Copperheads: Betrayal and Strange Runes and Burning Dead, oh my (short update 02/12)
- Thread starter arwink
- Start date
arwink
Clockwork Golem
The first beast-man attack comes an hour after they start following the river, the wolf-faced humanoids swarming over the bluff of a hill to charge down on the travelers. They are tall, lean creatures, their fur white and pale as the snow they’re running over. All carry gleaming battleaxes, and none get within thirty feet of the travelers before Blarth lets loose with the sonic whistle. The shrill tone of his instrument rings through the air, a flurry of snow rising in the blasts wake.
When he takes the crystaline whistle from his lips, the beast-man warriors lie dead on the groud, their ears bleeding.
Gunnar stares.
“There were over a dozen of them,” he says, slightly awe struck.
“Beast-man puny,” Blarth says knowingly.
"But there were..."
"Beast-man puny!" Blarth repeats slowly, putting emphasis on every word.
"Right."
Everyone jogs up the hill to study the scattered bodies, quickly pulling free small sacks of gold and a few silver armbands.
“No archers,” Geoffrey says. “That’s fortunate. Bows could have made this ambush a lot more effective. “
Halgo is kneeling by one of the bodies, slowly examining the creature’s features. He raises one furry paw and looks at it for a few moments.
“They look like gnolls,” he says eventually. “Although I’ve never heard of them this far north. Mostly they seem to lurk near Thilt, or Sulrathi. Hyena-spawned, normally, but these are more like wolves. Interesting.”
“ Does it tell you anything that could help us fight them?” Geoffrey demands.
“They’re probably capable of crafting bows?” Halgo offers. “Not much else. But it’s still interesting.”
“It can be interesting later,” Geoffrey says firmly. “Right now, we’ve got a mission. Blarth, you and Yip gather together the weapons. We can’t take them with us, but we can store them to pick up on the return trip. Should net us a few coins back in Borr, if war really is on the horizon. Halgo, you’ve got till they’re done to prod and poke the corpses, then we’re moving.”
Yip and Blarth gather the weapons, quickly tying them together with the gnolls belts and storing them up a tree. Yip scampers back to Geoffrey’s side as Blarth uses a dagger to mark the tree.
“Why in hell up a tree?” Geoffrey asks, staring up into the battle-axes that hang from the branches.
“Cold ground,” Yip explains. “Yip no dig. Easy to find later, after snow fall.”
“Ah,” Geoffrey says. “Good plan.”
“Yip think so.”
“Thirteen gnolls,” Gunnar mutters as they set off once more. “Arezz! We may survive this yet.”
They march on for a few more hours, settling in to camp at the very foot of Borr’s mountain range. Everyone stays quiet as they stare up at the dark-stone peaks to the north, listening to the howling wind as it rattles through the narrow valleys.
“Think the other missions made it this far?” Halgo asks Gunnar as the hunter cooks dinner. Gunnar just shrugs.
“Hard to say,” he says. “Normally the traveling isn’t to bad to this point, but those beat-men were waiting for someone to come along. It’s possible they wiped out any travelers who came through this way.”
“You know any of the people in the other missions?”
Gunnar shrugs again.
“Some,” he says simply. “Borr’s a small place, you can’t help but know people. Nobody I was real close to though.”
“So why are you doing this?”
“Someone has to,” Gunnar says. “And the king asked. Hard to say no in those circumstances.”
Over dinner, Gunnar explains their route for the following day. He names paths and landmarks, drilling the information into everyone’s heads in case he should fall in a sudden ambush. Slowly the information sinks in, and Halgo and Yip are both able to list the various paths and their landmarks without too much difficulty.
Everyone sits around the camp, listlessly preparing for sleep. Only Gunnar slumbers easily, having volunteered to take last watch, but it is still light and many of the Copperheads have difficulty getting to sleep before darkness. It is only after the sun sinks below the horizon that rest comes, leaving Yip on first watch.
Morning comes earlier than anyone would like, and travel becomes difficult within hours of setting off into the mountains. The river banks along the Streel start to drop away, becoming shear cliffs carved between the cold stone of the mountains. Gunnar proves as adequate a mountaineer as he is a hunter, quickly finding a safe path and advising the heavily armored Blarth and Geoffrey as the days climbing wears on. Blarth accepts the rigors of the journey with stoic acceptance, but every now and then the soft grumbling of the Cuthbertite Justicar can be heard as his mailed legs sink into another drift of snow.
It takes Gunnar the better part of an hour to find the ridge he’s searching for, a ten-foot wide ledge that he claims follows the river deep into the heart of the mountains. In the distance, the sign of steady smoke rising up from volcanoes in the heart of the mountain range only serves as a cruel taunt to the cold travelers. Everyone walks along the ridge in single file, clinging close to the cliff edge that rises up to the mountain peaks above. At times the falling snow has banked thick against the cliff wall, forcing everyone to march closer to the ledge than they’d like. Only Gunnar and Yip, agile and unencumbered, seem at ease as their feet come close to the downward drop.
“How far is it,” Geoffrey asks after one particularly tricky part of the climb, the cleric trying to work some feeling into gauntlet-clad hands that have been plunged into snow for balance for the past few minutes.
Yip just shrugs.
“Long fall,” he chirps cheerfully. “Long way down. Yip not fall, be very bad.”
“At this point, nearly a hundred feet,” Gunnar says softly. “By the time we reach the end of the path, we should nearly be seven hundred feet above the river bank.”
“Great,” Geoffrey says flatly.
It is just after lunch when one of the small snowdrifts suddenly erupts in movement, long pale arms bursting out to grab Halgo as he’s walking by. Everyone is tired and cold, bored from the endless drudgery of climbing the mountainside, so it takes a few moments for them to realize that they’re under attack. In that time, one of the clawed arms has opened a gash in the dwarven Wizard’s chest, staining his robes with blood. Halgo staggers back, watching a snow-white form emerge out of the snowdrift. It stands nearly a dozen feet tall, lithe and long-limbed with a tangled mass of hair and eyes that glow with a cold blue flame.
“Troll,” Halgo gasps, breath pluming in the cold air. “Snow troll.”
The creature simply roars and reaches forward with its claws again.
When he takes the crystaline whistle from his lips, the beast-man warriors lie dead on the groud, their ears bleeding.
Gunnar stares.
“There were over a dozen of them,” he says, slightly awe struck.
“Beast-man puny,” Blarth says knowingly.
"But there were..."
"Beast-man puny!" Blarth repeats slowly, putting emphasis on every word.
"Right."
Everyone jogs up the hill to study the scattered bodies, quickly pulling free small sacks of gold and a few silver armbands.
“No archers,” Geoffrey says. “That’s fortunate. Bows could have made this ambush a lot more effective. “
Halgo is kneeling by one of the bodies, slowly examining the creature’s features. He raises one furry paw and looks at it for a few moments.
“They look like gnolls,” he says eventually. “Although I’ve never heard of them this far north. Mostly they seem to lurk near Thilt, or Sulrathi. Hyena-spawned, normally, but these are more like wolves. Interesting.”
“ Does it tell you anything that could help us fight them?” Geoffrey demands.
“They’re probably capable of crafting bows?” Halgo offers. “Not much else. But it’s still interesting.”
“It can be interesting later,” Geoffrey says firmly. “Right now, we’ve got a mission. Blarth, you and Yip gather together the weapons. We can’t take them with us, but we can store them to pick up on the return trip. Should net us a few coins back in Borr, if war really is on the horizon. Halgo, you’ve got till they’re done to prod and poke the corpses, then we’re moving.”
Yip and Blarth gather the weapons, quickly tying them together with the gnolls belts and storing them up a tree. Yip scampers back to Geoffrey’s side as Blarth uses a dagger to mark the tree.
“Why in hell up a tree?” Geoffrey asks, staring up into the battle-axes that hang from the branches.
“Cold ground,” Yip explains. “Yip no dig. Easy to find later, after snow fall.”
“Ah,” Geoffrey says. “Good plan.”
“Yip think so.”
“Thirteen gnolls,” Gunnar mutters as they set off once more. “Arezz! We may survive this yet.”
They march on for a few more hours, settling in to camp at the very foot of Borr’s mountain range. Everyone stays quiet as they stare up at the dark-stone peaks to the north, listening to the howling wind as it rattles through the narrow valleys.
“Think the other missions made it this far?” Halgo asks Gunnar as the hunter cooks dinner. Gunnar just shrugs.
“Hard to say,” he says. “Normally the traveling isn’t to bad to this point, but those beat-men were waiting for someone to come along. It’s possible they wiped out any travelers who came through this way.”
“You know any of the people in the other missions?”
Gunnar shrugs again.
“Some,” he says simply. “Borr’s a small place, you can’t help but know people. Nobody I was real close to though.”
“So why are you doing this?”
“Someone has to,” Gunnar says. “And the king asked. Hard to say no in those circumstances.”
Over dinner, Gunnar explains their route for the following day. He names paths and landmarks, drilling the information into everyone’s heads in case he should fall in a sudden ambush. Slowly the information sinks in, and Halgo and Yip are both able to list the various paths and their landmarks without too much difficulty.
Everyone sits around the camp, listlessly preparing for sleep. Only Gunnar slumbers easily, having volunteered to take last watch, but it is still light and many of the Copperheads have difficulty getting to sleep before darkness. It is only after the sun sinks below the horizon that rest comes, leaving Yip on first watch.
Morning comes earlier than anyone would like, and travel becomes difficult within hours of setting off into the mountains. The river banks along the Streel start to drop away, becoming shear cliffs carved between the cold stone of the mountains. Gunnar proves as adequate a mountaineer as he is a hunter, quickly finding a safe path and advising the heavily armored Blarth and Geoffrey as the days climbing wears on. Blarth accepts the rigors of the journey with stoic acceptance, but every now and then the soft grumbling of the Cuthbertite Justicar can be heard as his mailed legs sink into another drift of snow.
It takes Gunnar the better part of an hour to find the ridge he’s searching for, a ten-foot wide ledge that he claims follows the river deep into the heart of the mountains. In the distance, the sign of steady smoke rising up from volcanoes in the heart of the mountain range only serves as a cruel taunt to the cold travelers. Everyone walks along the ridge in single file, clinging close to the cliff edge that rises up to the mountain peaks above. At times the falling snow has banked thick against the cliff wall, forcing everyone to march closer to the ledge than they’d like. Only Gunnar and Yip, agile and unencumbered, seem at ease as their feet come close to the downward drop.
“How far is it,” Geoffrey asks after one particularly tricky part of the climb, the cleric trying to work some feeling into gauntlet-clad hands that have been plunged into snow for balance for the past few minutes.
Yip just shrugs.
“Long fall,” he chirps cheerfully. “Long way down. Yip not fall, be very bad.”
“At this point, nearly a hundred feet,” Gunnar says softly. “By the time we reach the end of the path, we should nearly be seven hundred feet above the river bank.”
“Great,” Geoffrey says flatly.
It is just after lunch when one of the small snowdrifts suddenly erupts in movement, long pale arms bursting out to grab Halgo as he’s walking by. Everyone is tired and cold, bored from the endless drudgery of climbing the mountainside, so it takes a few moments for them to realize that they’re under attack. In that time, one of the clawed arms has opened a gash in the dwarven Wizard’s chest, staining his robes with blood. Halgo staggers back, watching a snow-white form emerge out of the snowdrift. It stands nearly a dozen feet tall, lithe and long-limbed with a tangled mass of hair and eyes that glow with a cold blue flame.
“Troll,” Halgo gasps, breath pluming in the cold air. “Snow troll.”
The creature simply roars and reaches forward with its claws again.
Capellan
Explorer
arwink said:Compare him to someone like Kelpreth (who'd probably come in at around an 8), and some of the people that're coming up, he's not someone the PC's really concern themselves with.
Of course, now one of the PC's will show up to point out that Kelpreth is a totally charming fellow and I'm completely misinterpretting their relationship with him
Actually I'd say that, if anything, his rating is a little higher than that. The only factors that have prevented open hostilities are fear (everyone's) and greed (Halgo's).
Once we're powerful enough to survive the repercussions of killing him, we should also be powerful enough not to need his help. And when that time comes, all bets are off
arwink
Clockwork Golem
Halgo’s call galvanizes his companions into action. There is the steely whisper of swords springing from sheaths and morning-stars being readied. The troll remains quiet as it attacks, so everyone can hear the sluggish slosh and clink of amored figures slogging through the snow drift to attack the tall beast. Blarth and Geoffrey are determined but cautious, emminantly aware of the lip of the ledge not ten feet away, but Yip charges along with reckless speed, his small paws dancing across the snow, before launching himself at the troll with a level flying kick. A claw flashes out to catch up, missing the fast-moving kobold by inches and plunching into the snow. Yip smiles, paw connecting with troll shin, the blow eliciting a hiss of pain from the creature as he drops to the ground in a defensive stance. The troll looks down at the kobold at its feet, reaches down to grab Yip with the other claw just in time to receive a sharp set of kobold teeth nipping at the fleshy part of its hand. The Troll pulls its hand back in a panic, its attention distracted long enough for Blarth to blunder through the snow and slide a psionically charged sword into its ribs. Troll flesh opens with the sound of wet cloth tearing, the blue-tinged blood spilling over the snow.
“Unglat,” the troll rumbles, anger writ across its beastial features, its wounds already knitting together at a fantastic rate. It lashes out with both claws, catching Yip across the shoulder and punching through Blarth’s banded mail. Both fall back a step, sword and fists held high and ready to parry another blow, circling around to use as much of the remaining drift as they can for cover.
A sharp hiss fills the air as Gunnar lets fly with an arrow, catching the troll in the upper chest. Halgo clenches his teeth against the pain of his wounds, hisses out the words to a mage armor spell as he tries to scramble out of the trolls reach. His task is made difficult by the close proximity of the ledge, forcing him to adopt a sideways crab-scuttle, but Yip reckless attack seems to have drawn the trolls attention away from the wizard. Geoffrey is quick to step into the space left by his comrade. He holds his morning star at the ready, glaring at the troll with anger.
“St Cuthbert Guide Me,” he whispers quietly, then swings the weapon as hard as he can. Holy energy seems to flow through his arm, lending him a fragment of his deity’s holy power. The morning star connects, and there is a sickening gurgle of pain from the troll as a wave of destructive power floods through the mace and into its body. Yip and Blarth press the attack, Yip twisting his way through the trolls legs to flank from behind, and Blarth lashing out with another powerful blow that almost cuts one of the trolls legs free. The troll hisses in pain, a surprisingly soft sound given the blood that flows from its wounds. The flesh and bone of its leg starts to fuse, letting it hobble uncomfortably, and it turns its glowing eyes to Blarth with a look of pure hatred.
Both hands leap forwards, talons bared and ready to cut through flesh. There is the screech of claw on metal for the space of half a second, then the claws seem to find purchase. Blarth’s armor screams in protest as the trolls talons penetrate, almost lifting the half-orc off his feet as the creature pulls apart with all its strength. Blood fountains across the snow as both clawed troll hands try to separate Blarth like a wishbone, then there’s a pained grunt as the half-orc is dropped back into the snow. Torn bands of armor hang loose from their moorings, bloodied flesh evident underneath.
“Damn,” Geoffrey mutters, looking at the bloody mess that was once Blarth’s chest. “Not good.”
The half-orc is still breathing, struggling to his feet, but blood flows over him like a tunic and the snow around his feet is gradually turning a deep crimson.
“Blarth mad,” he wheezes, but both sword and shield are held low and without his usual strength. The troll blinks, momentarily taken aback by the fact that his foe is still standing after such a deadly blow. One can almost see it's slow brain trying to process how it happened, running through the list of gnolls and mountain cats that have been felled by such blows.
Halgo takes advantage of its confusion, hitting it with an acid arrow that starts burning through the troll’s chest. Gunnar fires a second arrow that lands only a few inches from the first, and Geoffrey hammers through the troll’s defenses again.
Yip flurries from behind the creatures, arming a series of short sharp blows at the Troll’s lower back where he guesses important internal organs should be located. One of his strikes hits, drawing another grunt of pain from the wounded giant, but it does little to slow the creature down. Blarth, swaying slightly with blood loss, reaches for the psionic whistle at his belt. Next to him, Geoffrey bats at Blarth’s hand away from the potent weapon.
“Avalanches,” he grunts, the troll’s claw battering against his shield. Blarth nods blearily, trying to make out the words through the haze of his wounds. Instinct demands obedience, however, and he's subconsciously started to manifest bio-feedback before he's even aware of what Geoffrey has warned. The pain recedes, but his reactions are slowed and sluggish. The troll’s claw slashes through his defenses even as he pulls his blood away from the wounds, and Blarth slumps down into the snow.
“Dammit,” Halgo grunts. He fires his crossbow bolt, watching it spiral into the snow above the trolls head. “He dead?”
Geoffrey just shakes his head, cracking a few of the troll’s ribs with a carefully placed strike. He’s close enough to see that Blarth’s still breathing, his chest rising and falling smoothly.
“His manifestation probably saved his life,” Geoffrey thinks, and then the troll’s claws are slashing at his face. He curses to himself, forces his attention back on his foe. On the other side of the creature, Yip is battering at its lower back. Geoffrey hears a muted squelch, a sound he’s often associated with something inside the body popping open suddenly and loudly, and he swings as hard as he can as the Troll rears in pain. The morning star catches the creature under the chin, the bladed points tearing a huge rent in its throat and neck. The troll staggers backwards a half-pace before falling to the ground, the wounds already beginning to close.
“It’ll be up again in a few seconds,” Halgo calls out. “Move fast.”
Yip does. Letting out a strangled roar of rage, the small monk leaps onto the prone form of the troll and starts hammering at it with his fists. Within the space of seconds, the trolls face becomes a bruised and broken mess.
“So,” Halgo gasps, trying to catch his breath while Yip batters the troll further than its regeneration can heal. “Anyone got some fire?”
“Unglat,” the troll rumbles, anger writ across its beastial features, its wounds already knitting together at a fantastic rate. It lashes out with both claws, catching Yip across the shoulder and punching through Blarth’s banded mail. Both fall back a step, sword and fists held high and ready to parry another blow, circling around to use as much of the remaining drift as they can for cover.
A sharp hiss fills the air as Gunnar lets fly with an arrow, catching the troll in the upper chest. Halgo clenches his teeth against the pain of his wounds, hisses out the words to a mage armor spell as he tries to scramble out of the trolls reach. His task is made difficult by the close proximity of the ledge, forcing him to adopt a sideways crab-scuttle, but Yip reckless attack seems to have drawn the trolls attention away from the wizard. Geoffrey is quick to step into the space left by his comrade. He holds his morning star at the ready, glaring at the troll with anger.
“St Cuthbert Guide Me,” he whispers quietly, then swings the weapon as hard as he can. Holy energy seems to flow through his arm, lending him a fragment of his deity’s holy power. The morning star connects, and there is a sickening gurgle of pain from the troll as a wave of destructive power floods through the mace and into its body. Yip and Blarth press the attack, Yip twisting his way through the trolls legs to flank from behind, and Blarth lashing out with another powerful blow that almost cuts one of the trolls legs free. The troll hisses in pain, a surprisingly soft sound given the blood that flows from its wounds. The flesh and bone of its leg starts to fuse, letting it hobble uncomfortably, and it turns its glowing eyes to Blarth with a look of pure hatred.
Both hands leap forwards, talons bared and ready to cut through flesh. There is the screech of claw on metal for the space of half a second, then the claws seem to find purchase. Blarth’s armor screams in protest as the trolls talons penetrate, almost lifting the half-orc off his feet as the creature pulls apart with all its strength. Blood fountains across the snow as both clawed troll hands try to separate Blarth like a wishbone, then there’s a pained grunt as the half-orc is dropped back into the snow. Torn bands of armor hang loose from their moorings, bloodied flesh evident underneath.
“Damn,” Geoffrey mutters, looking at the bloody mess that was once Blarth’s chest. “Not good.”
The half-orc is still breathing, struggling to his feet, but blood flows over him like a tunic and the snow around his feet is gradually turning a deep crimson.
“Blarth mad,” he wheezes, but both sword and shield are held low and without his usual strength. The troll blinks, momentarily taken aback by the fact that his foe is still standing after such a deadly blow. One can almost see it's slow brain trying to process how it happened, running through the list of gnolls and mountain cats that have been felled by such blows.
Halgo takes advantage of its confusion, hitting it with an acid arrow that starts burning through the troll’s chest. Gunnar fires a second arrow that lands only a few inches from the first, and Geoffrey hammers through the troll’s defenses again.
Yip flurries from behind the creatures, arming a series of short sharp blows at the Troll’s lower back where he guesses important internal organs should be located. One of his strikes hits, drawing another grunt of pain from the wounded giant, but it does little to slow the creature down. Blarth, swaying slightly with blood loss, reaches for the psionic whistle at his belt. Next to him, Geoffrey bats at Blarth’s hand away from the potent weapon.
“Avalanches,” he grunts, the troll’s claw battering against his shield. Blarth nods blearily, trying to make out the words through the haze of his wounds. Instinct demands obedience, however, and he's subconsciously started to manifest bio-feedback before he's even aware of what Geoffrey has warned. The pain recedes, but his reactions are slowed and sluggish. The troll’s claw slashes through his defenses even as he pulls his blood away from the wounds, and Blarth slumps down into the snow.
“Dammit,” Halgo grunts. He fires his crossbow bolt, watching it spiral into the snow above the trolls head. “He dead?”
Geoffrey just shakes his head, cracking a few of the troll’s ribs with a carefully placed strike. He’s close enough to see that Blarth’s still breathing, his chest rising and falling smoothly.
“His manifestation probably saved his life,” Geoffrey thinks, and then the troll’s claws are slashing at his face. He curses to himself, forces his attention back on his foe. On the other side of the creature, Yip is battering at its lower back. Geoffrey hears a muted squelch, a sound he’s often associated with something inside the body popping open suddenly and loudly, and he swings as hard as he can as the Troll rears in pain. The morning star catches the creature under the chin, the bladed points tearing a huge rent in its throat and neck. The troll staggers backwards a half-pace before falling to the ground, the wounds already beginning to close.
“It’ll be up again in a few seconds,” Halgo calls out. “Move fast.”
Yip does. Letting out a strangled roar of rage, the small monk leaps onto the prone form of the troll and starts hammering at it with his fists. Within the space of seconds, the trolls face becomes a bruised and broken mess.
“So,” Halgo gasps, trying to catch his breath while Yip batters the troll further than its regeneration can heal. “Anyone got some fire?”
arwink
Clockwork Golem
True, the Snow Troll was among the nastier things the group has fought (at least, fought until recently).
It's also one of the few things they've come up against that has had a strength score and damage dealing capability roughly equal to Blarth's. It's difficult to challenge a 20 Str Psi-Warrior using Bio-feedback on a physical level, especially now he's wandering around with the AC from hell. Most of the things that can do it, such as giants and other large beasties, tend to do enough damage that they can lay the party out in one or two strikes*, so I make a point of using them as sparingly as possible. Even though the damage is unlikely to kill Blarth with the 5 points of subdual conversion bio-feedback grants him, big damage critters will render him unconscious and leave the group without a heavy hitter.
*(Note to the casual observer - Blarth and Geoffrey both use D8 hit die with +1 or +2 con bonuses, there is no tank fighter)
It's also one of the few things they've come up against that has had a strength score and damage dealing capability roughly equal to Blarth's. It's difficult to challenge a 20 Str Psi-Warrior using Bio-feedback on a physical level, especially now he's wandering around with the AC from hell. Most of the things that can do it, such as giants and other large beasties, tend to do enough damage that they can lay the party out in one or two strikes*, so I make a point of using them as sparingly as possible. Even though the damage is unlikely to kill Blarth with the 5 points of subdual conversion bio-feedback grants him, big damage critters will render him unconscious and leave the group without a heavy hitter.
*(Note to the casual observer - Blarth and Geoffrey both use D8 hit die with +1 or +2 con bonuses, there is no tank fighter)
arwink
Clockwork Golem
Everyone looks blank.
“No-one?” Halgo demands. “None of us are carrying around torches these days?”
“I thought you guys could see in the dark,” Geoffrey says defensively. “And I picked up a burning stone back in Petrev.”
Halgo blinks for a few moments, biting back frustration. In the background, Yip is still hammering his fists into the troll. Thwack, thwack. Thwack.
“Do something,” the kobold urges. “Yip getting tired.”
“Heal Blarth,” Halgo suggests, then turns towards Gunnar. “You carrying firewood?”
“Yes,” Gunnar says warily. “But if we use it here, we won’t have enough for another nights fire.”
“If we don’t use it now, we’ll have to deal with this thing on the way home,” Halgo says.
“It’ll be a cold night,” Gunnar insists. “Colder than we can handle unless you’ve got some magic besides that there whistle.”
“That thing just about killed Blarth,” Halgo insists. “You really want to face it again?”
Yip listens to the argument, letting out a sign even as he grinds the point of his paw into the trolls eye socket. The eye pops with a sickening squelch.
“Help,” he demands. “Yip fix.”
Yip starts rolling the troll’s body, a slow process made worse by the fact that he stops heaving every few seconds to strike the body or re-open some of its wounds.
“What are you doing?” Halgo demands.
“Throw over edge,” Yip grunts, straining his small limbs against the trolls weight. “Big fall. Cold water.”
“It’ll still come back,” Halgo grumbles.
“Not for a while,” Gunnar says with a grin. “I’ve seen men turn blue the moment they dove into the Streel, and that was down near the coastline where the water’s not so cold.”
The lanky hunter runs over and starts helping Yip, slowly rolling the body towards the lip of the ledge. Halgo shrugs and goes to join them, and they quickly send the troll bouncing down the rocky cliff. There's a few meaty splats as it rebounds off random rocks.
The screams of pain and terror don't start until a few seconds before the splash.
“That had better work,” Halgo grumbles.
Geoffrey sits by Blarth, casting healing spell after healing spell. The Half-orc is moving again after the first, but it takes the bulk of Geoffrey’s spells to get him to the point where he can move without pain. The trolls claws had bitten deep, and the psi-warrior had lost a lot of blood.
The troll’s snowdrift has been built up around the entrance to a cave, obviously the creatures lair. Yip is sent in to investigate, and he returns with a small pile of treasure and some human bones. Scattered among the silver and gold are several potions, some marked with imperial runes, and among the bones are several rings and tattered scraps of cloth that identify the former owners as Reldanfolk.
“The other diplomats,” Gunnar says quietly, examining one of the rings. “This bears the mark of Oleg’s House, probably the warrior that was leading the last mission.”
The hunter swears softly.
“You knew him?” Geoffrey asks.
“No,” Gunnar admits. “But I was still hoping that they’d made it through somehow. Take the pressure off, that kind of thing. I don’t like being the last hope.”
The Hunter swears again, gathering together the various personal effects and stowing them in his pack.
“Let’s get going,” he says.
“No-one?” Halgo demands. “None of us are carrying around torches these days?”
“I thought you guys could see in the dark,” Geoffrey says defensively. “And I picked up a burning stone back in Petrev.”
Halgo blinks for a few moments, biting back frustration. In the background, Yip is still hammering his fists into the troll. Thwack, thwack. Thwack.
“Do something,” the kobold urges. “Yip getting tired.”
“Heal Blarth,” Halgo suggests, then turns towards Gunnar. “You carrying firewood?”
“Yes,” Gunnar says warily. “But if we use it here, we won’t have enough for another nights fire.”
“If we don’t use it now, we’ll have to deal with this thing on the way home,” Halgo says.
“It’ll be a cold night,” Gunnar insists. “Colder than we can handle unless you’ve got some magic besides that there whistle.”
“That thing just about killed Blarth,” Halgo insists. “You really want to face it again?”
Yip listens to the argument, letting out a sign even as he grinds the point of his paw into the trolls eye socket. The eye pops with a sickening squelch.
“Help,” he demands. “Yip fix.”
Yip starts rolling the troll’s body, a slow process made worse by the fact that he stops heaving every few seconds to strike the body or re-open some of its wounds.
“What are you doing?” Halgo demands.
“Throw over edge,” Yip grunts, straining his small limbs against the trolls weight. “Big fall. Cold water.”
“It’ll still come back,” Halgo grumbles.
“Not for a while,” Gunnar says with a grin. “I’ve seen men turn blue the moment they dove into the Streel, and that was down near the coastline where the water’s not so cold.”
The lanky hunter runs over and starts helping Yip, slowly rolling the body towards the lip of the ledge. Halgo shrugs and goes to join them, and they quickly send the troll bouncing down the rocky cliff. There's a few meaty splats as it rebounds off random rocks.
The screams of pain and terror don't start until a few seconds before the splash.
“That had better work,” Halgo grumbles.
Geoffrey sits by Blarth, casting healing spell after healing spell. The Half-orc is moving again after the first, but it takes the bulk of Geoffrey’s spells to get him to the point where he can move without pain. The trolls claws had bitten deep, and the psi-warrior had lost a lot of blood.
The troll’s snowdrift has been built up around the entrance to a cave, obviously the creatures lair. Yip is sent in to investigate, and he returns with a small pile of treasure and some human bones. Scattered among the silver and gold are several potions, some marked with imperial runes, and among the bones are several rings and tattered scraps of cloth that identify the former owners as Reldanfolk.
“The other diplomats,” Gunnar says quietly, examining one of the rings. “This bears the mark of Oleg’s House, probably the warrior that was leading the last mission.”
The hunter swears softly.
“You knew him?” Geoffrey asks.
“No,” Gunnar admits. “But I was still hoping that they’d made it through somehow. Take the pressure off, that kind of thing. I don’t like being the last hope.”
The Hunter swears again, gathering together the various personal effects and stowing them in his pack.
“Let’s get going,” he says.
Similar Threads
