.  The orcs's arms and armour are not exactly the finest, and their coin is pitiful in its lack of quantity.  The ogre, having just awoken has only a filthy loincloth, and its huge weapon. 

Ozzy rises, rubbing ruefully at his rump and regards the section of floor where he had landed.

Ozzy gets up, rubbing his backside painfully as looks down to see what it was he had landed so abruptly on. " HEY!" he shouts, trying to get the others attention as he points to the floor near his boots, " There's a trap door here under all this trash!" Once informed, he reaches down to try and lift the portal.

<Backpost> After the shock of actually taking down the ogre Aramil moves in slow motion and seems a little spaced out. Moving on instinct rather than through conscious thought the half-elf starts to gather wood and prepare a fire for cooking food. There is lots of rotten wood to choose from and he soon has a warm fire going. He helps get the wounded to a nice cosy place, well cosy for the room and then starts preparing dinner.</Backpost>

Listening to the discussions around him, Aramil smiles at the social chasms that exists between certain members of the party. Aarnr's assumption at the Balfo's status as a slave and how Corian deals with it. As the conversations continue he chuckles to himself, mainly at the old man's complete ignorance of his stand within the group. His head rises as his little friend notices the trapdoor, but he continues working, knowing the group will need some food to prepare for the trials that await them tomorrow, or tonight if they are unlucky.

Spoils gathered, food being prepared, injured seen to.  In Aarnr's view, all is right with the world.  He even forgives the half-man's outburst in that the trapdoor promises even more excitements than the day has thus far provided.

"Thou stay there !" he instructs Eilieen with mock-sternness as he himself rises, taking up his sword, and joining the minstrel.

"What do thou think ?" he inquires of Ozzy. "Did the rancid curs use the cellars as prison, or for storage ..." he pauses, thinking, "... or perhaps they breed vermin ?"

Ozzy's enthusiasm wanes as Aarnr lists off possible uses for the chambers beneath the cellar door. The thought of what 'vermin' could be possibly bred by the foul orcs makes his skin crawl and he loosens his grip on the pull handle, letting it drop with a dull thud of noise. " Ver-vermin? I dunno' ...mebbe' we should wait for some daylight. Do vermin sleep in the daytime?" he says, taking a step back from the trap door and eyeing it as if it might explode forth with all the horrors of hell.

"I move not at all," Eilieen promises under protest, unsure of her current state of irritation with Aarnr.  Setting aside the matter of his help with healing, she cannot but consider his description of her body.  On the one hand, 'pleasingly proportioned posterior' (while having an attractive alliteration) is the sort of thing she would hear back at the Temple, just before unwarrented advances ending in her having to beat someone over the head with a handy crozier.

On the other, for Aarnr it's high poetry and a compliment mostly devoid of licentious tone.

She settles on the latter, and obeying the healer; it's comforting, for once, to be the one not rushing about trying to cook and clean.  Though, gods above, she could use a bath.  Nothing can save her clothing, sadly.

"I do hope there's some gold," she mutters.  "I am in dire need of a new wardrobe."