Jorn slid open the door and peaked his head through the gap... and pulled it back suddenly as an arrow clattered into the wall, inches away from his face. [attack 10, miss]

"^{Who goes there!}" a high-pitched voice demanded. Jorn risked looking back inside, and saw a short corridor strewn with broken bits of armour and shattered bones, some old, some still with flesh on them. There was a door in the side and another at the far end.

There, standing behind the shelter of a chipped glass chair, was a short green figure, about the size of a halfling, with a bow nocked and ready. The fairy was clad in thick leaves protection, while its bow, sword and shield were all simply shaped from sticks and bark. Green-skinned with spiky brown hair, with long face and pointed ears. One side of its face twitched occasionally, and there was a maddened look in its eyes.

Why this was so became obvious when Jorn saw that the stick he thought was an adornment was actually running right through its head.


(Minus a stick through the head.)

Gurgun Nightswisper, a child of the passive voice. Gurgun declares in a loud voice. It looks like you are injured; may I take a look at the stick there? You look injured and I'm skilled surgeon.
Gurgun points at the head of the fey. He waits by the door for the small one's invitation.

"We can help you. Please let us enter and examine your wound. We mean no harm to you.", says Garel in a sweet voice, trying to be persuasive.

---

OOC: Just for the trying...
16:56, Today: Garel Astur rolled 12 using 1d20. Diplomacy check .

"Hmpf, what they said..." muttered Jorn, unsure of how to react. The dwarf didn't like crazy. The few fey he had met were crazy enough. That this one was crazier than normal didn't bode well...

His hands tightened around the grip of his chain. What were fey weak against? Good solid iron, wasn't it...?

[Private to DM BadCatMan: Ready action attack the fey if he becomes hostile]

The green fairy twitched; left eye, left cheek, left side of his mouth, all spasming violently. "^{What? What stick?}" He tapped the stick. "^{This? I like it where it is.}"

Why? Gurgun asks rather bluntly, not really knowing how to reply.

^{"Mister Tolg'byri put it there. Said it made me smart-smarter."} the fey announced proudly, twitching on the word.

He jabbed the bow, back to threatening them. ^{"You with the army? No one's come to me in days, and I saw the ghost-ghost. I thought the position had been overrun and I'd been left-left behind. Mister Tolg'byri's going to be very upset when I tell him."} he sneered, as if this promised a terrible retribution.

The fey twitched again and looked to the side, into the room he guarded, and pulled strange faces at something in there.

Mister Tolg'byri is dead. Savera slayed him and we slaid Savera. The army marches with us against the dead-that-walk. Gurgun thinks the starworm lied about the stick; you can keep it but let Gurgun see if he can't make you twitch less.
As usual the monk is utterly thruthful and direct in his statements. Gurgun walks calmly up to the fey, ready to examine the head. He does cast a sideways glance into the room the fey is guarding.

Slove does as suggested and stay well out the way.

OOC:
Slove stays to one side and back so fray has no chance of seeing him.

Jorn follows up behind Gurgun, ready to cover for his friend should the fey proved dangerous. He didn't trust faeries, unpredictable as they were, and this one was likely to be worse...

(Stay 5ft behind Gurgun, ready action attack the moment hostilities erupt.)

^{"You lie!"} the fairy spat with frightening venom. ^{"Mister Tolg'byri is invincible, and Savera is a stupid orc witch-witch. Mister Tolg'byri told me himself, because Mister Wickers is his most trusted confidant."}

Wickers jabbed the bow at Gurgun, forcing him to stop in his tracks if he didn't want another arrow fired. ^{"No closer!"} From here, Gurgun could see that there was no apparent wound or scar - the stick protruded cleanly out both sides of the fey's skull, fitted neatly to skin and hair. He recalled how the zombie nilshai's tail trailed off into planes beyond sight, caught partway between the material and the ethereal. And he could imagine with sickening clarity how it might have moved a claw and a stick into the ethereal plane, passed them through the fey's head, and then, with a flick of its claw, moved the stick back. For what hideous purpose he could barely guess at, if it wasn't just for cruel amusement.

The fey turned away again, pulling more faces in some kind of conversation. Wickers turned back, an enraged glare on his twitching face. ^{"Mister Lumpkin smells the foul stench of elf! Mister Lumpkin wants to tear it limb from limb-limb. Where is it?!"} the fey demanded, with voice rising to a scream.


OOC: Listen checks please.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:48, Fri 11 Sept 2009.

Gurgun snorts Savera was no orc. Gurgun saw through her disguise. It was a dark elf she-demon, and she slayed Tolg'byri. Now stop fretting little one and hear me out. Tolg'byri is dead, Savera slayed him. We slayed Savera, and now we lead the clans. This be our way. You help us against dead-that-walk or stay out of our way.

Gurgun starts to be worried about "Mr Lumpkin", and the situation getting out of hand. He waits but is ready to strike out at anything trying to get past.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:47, Fri 11 Sept 2009.

Garel follows Gurgun and Jorn into the room, one step behind the hobgobelin, ready to engage the fey or recite a prayer.

On hearing the creature can smell elf Slove move back way out the way.  Even if this means returning to camp.

OOC:
This based on Slove hearing.  If he can't then the stays where he is.

Wickers looked like he was about to explode in apoplectic rage. ^{"A dark elf?!"} he screamed, and a few orcs stuck their heads around the corner to see who was being tortured. They seemed upset that someone had decided to disturb the insane fey.

He leaped on top of the chair, bow ready and looking around as if the vile drow would attack at any moment. ^{"Are there any left? Let me at them!"} he demanded.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:08, Sat 12 Sept 2009.

"She be dead, Fair One," answered Jorn, carefully edging his body to block the fairy's line of sight to the door, "dead by our hands."

Got to make sure it doesn't see Slove...

A dark elf demon. She took many forms; dark elf, orc, hobgoblin, half-elf, spider, cloud. Her natural was a mass of goo, almost like a pile of clay. She was alone. Gurgun takes a step forward.

^{"Do not move! Or you will die!"} the fey insisted.

Wickers face fell, sulking in frustrated vengeance. Then there was another one-sided conversation with the thing in the room. ^{"Mister Lumpkin still smells elf-stench. He says its fresh, all over you. Are there anymore?"} he demanded.


OOC: Spot, Search and Listen checks, please, from everyone.

Don't forget, you're going up against elven undead, not fresh, but still...
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:26, Mon 14 Sept 2009.

Who's it talking to...

Jorn pondered that question even as he prodded Flit with his finger, whispering to to his faithful familiar;

"See anything?"

14:41, Today: Jorn Brightcaller rolled 23 using 1d20+8. Bat Spot.
14:41, Today: Jorn Brightcaller rolled 18 using 1d20+8. Bat Listen.
14:40, Today: Jorn Brightcaller rolled 7 using 1d20+1. Jorn Listen.
14:40, Today: Jorn Brightcaller rolled 16 using 1d20-2. Jorn Spot.
14:40, Today: Jorn Brightcaller rolled 6 using 1d20+3. Search.

We fight elf dead-that-walk since we set foot on this forsaken plane. This place stink of the elf-kin, don't you think a hobgoblin would know? Stink of elf and death and chaos. Now calm down little one, it is not us the enemy but the dead.

Gurgun is preparing himself to jump the little one in an attempt to pin it so that Garel can attempt to heal. Gurgun tries signaling to Jorn behind him to get ready to cover them from Mr Limpkin.

OOC: 10:15, Today: Gurgun Nightwhisper rolled 9 using 1d20+7. Spot.
10:15, Today: Gurgun Nightwhisper rolled 9 using 1d20+5. Listen.
10:15, Today: Gurgun Nightwhisper rolled 13 using 1d20. Search

Ready action: Melee touch attack (initiate grapple)
This message was last edited by the player at 13:13, Mon 14 Sept 2009.

"You are right ! The foul stench of that dark elf is still on us. Some of her blood must have splashed on us while we fought her !", tells Garel to the mad fey.

---

13:09, Today: Garel Astur rolled 18 using 1d20+1.
13:09, Today: Garel Astur rolled 16 using 1d20+3. Listen.
13:09, Today: Garel Astur rolled 15 using 1d20+3. Spot.

OOC: Should I role not not bother.

OOC: Huh?

^"Hmph." was all Mister Wickers had to say, disappointed with the answer.

Garel saw it, from where he stood behind Gurgun. A tripwire was stretched across the corridor, neatly concealed amongst the bones and broken armour-pieces. One end was tied to the horn of an orcish helm perched atop an elven skull, the other trapped beneath a heavy plate. Gurgun's foot was a finger's width away from it.

No wonder Mister Wickers had promised death to any who got too close.

They also heard a soft growl from within the room behind the fey, and stranger still, a belch from the room on their left.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:27, Tue 15 Sept 2009.

"Easy, Gurgun. Don't move !", warns Garel as soon as he discovers the tripwire. "Look at your feet!"

When Gurgun finally sees the tripwire, Garel whispers: "Looks like we are not alone...", trying to look farther into the room for the growl's origin.

^{"My trap! To catch the undead."} Wickers boasted upon the discovery of the trap. ^{"And that's just Mister Lumpkin."} he said of the growl. He turned his head to shush this Mister Lumpkin.

He started at the belch. ^{"What was that?! An elf? Investigate!"}