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The Steelwood.

It’s name might sound like some ‘exotic dancer’ in a Hawksong Red Lantern girl-bar, but it’s not. Rather, it’s a realm on the eastern edge of Hawksong’s political sphere, characterized by a longstanding conflict between mongrel tribes of Man, Elf, and Orc, which have bled into genealogically each other even as they bleed each other on the battlefield, shedding weapons and armour in woodland skirmishes for so long that the rusted remnants have given the place its name. Though it exists now in a fragile state of stalemate and ceasefire, two adventuring parties have entered the area on a mission related to a ore ancient empire than the current clashing clans: that of the dwarves, or Dwerrow, whose ancient ‘megastructure’ lies abandoned, hidden among the hills.

The Delvers a band of little folk employed by the dwarven corporation ‘Treasuretrove Incorporated’, have in their turn taken on the services of the so-called Monstrous Regiment, a newly-founded enterprise helmed by Zena Youngtree and her companion, Cara—really, a pair of strange soul-sisters named Zith-Zi[/ed] and Cara-Zi, once a single succubus-tainted goblin-girl, and now an odd couple if ever there was one. Harkening back to their outcast origins, they allied themselves with the Steelwood’s orcish denizens, a bandit-band of murdering, misogynist marauders who nevertheless provide the most reliable (well, manipulable) muscle around, and ask the fewest questions.

(Unfortunately, one of those questions was “what’s in it for us?”, and Zith-Zi had been forced to answer “a powerful magical weapon that can dominate or destroy your enemies,” but there’s always time for a double-cross if it comes down to it…)

Insincerity aside, the local orcs lent the aid of two of the chieftain’s half-human heirs, a potion-producing ziran witch, and a teenage simpleton with a penchant for whittling wood into savage spears. Added to the crew of Delver dweebs and the Zi’s crew of goblins (and goat-girl), it made for a fairly well-balanced assembly of adventurers. It was, at the very least, sufficient to slay or scare off the sword-stepping spider-freaks which assaulting their camp in the dead of night…

Freaks which, it turns out, are some strange breed of fucked-up fairy, the mutated brood of a creature call an ‘Ettercap’.
>>
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Ah, fuck, formatting error out of the gate....



Welcome back to Cambion Quest, /qst/’s premier goblin-starring, D&D-inspired quest besides all the other ones! Our previous threads can be found at https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=reptoidqm, as well as the previous three quests in the same setting (Reptilian Infiltrator Quest, Dragonborn Antipaladin Quest, and Seekers of the Esoteric). None of them save Cambion are ‘required reading’ for this thread, though they may lend you early or metagame understanding of certain lore.

>>
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Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>6179738

“Ah fuck, UNSEELIE?”

“That’s what Martyn said…”

You sigh at Cara-Zi’s report, subsequent to the study which your shapeshifting succubus-adjacent ‘sister’ and her fellow occult enthusiasts and fairy-botherers subjected the sole surviving-and-secured spider-thing. Apparently, if you’re understanding it correctly, it’s not some sort of demonic denizen of the Hellish Realm, but rather a creepy, curse-afflicted fey fucker, and in fact probably a young humanoid twisted all up into a stab-happy spider-faced monster by it’s Unseelie—that is, ‘gross evil rebel fairy’—master: an ‘Ettercap’, whatever-the-fuck THAT is.

“ZZ,” your uncanny other half asks nervously, “whatta we gonna do about these things? I thought Tips killed these guys off, but…”

It’s a valid question, you suppose, even if your demogoblin doppelganger trailed off at the end of it. The Unseelie Fey aren’t exactly your forte. Ezreal Mious van Houtzmann, AKA ‘Tips’, killed a whole bunch of these seedy shits off a few years back, sometime shortly after he split you and CZ apart and gave you your rockin’ new pink-and-perky bod. Apparently, though, that wasn’t all of ‘em. Faced with this surviving remnant fucking around with your bread-and-butter dungeon-crawling adventure, you’re non-too-pleased to be left holding that half-elven wizard twink’s bag, especially because their blade-bound flipper-limbs interrupted your beauty sleep.
>>
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>>6179741
And that ain’t the only piece of bad news you’ve gotten today, either!



46

“Whaddaya MEAN this is the wrong fuckin’ HILL?!”

“Um, THAT,” Aarre, one of the Delvers’ gnome equipment-operators, had answered.

You slapped your hand down on the flat surface of the queer, ‘seismographic’ device between the two of you, making not only the gnome jump, but also the strange needle tracing greyish lines across the parchment paper which Taito (Aarre’s cousin) fed the hungry machine to produce those incomprehensible outputs which had so stymied your search.

“What’s the point of the map we followed, then?!” you’d demanded.

“It got us into the right area,” Aarre explained. “But they’re old, and… Well, things have changed. Shifted. It’s been hundreds of years…”

“You expect me to believe the mountains have MOVED?”

“Yes,” Aarree answered honestly, no less annoyed than you were. “This was during an era with powerful wizards… Dragons… High elves… Not to mention the advanced magitechnology of the ancient dwarves. That kind of technology… Yeah, it could move mountains. Actually.”




In the here-and-now, though, you were forced with two problems: the missing dwarven dungeon, and the creepy-crawly creature who had emerged from Gods-only-know-where to besiege your camp. Having positions yourself as the only bitch bad enough to be Boss of the Monstrous Regiment, it was really up to you to decide what to do about both these pressing issues.

>Kill the Ettercap-created creature, and keep searching—the Monstrous Regiment will protect the Delvers while they work
>Free the freakshow and follow it to its Ettercap master—True fey, even the Unseelie sort, are immortal, and it may just know where the ancient dwarven megastructure is…
>Cara-Zi’s been doing shady demon shit—you know it, even if she doesn’t KNOW you know—and it’s about time she started applying that to the search
>Maybe you should take a cultivated crew on a little trip to the neighbouring humies or knife-ears, to pick their brains about all this…
>Write-in

New header art by draw_with_genie, new character art of CZ and ZZ by our own Indonesian gentleman, of Jail Quest and Gaol Ques amogn otherst
>>
>>6179747
>Kill the Ettercap-created creature, and keep searching—the Monstrous Regiment will protect the Delvers while they work
Now we know what the threats are and hopefully how to guard against them
>>
>>6179747
>Free the freakshow and follow it to its Ettercap master—True fey, even the Unseelie sort, are immortal, and it may just know where the ancient dwarven megastructure is…
cz looking like a jolly little fellow
>>
>Cara-Zi’s been doing shady demon shit—you know it, even if she doesn’t KNOW you know—and it’s about time she started applying that to the search
Congrats for the arts Indonesian Gentleman
>>
>>6179747
>Cara-Zi’s been doing shady demon shit—you know it, even if she doesn’t KNOW you know—and it’s about time she started applying that to the search.
>>
>>6179747
>Cara-Zi’s been doing shady demon shit—you know it, even if she doesn’t KNOW you know—and it’s about time she started applying that to the search
>>
Damn you all
Who's going to pay us for this community service
We're getting sidetracked from making fat stacks of dosh
>>
>>6179755
>>6179895
>>6179920
>>6179938
>>6179939
[Locked and writing!]

>>6180254
[Anon here asking the real questions, kek.]
>>
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>>6180382
“Hey, Cara!”

You jump a little at the sound of ZZ’s booming voice. Funny how, even though you technically sound almost the same, and it’s YOU with the magical ability to make yourself more noticeable, SHE’S the ‘Zith-Zi’ with the uncanny ability to seize attention with a single shout. Did you ever know how to project like that?

You set aside your musings and hop to attention, with a diligent: “Yeah, ‘Zena’? What’s up?”

ZZ casts a glance this way, then that, before placing an arm around your shoulders and leading you away from the others. Only Nermal—your mutant cave drake ‘familiar’—follows you, to the hissing misgiving of ZZ’s own feathery friend. You reach out and scratch little Hershy under his white-fringed ‘beard’, which seems to soothe him enough to tolerate his much larger, even-odder cousin.

“I know what you’ve been up ta,” ZZ says when you’re out of earshot of the others.

You abruptly stop scratching, to Hershy’s vocal displeasure. Your mind whorls as you wonder what she might mean. Does she know about you and Martyn—how, after you went off on your own before the ettercap ambush, you showed him the ‘real you’, warts and all? Did he TELL everyone? You kept meaning to ask him not to, but every time you approached him alone, he made a point to evade and escape into a crowd, where you couldn’t speak freely of such things.

“I-It’s not a big deal,” you stammer to explain. “He doesn’t know about, like, the ‘demon’ thing, or the di—”

ZZ looks at you strangely, and you shut your mouth, eyes widening. You laugh nervously, and start again.

“…Uh, what did YOU mean?”

Zith-Zi cross her arms and tilts her head a little, narrowing her eyes. You start to sweat, but luckily, she lets the matter lie. When you hear what she REALLY has to say, though, you almost wish it WAS about Martyn Meadowgrass and your dubious disclosure of your goblinness.

“Speakin’ of the ‘demon thing’, I KNOW you’ve been sneakin’ around, doin’ shady Dark Magic shit.”
>>
>>6180399
You swallow, neither nodding nor shaking your head. You’re not a BAD liar—you can actually be pretty good!—but there’s no lying to someone who you share twenty-odd years of life experience with. You might call each other ‘sister’’ these days, but for all your differences, you’re more alike in some ways than even twins could ever be. ZZ knows all your tells, because most of them are HER tells, too.

“Good,” she says, when she is sure you’re not going to waste both your time by bullshitting. “I mean, fuck, you have NERMAL there, after all. I ain’t dumb.”

“I know,” you say quietly, thinking to yourself: ‘Me neither…’

“Anyway, it’s about time ya’ started using that spooky shit fer the group’s benefit, doncha’ think?”

You blink relaxing a little. “Sure! Y-yeah, of course!”

You’d been expecting an admonishment, even feared you might need to justify Nermal’s continued presence. The slimy, tendril-faced giant salamander wasn’t exactly your first choice of boon from the Dark God whose emissary you’ve been studying under, but it’s proven its usefulness a few times, and having a friend who won’t judge you—and a weird mutant he-she kinda’ friend, just like you!—has been really nice, especially after what went down with Martyn. That said, you’re not exactly a pet collector kinda’ gob, so you hesitate when she holds out the body, wriggling ettercapling you captured.

“Take this thing, ‘n go do what you gotta’ do ta figure out how ta keep us safe from its creepy-ass family,” ZZ commands. “While yer at it, see if ya’ can’t figure out where this dungeon is.”
>>
>>6180400
You take the proferred monster, holding it far away from you. It’s no longer strapped with swords, but you’re careful to aim its underside away from you—you saw these things spitting slimy ‘silk’ from the fangy maw on their undercarriage, and even as a sort of kind of lust demon, you don’t envy the Delver’s Iournd Copeprbelt getting caught in that spooge-explosion.

“What exact am I s’posed ta’ do?” you ask, genuinely lost.

“How the fuck should -I- know?!” ZZ throws her hands up in the air. “Yer the wicked fuckin’ witch. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that as far as khoblis[/I crap is concerned, bein’ a nilbog ain’t done jack for me.”

(…Huh. Must’ve struck a nerve. Did something happen?)

Before you can ask—if even you were going to—your other half has turned on heel and stomped off. You look down at Nermal, who -looks back by probings about you and your new charge with his tentacle-like face-feelers. This frightens and irritates the baby-bodied, flipper-legged fairy-monster, which at least gets a giggle out of you.

Still, what to do…?
>Maybe you can offer this thing as a sacrifice to the Dark God of Knowledge, to get a clue
>Perhaps you could drag Dura into this, and get the orc-girl to make some sort of potion to scare off others of its ilk
>You’re kinda’ hungry, and this thing has a pretty potent-smelling soul…
>You’ve got psychic powers—what mages call ‘mentalism’—which might be handy to brainwash the little bastard into lending a hand
>Write-in
>>
>>6180401
>You’ve got psychic powers—what mages call ‘mentalism’—which might be handy to brainwash the little bastard into lending a hand
>>
>>6180401
>You’ve got psychic powers—what mages call ‘mentalism’—which might be handy to brainwash the little bastard into lending a hand
>>
>>6180401
>>You’ve got psychic powers—what mages call ‘mentalism’—which might be handy to brainwash the little bastard into lending a hand
>>
>>6180401
>Perhaps you could drag Dura into this, and get the orc-girl to make some sort of potion to scare off others of its ilk
>>
>>6180475
>>6180581
>>6180593
>>6180673
The first notion that occurs to you is that you could recruit that orc khoblis (or ziran, as the greyfaces call their witchy-types) to help you. You’ve been spending a lot of time with Dura of Steelwood lately, after all, and even tutoring her in the occult. She’s kinda’ like your sexy little student, which makes you giggle to think about, both because she’s almost six feet tall and because you ain’t exactly what most folks would call ‘professorial’. But what could she really contribute—mashing this deformed little monster-baby into a poultice or potion?




(Aww, what the hell, you’ll bring her anyway!)



Bring her you do, though the language barrier means Dura does little more than trail behind you, blinking in befuddlement, as you tug her along by her wrist.

“What I’m gonna do is use my mentalism, ‘kay?”

You speak slowly, loudly, enunciating each syllable in the Northern Commontongue, but you might as well be speaking Goblin or even Elfish, for all the comprehension that registers upon Dura’s features.

“We wanna make this little shit do what I say. It’s kinda’ like… Like takin’ the feeling of wantin’ ta do somethin’, like findin’ this dungeon or the other etetrcaps, that WE fee, ‘n puttin’ it in the ugly li’l fucker’s big round noggin. Get it?”

Obviously, Dura does NOT get it. Luckily, she still makes a good ‘lovely assistant’ type, holding the squirming Unseelie whelp in an iron grip. Dura may be a girl-orc and not a warrior or anything, but her pronounced muzzle, sunken eyes, and upturned nose attest to her being more orc than half-orc compared to the likes of Xoldur and Murbal, and that conveys a certain default strength and stature. Under the soft layer of feminine squish (nnf), she is corded with muscle worthy of belonging to someone ‘from the Steelwood’. The ettercaplet has no chance of escape.

“Awright,” you murmur as you approach the agitated ankle-biter, “let’s see what we can get you ta do, huh?”

ZZ left you a lot of leeway here as to priorities, and methods. To what purpose will you turn the monster’s mind?
>You want to find the Ettercap which created it, first and foremost, and understand its intentions
>You want to scour the little guy’s skull for possible dungeon locations, and have it lead you to likely hills
>You want to know where it came from, and what it was, before it was an Ettercap… Does any trace of the child it used to be exist within what it has become?
>Write-in
>>
>>6180693
>You want to scour the little guy’s skull for possible dungeon locations, and have it lead you to likely hills
>>
>>6180693
>You want to scour the little guy’s skull for possible dungeon locations, and have it lead you to likely hills

Finally things to tear apart
>>
>>6180693
>>You want to scour the little guy’s skull for possible dungeon locations, and have it lead you to likely hills
>>
>>6180693
>You want to scour the little guy’s skull for possible dungeon locations, and have it lead you to likely hills
>>
Rolled 8, 4, 10, 9 = 31 (4d20)

>>6180727
>>6180785
>>6180786
>>6180789
You place your hands upon the littlecap’s little noggin, nodding at Dura. She returns the gesture, understanding at least well enough to hold it out so you can gain greater purchase. Technically, this sort of spellcraft requires neither physical contact nor proximity. In fact, being an inherent ability rather than a ‘spell’ of the usual sort, you don’t even need to say funny words or wiggle your fingers like ZZ does! Tips told you that was ‘remarkable’ once, a compliment you’ve held close to your dark little heart ever since. Every extraneous step makes it easier, though, and it’s not as if you have a ton of practice.

“From now on, you work for me ‘n my sis, okay little guy?” you whisper, infusing your words with Infernal power, called up from within, and from places below and beyond the waking world of Man, Goblin, and Orc. “You must know these hills pretty well… Show me where you creepy-crawlies’ve bin crawin’ around, wouldja’?”

4d20: Mentalism, a bonus die for the Occultism success at the end of last thread, and an extra d20 for your lovely assistant...
>>
>>6180825
You push your spicy ‘soul’ into the space occupied by the little Ettercap-thingie’s own shrunken, shredded spirit. Dwelling partly within it, you can see how much of its ego ahs already been ruined, replaced with nothing but the will of a greater power. Threads of spider-like silk connect it across the astral realm of dreaming, even as it is wide awake and alert with anxiety. Seeking leverage you pluck at one of them, and…

Highest result, 10. Result: Failure!

“What is this little thing?”

You draw back with a yelp, physically and mentally. You open your eyes in the waking world, and scramble to break the spell before—

“Is it you, who killed my little foundlings, little thing?” asks the voiceless voice, raking the back of your own dome. “I see… You seek a place of power, do you? In the hills… Beneath the hills… Yes, I understand…”

The connection is severed almost instantly, but only ALMOST instantly. In that one brief instant, more information was exchanged than could ever be the case by mundane means such as eyes and ears.

But you DID see eyes… SO many gleaming, peering eyes, glistening little orbs of black, scattered like dark stars across a bulging, purple face… All fixed upon you. Not by physical means, but by spiritual ones.

The Ettercap knows you now… Knows your nature. Knows your location.

You take a moment to catch your breath. You are momentarily blind to all sights, deaf to all sounds, magical and otherwise. Only when Dura grabs hold of your shoulder and shakes you out of it are you able to fix upon her fearful, confused-anew face, half-hidden behind her wind, ribbon-adorned mess of shaggy black hair. You mumble something unintelligible in response, since she can’t understand you anyway and words are a bit beyond you. In response, the she-orc shoves the ettercap’s ‘foundling in your face.

The creature is twitching, not in struggle, but in seizure. Its eyes were never expressive, but you can see by thin bands of white that they are wider than they’ve ever been, and rolling back in its deformed skull. Its legs flex and flail, slapping at nothing, lacking fingers or toes to grab with or swords to stab with. It is a helpless, writhing thing, half-formed and ill-wrought, and it is dying.

Did your invasion break it’s feeble baby brain? Did its master choose to dispense with it, to deny you a map of the area? Either way, it is as god as dead if you don’t act fast… But maybe that’s for the best, if it’s an avenue by which you can be traced, tracked, and trapped by that wicked, wild entity whose schemes and sadism you so briefly brushed against?

>Kill it!
>Work with Dura to save it, quick!
>Try again—before it dies, get your prize from its mind! [Higher DC, extremely dangerous if you fail a second time]
>>
>>6180831
>Kill it!
Ah shit.... we should probably tell ZZ
>>
>>6180831
>Kill it!
We tried :(
>>
>>6180831
>Kill it!
welp, not feeling confident for a 2nd try
>>
>>6180831
>Work with Dura to save it, quick!
Don’t kill it ;_;
>>
>>6180831
>>Kill it!
>>
>>6181089
>>6181070
>>6180936
>>6180930
>>6180838
You pull your dagger from the tied-off length of rope which serves as belt for your hooded monk-robe (or, uh, funerary robe, you guess?), and swiftly put an end to the poor and wretched thing. Having failed once—failed AGAIN! Why are you always such a fuck-up?!—you are loathe to risk everything by re-entering that tangled cobweb of a brain. You shaken are you by the ettercap’s counterattack that you don’t even take a moment to savour the departure of the little, twisted soul from the gutted vessel of the ettercap’s ‘foundling’—you just let it pass, taking deep breaths to calm your still-staccato heartbeat.

“Ayh lat mir tukor?”

You feel a hand upon your back, and suddenly stiffen at the unexpected physical contact. You look back over your shoulder at your assistant, Dura who is looking at you with muted concern. You may not share a language, but you recognize her meaning easily enough: she wants to know what happened, and if you’re going to be okay.

“I’m fine,” you say.

It’s only half a lie, because whatever that effort took out of you, the feel of the orc’s surprisingly-genuine, tender concern for you makes you feel loads better! Though, given your cambion ‘condition’…

<WANT: 17>

…that has its own complications. Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’ve turned around, placing on of your hands upon her larger, grey one. Her fingers are fine—not elf-fine, still thick and strong. They’re lightly calloused here and there in the specific wear-patterns accrued from cooking, cleaning, and of course collecting and processing herbs for her womanly (and witchy) chieftain-approved lady-labour. They’re nice, though, and she doesn’t pull them away, instead looking at you with a mix of confusion, lingering concern, and… Something else? Are you imagining it?

(A painful series of remembered rejections flash before your mind’s eye: of Tips, of Svanhidla Pearl, of Martyn Meadowgrass. You still have hopes for reconciliation with the later, even romance, but…)

Do you kiss Dura?
>Yes
>No

“Nalkra adog kulknej jeg?” she asks, though, and you frown, trying puzzle out her meaning from fluctuations in her own mental-spiritual ‘aura’.

You sense anticipation, fear, excitement… And deference. Dura expects you to know what to do next? Ha! Ain’t THAT some shit? Well…
>You should tell ZZ what happened, and just keep checking the hills around here
>It might be worth paying a little visit to the non-orcish Steelwood denizens to learn more about the Ettercap
>You are NOT going back empty-handed, not again! Maybe you can offer something to the Dark Gods, to get their counsel and blessing…
>Write-in

[Don't forget to vote on both!]
>>
>>6181308
>>No
>You should tell ZZ what happened, and just keep checking the hills around here
>>
>>6181315
Support
>>
>>6181308
>No
Not at 17 want

>You should tell ZZ what happened, and just keep checking the hills around here
We did find out some useful info - they're organized by a mastermind who's pretty competent in demon magic themselves
>>
>>6181315
>>6181320
>>6181383
You stifle yourdesires, turning away from Dura’s wide-eyes expression and slightly-parted lips, framed by her cute little tusks.

“We oughtta tell ZZ ‘bout this,” you say, more to yourself than to your confused helper. “She hould know we got competition in these here hills now…”





“You fucking WHAT??”

You force your fury down, seeing CZ flinch at your initial outburst. After all, she just did what you told her to do, when you get right down to it. It’s not necessarily that she did anything WORNG; it’s just that neither of you had any idea what you were up against. Who could have expected these gross little things were somehow bound to a powerful demon mage.

“FAIRY mage, actually,” CZ corrects you. “Uh, or… Well… Like, a ‘True Fey’, I think? Not that, like… It MATTERS or, uh…”

Your demonic double trails off under your glare, until you sigh and lay off the pressure again.

...
>>
>>6181491
“Alright, so we gotta move fast,” you reiterate aloud, by this point to the entire assembled team. “This Ettercap asshole knows what we’re lookin’ for, an’ since it’s FROM here, it’s gonna have a better idea where ta’ look, maybe.”

“Shouldn’t we seek it out, then?”

You give Meadowgrass the same look you gave Cara-Zi earlier, and he cams up just as quick.

“That still means lettin’ it get access first, you say, “an’ we have no damn clue where it’s holed up, anyway, so hat adds an entire extra step to the search, with no idea here to start for THAT stage, either.”

“We do have a second machine,” Iorund Copperbelt speaks up from where he’s seated, still bandaged and bloodied from your recent confrontation with your new foe. “A second seismological survey device.”

You grin, and reply, “Well, why didn’t ya’ fuckin’ say so? SO we cans erach twice as fast, you’re sayin’?”

“It will require an operator,” Copperbelt points out with a frown. “Only myself, Aarre, and Taito are qualified to operate these machines effectively… And they’ll work best if set up at the pinnacle of a hillock, as with our set-up last night and this morning. They’ll need to then operate, undisturbed, for a period of eight-to-twelve hours, to complete the survey.”

Your smile shrinks.

“So, what yer sayin’ is…”

“He wants to split th’ party,” Yeb-Uit grunts.

An-Yii hisses through her teeth. You understand the sentiment. Split the party? Overnight? In hostile territory, with some freaky fairy-fiend skulking around in the shadows with its hideous little ‘foundlings’ strapped with blades for shoes, looking to shank you in your sleep?
>>
>>6181492
You decide to…
>Split the party
>Do not split the party

If you split the party, specify who you assign to each group. As a reminder, your full party includes…
>Aarre (gnome, largely noncombatant, can operate a seismographic survey device)
>Taito (his cousin, see above)
>Iorund Copperbelt (partly-wounded dwarven merchant, mechanist, and seasoned adventurer; can operate a seismographic survey device)
>Ceri-Mai, or “Cherry” (halfling alchemist specializing in inorganic compounds)
>Martyn Meadowgrass (halfling, part-time mechanist, unpublished cultural scholar, good with a spear)
>Steiner Sternstone (dwarven henchman, grouchy muscle, pretty good in a fight)
>Murbal (half-orc shield-maiden; minimal command of Common)
>Xoldur (half-orc diplomat, translator, and axe-man; speaks adequate Common)
>Dura (orc potion-brewer and neophyte occultist; speaks almost no Common; currently tasked with handling captive chimera)
>Oodagh (teenage orc spear-maker and spear-thrower; speaks almost no Common)
>Yeb-Uit (elder goblin archer and scout)
>An-Yii (goblin medic)
>Khorine (faun fairy-mystic; currently without a twig blight to protect her)
>Cara-Zi & Nermal
>Zith-Zi & Hershy
You will only have control during any encounters, or knowledge of them, if ZZ or CZ is assigned to a given group. Each group must have at LEAST one device operator.

If you have any ideas as to how to narrow down your options or to elect a hill, please also specify. If you have questions you’d like to ask to help clarify the area or help make a determination, feel free to ask.
>>
>>6181493
>Split the party
we're on a hurry now so time to gamble
>>6181493
>Taito (his cousin, see above)
>Iorund Copperbelt (partly-wounded dwarven merchant, mechanist, and seasoned adventurer; can operate a seismographic survey device)
>Ceri-Mai, or “Cherry” (halfling alchemist specializing in inorganic compounds)
>Martyn Meadowgrass (halfling, part-time mechanist, unpublished cultural scholar, good with a spear)
>Steiner Sternstone (dwarven henchman, grouchy muscle, pretty good in a fight)
>Murbal (half-orc shield-maiden; minimal command of Common)
>Cara-Zi & Nermal

and the rest makes the other party
>>
>>6181603
actually also send An-Yii to the CZ party since copperbelt is wounded
>>
>>6181493
>Split the party

1:
>Aarre (gnome, largely noncombatant, can operate a seismographic survey device)
>Taito (his cousin, see above)
>Murbal (half-orc shield-maiden; minimal command of Common)
>Xoldur (half-orc diplomat, translator, and axe-man; speaks adequate Common)
>Dura (orc potion-brewer and neophyte occultist; speaks almost no Common; currently tasked with handling captive chimera)
>Oodagh (teenage orc spear-maker and spear-thrower; speaks almost no Common)
Need the orcs all together so Xoldur can translate for the rest
>Cara-Zi & Nermal

2:
Everyone else
>>
>>6181603
>>6181604
>>6181708
[Hmm... Could benefit from a third vote.]

>>6181320
>>6181315
>>6181070
>>6180930
>>6180838
[Any of you anons so inclined?]
>>
>>6182069
I can back
>>6181708
>>
>>6182119
>>6181708
>>6181604
>>6181603

[Alright, locked and writing!]

Red Team
>Zith-Zi
>Hershy
>Copperbelt
>Cherry
>Meadowgrass
>Sternstone
>Yeb-Uit
>An-Yii
>Khorine

Green Team
>Cara-Zi
>Nermal
>Aarre
>Taito
>Murbal
>Xoldur
>Dura
>Oodagh
>>
>>6182166

“Uh, ZZ, you sure?” your opposite number asks anxiously. “Shouldn’t I stay with you? You know what they say ‘bout splittin’ the party.”

You both always ends in disaster. Every adventurer knows this as a basic truism of the profession. And yet, it must be noted, every adventurer who’s spent any time practicing the profession has their own horror story of why such an act is folly, buried among countless instances of it going just fine, because every adventurer still does it.

“Copperbelt, Cherry, Meadowgrass—with me,” you say. “Sternstone too, I guess. An’ the gobs, an’ the goat-girl.”

“Faun,” Khorine huffs, though you can see the beastgirl’s palpable relief in her relaxed posture—she trusts you, and probably still fears CZ almost as much as the rocs.

And speaking of orcs…

“Xoldur, go with my—with CZ. An’ take the rest’ve yer lot. They barely speak a lick of Common between ‘em.”

“Murbal Common good!” his sister protests. “Speak more good than Xoldur!”

Xoldur raises his eyebrows and looks to Copperbelt, who wearily reaffirms your order. You roll your eyes, bristling slightly at the disrespect, but you say nothing—Xoldur has appearances to keep, as a chieftain’s son, and you can’t be assed to try to correct orc culture As a goblin, as a female, and s a goblin female, you’re used to such petty slights, and this is hardly the worst of them. Just reminds you why you’ve come to prefer a more SOPHISTICATED sort of conversation than even the hunkiest sort of half-orc.

(Although… No, no. No time for love. Not right now.)



(And anyway, there’s still Jimmy to consider…)

Your two teams organize themselves. Only one of you gets the carriage—your team, as Copperbelt refuses to part with it, citing his sizeable investment and sense of responsibility for it and its contents—but it’s barely an asset, anyway, since Sternstone has to keep dislodging it from errant rocks and crevasses. ‘Green Team,” as you mentally consider Cara-Zi’s crew, make do with leveraging good old-fashioned orcish muscle to move their own mechanism.

As you traverse the tricky terrain with your team, you opt to…
>Scout ahead with Yeb-Uit, and pick his brain—has his own ample experience involved anything like this?
>Check in on Khorine, providing some comfort and getting her thoughts on the Unseelie Fey as a fellow fairy-creature
>Seem how Copperbelt’s holding up, and take a look at that map of his while you talk—maybe you can find a clue to help direct your search
>Chat with Meadowgrass about whatever-the-fuck went down between him and Cara-Zi, after you set ‘em up all nice
>Write-in
>>
>>6182183
>Xoldur raises his eyebrows and looks to Copperbelt, who wearily reaffirms your order. You roll your eyes, bristling slightly at the disrespect, but you say nothing
Oh shit forgot they had this annoying quirk
Hope they listen to CZ

>Check in on Khorine, providing some comfort and getting her thoughts on the Unseelie Fey as a fellow fairy-creature
Work before pleasure
>>
>>6182183
>Check in on Khorine, providing some comfort and getting her thoughts on the Unseelie Fey as a fellow fairy-creature
>>6182200
>Oh shit forgot they had this annoying quirk
>Hope they listen to CZ
perhaps her hands on nature, both for combat and other stuff, might help her here but not so much.
>>
>>6182183
>Seem how Copperbelt’s holding up, and take a look at that map of his while you talk—maybe you can find a clue to help direct your search
Mandatory Product-Honor vibe-check
>>
>>6182200
>>6182223
>>6182308
[Locked and hopefully writing, soon. It was a whirlwind day: new job, sickly old cat, and more. I will do my best to write something up to snuff.]
>>
Rolled 12, 3, 9, 2 = 26 (4d20)

>>6182662
You’re considering whether you piled too much on your shadow-sister’s plate, leaving CZ in charge of those quirk orcs with their misogynistic tendencies… But hey, she’s sort of YOU, right? You both share that history as a bandit Boss, even if she can’t remember half of it. She’ll be fiiiine!

You’re a bit more worried about Khorine.

“Hey, kid, how you doing?”

The faun jumps at your approach, and her eyes flit around, failing to find her absent sentry—the so-called ‘twig blight’, its branch-based body having been shredded to splinters by the Ettercap’s foundlings.

“I’m fine,” she insists, puffing out her cheeks and turning her head.

“Real convincing,” you snort.

She says nothing, though her face reddens. You stifle a laugh, and fall in beside her. Khorine, in turn, matches your slowing pace and falls back a little. You can’t help but feel a little… Well, SOEMTHING, at how she seems to see you, her saviour during that same strike which claimed the blight, as a replacement source of safety.

(Fuck’s sakes, Zith-Zi, there’s soft and there’s soft. What’s coming OVER you?!)

Rather than offer some sort of… Like, motherly comfort or anything weird like that, you give the goat-girl the old goblin mentor special: you get her mind focused on the mission, and on retribution.

“Bet yer lookin’ forward ta taking a chunk outta’ the Unseelie asshole, too, huh?”

Khorine huffs, producing a quiet, angry bleat. You can see her physically mustering her bravado… Only for it to collapse as she admits:

“I’m scared.”

“What?!” You’re startled less at the little beastgirl’s fear than at her open admission of it. Her glare, though, quiets you, and you nod knowingly—this is for your ears only. The strange feeling in your chest returns. “Why? We’ve faced all kindsa’ shit.”

“I’ve only faced wickedly-corrupted cave drakes and CARA-ZI, actually,” Khorine points out, with a mix of accusation and something like apology. “And those… Awful little things. But I’ve heard of the Unseelie, on the winds…”

“Well, we’re sorta’ fairies ourselves, right?” You try to bolster her with your own bravado, puffing out your pert pink chest and flexing a deceptively-muscular arm. “We got this.”

“Unseelie Fey… TRUE Unseelie Fey… They aren’t like us,” Khorine corrects your misconception, slipping back into ‘lecture mode’. “They’re… Well, they’re GODS, Zith-Zi. Fallen gods, less than the Great Gods of the Bonum Chaoticum, but still… Immortal. Ageless. Undying.”
>>
Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>6182684
“Bullshit,” you snort. “I know a little twink who ain’t even got no upper body strength and can hardly jog a mile, an’ HE killed a bunch’ve ‘em.”

“WHAT?” Khorine shrieks, stumbling out step before racing to your side. And staring up at you. “You know the mage who shattered Queen Banelight’s Unseelie Court?”

“U-uh?” You recover quickly. “Yeah, I guess so? I dunno’. I figured any little fairy bitch Tips could take down wasn’t worth the effort’ve ‘membering her name. Point is, though: she’s DEAD.”

“How did he do it?”

Now it’s nearly you who stumbles, but your years of experience bullshitting save you from a literal or metaphorical faceplant.

“Magic, obviously,” you say. “That nerd knows nothin’ BUT magic.”

To your mild alarm, that seems to plunge Khorine right back into a sea of despair.

“We’re doomed, then,” she says.

“How the fuck ya’ figure THAT?”

“I’m our strongest mage,” she points out, “and we have no magic weapons that can kill slay such a being, either.”

“Whaddaya’ mean?” you demand, and gesture towards Martyn meadowgrass. “We got the zappy-stabby over there, right?”

“That DEVICE,” Khorine sneers, “is powered by a weak little enchantment, upon the stones stored in its haft. We need something strong… Something truly ancient, or else divine.”

Divine… Like the Dark Gods, maybe? CZ is, herself, sort of a ‘magic weapon’ when she gets going, and with whatever weird bullshit she’s been getting up to… But, on the other hand, do you really want to’ mess with powers like that? or encourage CZ’s demonic deviancy, especially after that last backfire? Maybe your own magic will be sufficient, after all? Or maybe there’s another way…

“Don’t worry,” you half-lie, “I have a plan.”

12: Leadership test Passed, but only at lowest DC

Khorine looks skeptical, so you slap her on the back and, giving in to instinct, ruffle her hair between her curly little horns. She bleats again, trying (and failing) to struggle out of your chokehold.

“Stop bein’ such a whiny little wiener. That’s an order from yer Boss, got it?”

“Okay, okay, I surrender! Let me go!”

Khorine’s Morale: Was Low, now Stable once more
>>
>>6182685
>1
[U-uh... Let's go to CZ's group for a moment.]
>>
>>6182685
>>6182686
You are way out of your depth.

You have no idea what ZZ was thinking, sending you off on your own. Or, well, not on your OWN, really. In charge of a squad. That’s worse! You don’t remember shit about how to lead a team, and ever since becoming the you you are today, ‘Carazzi’ has been a follower. You sponge the emotions of others, match their frequency, and thrive best under discipline!

(But then again… You HAVE been kind of doing your own thing lately, haven’t you? Pursuing instruction from Maladoo and the Nothic, looking for love, taking on a new shape of your own invention…)

There’s still the matter of the orcs, though. They all defer to Xoldur, more or less. Even Murbal looks first to him at every new turn or obstacle, though she just as often laughs or groans when he makes suggestions, and turns the other way. The others, though—Dura and Oodagh—they follow him first and foremost. You’d sort of hoped HE would in turn defer to, like, Aarre or Taito or someone, but Xoldur has done no such thing; rather, with his stature a sure-footed speed born of a childhood amongst these same hills, he takes the lead.

What will you do?
>Defer to Xoldur as well—the man has a plan, evidently, and you just need to make sure him and that Delevr doohickey get there in one piece
>Try to stir shit up—get the other guys to take charge!
>Ask Murbal why she even follows her brother, if she doesn’t respect him? Seems weird, no matter their cultural whateveritis
>No, no, NO. ZZ put You in charge of Green Team, and you’re gonna BE in charge!
>Write-in
>>
>>6182698
>No, no, NO. ZZ put You in charge of Green Team, and you’re gonna BE in charge!
we balls for a reason (probably ?)
>>
>>6182698
>Defer to Xoldur as well—the man has a plan, evidently, and you just need to make sure him and that Delevr doohickey get there in one piece

I don't think leading teams is, like, our strongsuit. Maybe just be his advisor on what we're actually doing and how to do it. Making suggestions, you know, that stuff
>>
>>6182698
>No, no, NO. ZZ put You in charge of Green Team, and you’re gonna BE in charge!
ZZ trusts us, and I trust ZZ’s judgment. Simple as.
>>
>>6182702
>>6182747
>>6182801
[Alright, locked and writing!]
>>
>>6182662
Gambate RQM.
>>
Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>6183009
[Thanks!]

>>6183003
When Green Team reaches the pinnacle of the hill, and Xoldur begins to grunt orders, gesturing with axe and with stiff motions of his chin and head. Murbal snaps back at him in the orcs’ harsh tongue, and places her hands behind her head in a stretching yawn of disinterest, but the other two members of the axe-wielding translator’s tribe begin to follow this unintelligible-to-you instruction. You just frown at first, but things come to a head when he switches to Common, and begins directing the Delvers, too.

“We check for trap, danger. Then, dig.”

“Dig?” Taito asks, twiddling his curly mustachio. “But the machine isn’t even—”

“Waste time, use ‘muh-sheen’,” Xoldur states. “If thing here, dig. Find. Faster. Better.”

What really chaps your ass is when Taito and his cousin shrug, and begin fishing out equipment for excavation. Unable to hold back, you say:

“Uh, ‘scuse me?”

Xoldur pointedly ignores you. His eyes dart your way momentarily, and then he makes a show of turning his head. You sense reticence to confront you or to force his will on you, but also irritation and displeasure at your defiance. Splitting the difference, he opts to pretend it isn’t happening, so he need not ‘discipline’ you nor defer.

(Well, tough titties, greyface!)

“I said,” you snarl, “‘scuse me, but who put you in charge?”

Xoldur’s brow creases slightly as he’s forced to acknowledge your persistence, if only because the others have stopped to turn and observe the altercation.

“Chief sent me. Makes me leader.”

“The chief ain’t—”

You stop yourself. The Chief of the Steelwood Orcs, Xoldur’s father Xorok, is technically considered master and de facto owner of whatever territory he and his admittedly-miniscule warband can defend, including these hills… And you, while you operate amongst them. That’s the arrangement on paper—or, well, it would be, if orcs used quill and parchment—in order to appease the orcs’ cultural norms and avoid conflict.

(But damn it all… ZZ put YOU in charge!)

“The chief said yer here ta help us, translate for us… Not boss us. That’s ZZ’s gig.”

“No,” Xoldur states plainly, without menace or malice even as he squares up with you. “Is bald dwarf, male.”

You squint. Can he be this stupid? This blind? Surely not.

“Zith-Zi split the teams, agve us our marchin’ orders. Come on, you were THERE!”

“Bald dwarf tell pink sma dyr she can talk with big, loud voice. Fine. Is… Good voice.”

(…Huh? Is that a little smile? And that pulse of amusement… Affection?)

“Not make female leader,” he continues placidly, his tone explanatory. “Not make YOU leader.”
>>
Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>6183036
>>6183036
You bristle at this, LITERALLY even. Xoldur’s yellow-brown eyes widene and his strong brow arches as your hair raises on your head, fluffing out. You feel the fine little elfy-hairs on your shapeshifted arms do likewise, less visible, and you bare your flattened, prettified teeth as you would your natural maw of jagged fangs and orcine tusks. Without meaning to do so, you feel your shape begin to shift slightly within the confines of your monk hoodie, filling out the oversized garment with broadening, squaring shoulders. Your chest recedes slightly, and as you straighten your slightly-bowed back, you gain an inch or two or height. Your jaw clicks and crunches as you grind your teeth, taking on a bit more broadness and sharpness in form.

“-I- make me leader, little man.”

When you speak, your voice is deeper—not a baritone, but distinctly more masculine than it was a moment ago, at least as deep as Svanhilda Pearl’s had been to shout over the noise of rigging and lapping water on Sunset Lake. It’s deeper than ZZ’s, but no less loud, and nearly as commanding. Your three-pronged fishing spear’s angle shifts, sharp-end facing forward and angled such that it liens up with Xoldur’s throat.

Cara-Zi’s identity shifts slightly more masculine as a result of this choice, as well as more independent and less conciliatory.

>18

CZ wins a basic untrained Intimidate check, requiring no further confrontation.

“Hmm.” Xoldur lifts his axe, and you grip your spear tighter, but instead of attacking he simply sues it as an especially-reckless backscratcher. “Thought you gru.”

You sense nervousness as his posture turns softer, and his attention shifts to his tribesmen (well, tribesman, and two tribeswomen) and he says:

“Kigiji ni ku olk ij gru.”
>>
>>6183044
You wish you’d retained Zith-Zi’s memory of other tongues, to know what exactly he said. Only one of Dura’s eyes is visible through her mop of hair, but it turns to you with a sudden confusion. Murbal clucks her tongue and says something back, provoking a brief, growled argument between the chieftain’s two children. Whatever THAT’s about, it comes to an end quickly—Oodagh seems to accept the mysterious pronouncement turning around and awaiting further instruction—from you, not from Xoldur. A moment later, Murbal does likewise.

“So… We can stop digging?” asks Aarre, though neither gnome had truly started.

“Uh, yeah, fer now,” you say in your newly-husky voice, suddenly disoriented to find yourself ACTUALLY in charge. “Still not a bad idea ta patrol a little while the Delvers set up the machine, though. So… uh… Do what Xoldur was thinking, I guess? I… Approve his order.”

Xoldur sighs softly, a hiss between his fangs tusks through slightly-parted lips, and his head hangs slightly as he leaves his ‘command post’ atop the hill, to join his clanmates in executing the order that you—not he—now issue. Your heart is hammering and skin tingling at the sensation of all this attention on you.

(You think you could get used to THIS…)

You stay atop the hill, guarding the gnomish Delvers and helping Dura to keep the three-headed chimera with which she has been charged calm, and to feed it without being bitten. You catch the dour she-orc stealing glances at you, keenly aware of your change. She lacks the desire or ability to ask about it, though, and you are content to brush the bound beast and to hum little song, which Dura haltingly mimics in a much quieter, surprisingly soft accompaniment.

No spies are spotted, nor do attackers appear to be repelled. Oodagh returns with a bunch of promising sticks and stones, of which he seems inordinately proud, and begins working them the moment you give him leave to do so; he chips rocks at strategic angled, sharpens them on still others, and uses them to strip off extraneous branches and smooth down knurls as he makes to replace spears broken in the recent Ettercap attack. Murbal, more practically, returns with a mountain-antelope for dinner, its neck broken harshly as if by—just hazarding a guess—a mighty blow with a masterwork steel shield, like the polished-still-tarnished one Murbal carries everywhere as her signature implement of violence.

Xoldur returns empty-handed, and quietly—unhappily—settles into camp to gaze off at the setting sun.
>>
>>6183069
“Uh, bad news, gang…”

>10

You all turn to face Aarre, as Taito continues to labour over their strange configuration of posts, wires, and a the single central console with its moving charcoal-tipped needle sketching wavy and spiky liens upon grid0lined parchment.

“No megastructure,” the bearded gnome concludes, while his fancier cousin gives the seismographic survey device an annoyed thump. “This hill’s just a hill.”

You resist the urge to keen in dismay at your failure—ANOTHER failure, in a string of them!—and instead you maintain a masculine aura of stoic acceptance.

“Well, shit happens,” you say. “Let’s set up the torch, huh?”

That was the plan, when Teams Red and green went their separate ways: that when your survey concluded, and night fell, you’d light one torch for a failure, and two for a success. If a hill turned up results, you’d regroup there; if neither did, you’d meet at Zith-Zi and Copperbelt’s hill. As such, Oodagh converts one half-formed spear into a torch with a bit of fat rom the butchered antelope, and Aarre and Taito light it up. You all turn to the other hill across the way, slightly higher than yours, waiting for the reply…

You wait…

…And wait…

And wait.

>1 (>>6182685)

“No fire,” Murbal brilliantly observes.

“No SHIT,” you snap back, and resist the urge to apologize—you’re the Boss around here, after all!

(But she’s right… No fire. Not one torch. Not two torches. NO torches. That… Seems bad.)

What will you do?
>Hold your position
>Hurry over to Red Team
>Send a smaller party or individual [who?] while the rest stay put
>Try to extend your supernatural senses, to see if you can detect any abnormalities
> Write-in
>>
>>6182698
>No, no, NO. ZZ put You in charge of Green Team, and you’re gonna BE in charge!
Maybe we’ll like it more than following
Worth a shot
>>
>>6183092
[Little late there, anon, but I think you got the result you wanted.]
>>
>>6183072
>>Try to extend your supernatural senses, to see if you can detect any abnormalities
Worst decision but "that'swhatmycharacterwoulddo", go!:
>>
>>6183072
>Hurry over to Red Team

I mean, our hill is a dud, so we're going over there anyways
>>
>>6183072
>Hurry over to Red Team
We've already come under assault once
>>
Rolled 17, 4, 16, 4, 6, 11, 8, 7, 16, 18, 13, 3 = 123 (12d20)

>>6183153
>>6183142
>>6183118
“We have to get over there,” you say.

Immediately, there is a cacophony of confusion from the rest of green team—or, well, Aarre and Taito. But two gnomes are a commotion all their own.

“What’s going on? We need to at least pack up the equipment.”

“Shouldn’t we just stay here until we know—”

“I said—” you begin to snarl, but then stop at the familiar feeling your lower jaw just beyond mere masculinity for a moment, and willing it back before your tusks can elongate and emerge.

“I said,” you try again, “We’re meeting up with red Team.”

To your surprise, it’s Xoldur who stands up and speaks over the next round of objections:

“Leader speak, you listen. GO!”

He roars the last word, and the gnomes yelp and jump to it. Following Xoldur’s lead, Murbal further bullies them inti expediency. Dura keeps the chimera calm, looking between you and the cheiftain’s son questioningly. You shoot Xoldur your own curious look, but he’s already turned away from you with a sniff of disgust—disgust you sense lies more with himself than with you. You have no time to parse that strangeness, though. You turn instead to Red Team’s mountain, and your better half, your sister.

“Hang on, ZZ…”



4 sets of 3d20...
>>
Rolled 1, 5, 1 = 7 (3d8)

>>6183324
Selecting targets...
>>
Rolled 9, 1, 3 = 13 (3d10)

>>6183326
Rolling damage...
>>
Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>6183329
Belated roll for ZZ's natural healing
>>
>>6183324
>>6183326
>>6183329
>>6183349


You never saw the attack coming, though perhaps you might have if you’d had that three-headed chimera, or simply been more vigilant. Then again, perhaps not. You’d been expecting more scuttling little sword-stilted spider-babies, not… THIS.

You’d reached the hill without difficulty, seeing only local fauna amidst the flora; some were strange and foreign, like spiral-horned antelope, big-nosed sheep, or colourful squirrel-looking rodentine pests, but none struck you or your party’s resident Feycraft-practicing goat-girl as dangerous. Maybe you’d let your guard down when you reached the rounded peak of the hillock, believing that you’d see any attack coming—this one barely even had any trees to hide enemies, after all, so close to the top. Copperbelt and Meadowgrass had even regarded this as a promising sign:

“If plant-life won’t grow here, perhaps it’s the metamaterials of the megastructure leaching it not the topsoil, attesting to its location?”

“The hubris of urban peoples poisoning Mother Earth,” Khorine had spat, only to protests and swat at your hand as you ruffled her hair more aggressively. “Hey, my braids!”

You hadn’t even had time to begin deploying the Delvers’ device, however, when the attack came. Yeb-Uit and An-Yii had been hovering a ways away from the technical team, chattering in Goblintongue. You lack your sister’s obsession with eavesdropping, but even so you’d thought to join them, if only to touch base and keep up morale. They’d quieted as you approached, which you’d initially misunderstood:

“Pfft, what? You gosspin’ ‘bout the Boss? Look, if you got shit ta say, ya’ can say it ta my face, you no-good, green-skinned, lily-livered—”

“Boss,” Yeb had interrupted, with a strange tone to his voice that gave you pause, and pointed down. “What is that?”

You followed his finger, but you honestly couldn’t have answered him. At first it looked like… What, a wagon-wheel, loose from your carriage? But now… It looked wrong, and it was rolling the wrong way… Rolling Uphill. But that wasn’t possible! Only when it caught the gleam of the sun did you recognize the ‘wheel’ for what it was: two old shields, strapped together, with bulging black eyes peering out from the space between, while spindly limbs slapped the ground with unnatural force to propel it upwards.

“Oh shit! Yeb, fuckin’ MOVE!”

You had barely had time to give the old goblin archer a hard, two-handed shove before the wheel crashed into you. You heard An-Yii scream swears of her own in a mix of Goblin and Common, but the impact to your head and neck had been tremendous, bowling you over and knocking the light from your eyes and the sense from your skill.

Yeb-Uit takes 1 damage; he has 19/20 HP left.
Zith-Zi takes 9 damage; she has 16/30 HP left
>>
>>6183355
Still injured from your last encounter, you found your wounds reopened by being bounced along the bare turf of the rocky hilltop, and new ones opened beside. You were barely able to get to your feet by the time three more of the whirligig wheels—each with some hateful little creature within—came roaring up the hill and crash-landed in your camp.. With another battering into you and nearly knocking you off your feet for a second time in as many moments.

Zith-Zi takes 3 damage; she has 13/30 HP left

You recognized the hateful eyes of the beings between the shield making up those rolling wheels, but once they opened up to reveal their contents, there was no mistaking them: more of the Ettercap’s creations, its ‘foundlings’ as CZ had said the fairy fuck called them. They had the same purple hue, and the same fairy-black eyes that Tips once had, after absorbing the energies of another Unseelie. They are all arm, withs quat little bodies and tiny monkey-feet clutching at the inside of the shields, which have been rigged up to spin freely upon crude spokes. If you hadn’t suspected their origins initially, the sight of more ‘foundlings’ of the spindlier, sword-armed sword started crawling up the hill from the forest below…

And then a presence entered your minds—all your minds, at once, you suspect.

“Found you, little things! I knew you would be rooting through the soil of these hills, where your Darkling friend was. But it seems I have not found it, no no. I have found… Something far more delicious.”

What did you do, then?
>Rallied your forces to fight, and to defend this spot
>Escaped the hill, abandoning the equipment and carriage
>Attempted to negotiate
>Tried to bait the Ettercap out, to blast it with magic
>Write-in
>>
>>6183357
>Rallied your forces to fight, and to defend this spot
man, what a silver lining
>>
>>6183357
>Rallied your forces to fight, and to defend this spot
They got one hell of an opening salvo on us, but there's only three of them right?
>>
>>6183357
>Rallied your forces to fight, and to defend this spot
>>
>>6183357
>Rallied your forces to fight, and to defend this spot
>>
>>6183410
>>6183425
>>6183545
>>6183567
[Alright, locked and writing! May be a bit, as I'm also doing chores and such.]
>>
>>6183425
[Oh, and there's four of the shield-wheel 'foundlings', many (unknown number) of the smaller, sword-limbed foundlings you encountered before... And, possibly, the Ettercap itself. You don't know.]
>>
Rolled 20, 12 = 32 (2d20)

>>6183939
>>6183941
Taking off down the hill and into the Steelwood isn’t going to do anything but split your already-fractional forces and get you captured in unfamiliar terrain—after all, you sent all the natives off with CZ, so apart from Copperbelt’s centuries-old map, you’ve got no clue where you’re going, while the Ettercap and its ilk live around here.

(Not to mention that without the seismo-whatever, you have no idea how to find the buried dungeon…)

“Places, everyone!” you shout. “Show’s about to start!”

Your disorganized fighting force rallies as best it can. You draw your blade—your best bet at beating back the tide, since your magic’s been a bit of a mess, untrained as it is. Your real strength, though, is your command: between your affinity for your team and your general attitude, you manage to lend legitimacy to your battle-cry, and restore confidence in your force’s crumbling morale. You’re already near enough to An-Yii to lend her your protection, and Yeb-Uit has his bow ready and an arrow in hand, fumbling to notch and fire. Copperbelt, though still bandaged-up with An-Yii’s yellowish gauze as a result of the last attack, has his traditional dwarven pick-axe –pick on one side, axe on other—ready to protect his investment. Sternstone, too, is grumbling about the stupidity of your plan and the folly of remaining here, but he isn’t running—the whinging must just be habit. Meadowgrass is scrambling to strap on his anti-shock gauntlet, so he can wield his magically-charged technological marvel with maximum effect and minimal risk—possibly your best bet at dealing with the Ettercap itself, if its hows its no-doubt-ugly mug.

croooaaak

“I didn’t forget ya, Hershy, doncha’ worry,” you say, scratching the little chimera-drake under his white-feathered chin.

Of course, that still leaves your all-too-vulnerable noncombatants: An-Yii, Cherry, and (to a lesser extent) Khorine.
>>
Rolled 1 + 8 (1d8 + 8)

>>6183953
Two of the shield-wheel foundlings advance upon you, swinging their shields like cudgels. They remind you a bit of Murbal in that way, but they lack her practiced fluidity or savage brutality: they’re small, spindly, awkward things. Strong, though; as you step back and dodge one blow, the shield sinks deep into the ground, its cracking along a line of rust as it embeds itself in the turf.

“Heh. Fuckin’ idiot.”

As the foundling tries to free its weapon following its foolish flailing, you kick it in its dumb, ovoid face. The purplish mutant stumbles back from its shield, wobbly from the impact. Its strange mouth opens, but before it can spew stick slime at you or whatever-the-fuck it plans to do, you lunge forwards, split point of your scimitar striking in a scything upward cut aiming for the thing’s throat. . Disoriented and perhaps a little dimwitted to begin with, it doesn’t even think to raise its remaining shield to block you…
>>
Rolled 7, 17, 6, 9, 9, 20, 4 = 72 (7d20)

>>6183954
20 to hit: Critical success! On full die of weapon damage (1d8 scimitar) plus a roll.
Rolled 1 for damage: 9 total. Instant kill! Bonus: one other enemy delayed in attack this turn!


You’ll never know WHAT its plan was, if it even had one, nor will the freaky foundling ever have a chance to plan anything again: rather than stick sludge, what sluices out of its lengthwise-open mouth is purple-red blood. So, too, out of its wide-open throat below, pouring down its chest to a dripping bib of off-colour effluent. It gurgles helplessly, but you spare it no sympathy and pay it no further heed, as its companion is already two steps closer—you kick the dying one into its approach ally, staggering it back and delaying it a precious instant.

“What’s the plan?” Yeb-Uit asks, close at your side.

“This is the most defensible spot we’re gonna get,” you reply. “We ain’t losin’ it.”

Yeb grunts, but nods. You can see it in his tense limbs—the goblin’s natural urge to cut and run, to find an out and take it. But he stays with you, and with An-Yii, who doesn’t even bother with bravado as she cowers behind the pair of you.

“We oughtta hole up in the wagon, then, like those gnomey shits did last time,” she whispers urgently.

Yeb makes a tut of displeasure at that notion, but doesn’t offer his own. You glance at the wagon, in the midst of the fray. It’s without horses, being a sort of powered contraption that—while it cannot move itself, can help offset the weight and allow someone reasonably strong to pull it along… And downhill, especially it can pretty much propel itself.

Allied attacks...
>>
Rolled 5 (1d8)

>>6183960
>>
Rolled 3 + 6 (1d6 + 6)

>>6183960
>>
>>6183960
>>6183961
>>6183962
As you’re considering your options, one of the other shield-roller speeds by, its wobbling course careening towards that very same wagon. Luckily, Copperbelt steps forwards with a roar that reminds you he only LOOKS old thanks to his balding pate. The Delver boss wings it with a blow from he pick end of his ancestral axe, puncturing the shield and sending it skittering sideways, tumbling helpless downhill until it caches itself. The injured attacker hurls one shield away, shrieking and sputtering with rage as it clambers uphill on all fours.

Copperbelt rolled 17, and dealt 5 damage, but the rusted shield absorbed the first blow!

You’re so surprised (even impressed) by the merchant-adventurer’s display that you nearly miss the spider-fairy freak you staggered lunging towards to batter you with both shields. Luckily, someone else was paying attention—

thwekk

—and Yeb-Uit’s arrow strikes it squarely between the eyes, ending it in an instant.
Yeb-Uit rolled a critical hit, dealing 9 dmaage for an instant kill!

Still, there are two of these shield-wielding whirligigs left, an unknown number of their little siblings, and their monstrous progenitor may well be lurking nearby—immune to all attacks save magical ones, if Khorine’s to be believed.

You will face and additional 2d6+2 foundlings in one round

What will you do?
>An-Yii’s plan is your best bet. Everyone load up and get in the wagon, then push it downhill!
>That’s reckless and dangerous… Just hold steady here.
>You need to get to Khorine, and get her to cast a spell to protect you all… Maybe <Entangle>, to stem the tide?
>Write-in
[Specific tactics or orders ma well lower your DCs. Your party’s known stats are at >>6179738. In addition, you have the Delvers, whose specific statistical outlays are unknown, but whose weapons or abilities I can clarify if requested.]
>>
>>6183967
>You need to get to Khorine, and get her to cast a spell to protect you all… Maybe <Entangle>, to stem the tide?
we managed to halt the tide a little stopping the wheelers, so let's go for this. if push comes to shove we can try the prismatic ray (3rd times's the charm)
>>
>>6183967
>>You need to get to Khorine, and get her to cast a spell to protect you all… Maybe <Entangle>, to stem the tide?
>>
>>6183967
>An-Yii’s plan is your best bet. Everyone load up and get in the wagon, then push it downhill!
Sounds fun
>>
>>6183967
>Write-in
Get in the wagon, but don't push it downhill. Just use it for cover, like the Delvers did before
>>
>>6183992
>>6184002
>>6184006
>>6184060
[Given a close split, I'll leave this open for now.]
>>
>>6183992
>>6184002
>>6184006
>>6184060
>>6184086
[Rolling. 1 for slinging some spells, 2 for crowding into the carriage!]
>>
Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6184741
D'oh
>>
Rolled 19, 17 = 36 (2d20)

>>6184743
>>6184741
You’ve been angsting over whether you went soft or not, but that isn’t it. You realize, now, that what’s happened is that you’ve simply become less goblin-y. While AN-Yii’s idea has an instinctive pull, it’s easier than ever to resist. Your fairy soul—a product of your nilbog transformation—pulls you in another direction, contrary to cowardice.

“You two get ta the wagon,” you tell your green-skinned regimenteers. “Don’t GO anywhere, though. Hunker down.”

“An’ you?” Yeb-Uit asks, in a remarkable show of consideration for one of your folk.

You grin and tap your nose.

“I got a plan.”

As the gobs make a break for the wagon, you dash nearly the opposite direction, to where the sole uninjured and un-killed whirly-wheel ‘caplet is careening towards Khorine. You pick up the pace, moving ass to intercept the attack upon the nearly-helpless little goat-girl…

Athletics roll! 2d20…
>>
Rolled 6, 12, 4, 9, 14, 19 = 64 (6d20)

>>6184747
And you crash into it in a shoulder-check that sends Hershy hissing and fluttering above you, but more importantly also sends the foundling toppling end-over-end towards the edge of the hill. Only at the last second does it break its fortified shield-shell to catch itself with its creepy claws.

19: SUCCESS!

croooaaak-kk-kk!

“Well fuckin’ pay attention, then!” you chastise your golden-feathered old friend, who vocalizes irritably and swoops around you in a circle, refusing to land. While he might not be feeling cuddly, though—

thump

—Khorine evidently is.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” you ask, worriedly. “You get clipped or some shit?”

The little faun’s head is pressed so firmly to your hip that you can feel her shake it by the way the blunt bits bash against your belt-buckle. It’s cute, but this is a battlefield—there’s not time for cutesy-woo trauma-responses here.

“Kid… Kid!”

You shove her away and give her a firm shake or two. You’re starting to consider a slap when she finally seems to snap back to herself, swallowing a sob and meeting your eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t… I…”

“Can ya make some blights?”

“N-not without a ritual… And time to craft the body from l-living plants that can be—”

“How ‘bout Entangle, then?”

Khorine stares blankly.

“ENTANGLE, kid! Can. You. Cast. It?!”

Khorine frowns, brow creasing, and nods.

“I’ll need you to protect me.”

“Consider yerself covered. Just get this grass growin’, before my ASS is grass, get me?”

“…Not really,” she murmurs.

Before you can elucidate the ignorant little shit on the finer points of colourful slang, she starts working her magic. You turn to make good on your end of things, and the Unseelie sons-of-bitches clearly don’t mean to make it easy. The moment Khorine starts to murmur her fey incantations, they seem to detect the change in the air brought on by gathering arcana—at least, you ASUME that’s what turns their attention to you. Both the one you tackled and the one which Copperbelt crumpled advance on you, not rolling but loping and emitting gurgling, excited gibberish like a baby’s babbling if its mouth was full of angry insects.

“Anyone ever tell you guys yer fuckin’ disgustin’?” you ask. “’Cause you are… An’ I used ta be a fuckin’ GOBLIN.”

You shift your stance, ready to tank their blows and return them in kind…

Enemy rolls...
>>
Rolled 6 (1d8)

>>6184753
You sidestep the one you already knocked over once, kicking the offending uggoid a kick to the non-existent teeth. It staggers, its face bearing the muddy print of your boot, and you sneer smugly at it. The other, though, takes advantage to try to leap over you and right at distracted, spellcasting Khorine.

“Oh no you DON’T!”


Enemies’ highest rolls: 12, and 19. One hit!

You just barely managed to dodge INTO the attack—the opposite of your usual approach. Your only saving grace is that it isn’t traveling at the same breakneck speed it was when it was rolling.

(Still hurts like a bitch, though…)
>>
Rolled 9, 13 = 22 (2d20)

>>6184754

Your back hist the turf and knocks the wind from your lungs, while the back of your head practically cracks open on a rock. You start o swear, only for entirely new, higher-priority profanity to take its place as you’re raked by claws and bashed by a shield.

Zith-ZI takes 6 damage; 10/30 HP left


You hold your arms above your head to absorb and deflect the impacts where you can, and then kick the fucker up and off of you, before leaping upon it with your own blade…

Swordsmanship roll...
>>
Rolled 17, 7 = 24 (2d20)

>>6184755
Only to be deflected far more effectively in response, glancing off presentable shield. Both the unpleasant Unseelie freaks begin to approach for another go at you and the goat-girl, and you shake off your probable concussion as you prepare to meet them… Though you’d rather not.

“Anytime now, kid!”

“<ENTANGLE!>”

Khorine casts Entangle across a wide area, to stop multiple targets. This requires an upcast, costing 2 MP, and has a graduated DC of 15/17…

But thanks to ZZ’s personal oversight and aid, and Leadership, the DC is reduced to 11/13!
>>
>>6184756
Success against 11…
The Unseelie minions leap to smash or to shred, but they never get a chance: little weeds rise up from among the rocks, to catch them in mid-air. The spell does exactly what it says on the label, as it were: it <entangles? The shit out of ‘em! They squirm and wriggle , twitch and thrash, but it’s all for naught.

and success against 13!

That isn’t all, either: even your untrained mage eye can follow the ripple of reality as Khorine’s magical aura spreads outward, into the patchy grass further down the slop. There, the thin covering springs up, the grass’ blade far more literal swords. You see the blades of the Ettercap rush to meet them, strapped to more deranged and deformed little foundlings, but when they swing their rusty implements, the grass neither parried nor parts; rather, it ensnares and disarms, or bundles them up in balls of elongated leafy green.

“Did… Did I do it?” Khorine gasps, face clammy and pale.

“Fuck YEAH ya’ did it!” you cheer her, for you can’t help but lavish praise on anyone who so elegantly prevents you being swarmed and stabbed to death by quasi-demonic monster-toddlers. “Extra cud fer YOU, sheepy!”

“I’m not… That’s… Hey!”

You give Khorine a wink, and she bleats in quiet irritation as the rosiness returns to her cheeks, and the beastgirl regains some of her former self. Turning to the wagon, you see Sternstone and Cherry working to load up your equipment, while Sternstone and Yeb-Uit cover them; An-Yii is already inside, of course. You figure you’ll join them—the goblin medic’s healing kit sounds PRETTY good right about now.

“Kuku… How ironic… My little spiders, caught in YOUR web… Yes, yes, it is a poetic fate you spin for them…”

You wince as the voiceless voice invades your brain again, the sensation exacerbating your preexisting dizziness from all the knockings-about. Around you, everyone else reacts similarly, so you know you’re not going nuts: this is the Ettercap.
“For them,” ‘speaks’ the voice, “But not for me.

“Wait,” you growl, “what does it mean by—”

“<FREE MOVEMENT>”
>>
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>>6184781
The sun falls behind a nearby hill, casting you all into shadow. As it does so, you see a faint glimmer of fairy magic, not unlike that which accompanied Khorine’s casting. This time, it brings you no comfort, but a creeping dread, as the waving, wildly-alive grass and brachiating, belligerent bushes which Khorine provided to protect you part and bow before a new master: a huge, bloated thing, deeper purple than even a dark elf—and with a body that seems, if you had to guess, to have been shaped from elven clay in ancient days. Its breasts attest to a long-lost femininity, now hanging pendulous and empty. Its torso is emaciated and bloated at once, ribs visible yet stomach distended, almost translucent in the visibility of still-darker veins through pinkish skin. Its face has scattered eyes and eyelets, and what look like wounds or pustules from which more eyes might yet emerge. It has bushy, hairy pedipalps like a moustache, rubbing together in idle interest as those fully-formed eyes which dot its—her?—bald head survey the lot of you, from between long, thin-pointed eras like antennae. Its back hangs with an open cloak of what might be dead mosses and grasses, or again might be a mane of long, thin grey hairs.

Worst of all, for all the Ettercap’s oblong ugliness, it moves with immaculate grace, hovering through air, bare and bizarrely, OFFENSIVELY beautiful elfin feet never touching the Earth for more than a fleeting moment, and collecting no dust.

Everyone is breathless before it. YOU’RE breathless before it, for a moment. You’ve rarely seen its ilk, but your recognize it in the soul which Ezreal Mious (sometimes Van Houtzmann), scion of the Sylvan Realms, crafted for you five-or-so years ago:

THIS is a True Fey, an ageless immortal… A fallen and misshapen, yet still great and terrible, first-born child of the so-called Gods of Freedom.

“Hello there, little things.”

A scream rises in your throat, accompanied by vomit. Yous wallow both down, shake it off, and…
>Scream to the others to make a break for it—time to do An-Yii’s downhill wagon plan
>Magic time! Hit her with the <Prismatic Spray>!
>Sword! It’s sword-time! You’re better with swords! Everyone else, attack as well!
>Say ‘hello’ back, and…
>>Warn her that you know Tips, AKA Ezreal Mious van Houtzmann, AKA the badass mage who killed an Unseelie Queen
>>Extend greetings and salutations on behalf of The Dragon King of Bloodrise (who IS, after all, your half-brother)
>Write-in
>>
>>6184784
>Say ‘hello’ back, and extend greetings and salutations on behalf of The Dragon King of Bloodrise (who IS, after all, your half-brother)
bringing tips might make them want to kill us in revenge
>>
>>6184784
>>Say ‘hello’ back, and…
>>>Warn her that you know Tips, AKA Ezreal Mious van Houtzmann, AKA the badass mage who killed an Unseelie Queen
>>
>>6184784
>Say ‘hello’ back, and…
>>Warn her that you know Tips, AKA Ezreal Mious van Houtzmann, AKA the badass mage who killed an Unseelie Queen
The far more relevant known badass here
>>
>>6184857
>>6184953
>>6185058
[Locked and writing!]
>>
Rolled 1 (1d20)

“Hello yerself.”

You step forwards as you extend a greeting in kind. It geos against every instinct crawling just under your pink skin, but you force yourself forwards, ignoring the goblin within. No, it’s not your latent goblin nature—it’s simple self-preservation, common to all being. But what ELSE can you do? A True Fey’s supposedly unkillable without magic, and magic… It ain’t your strongest suit, as you’ve proven time and time again. You can either run—and run and run and RUN, hounded by this haggard hag for the entirety of your stay in this sadly Not godforsake country…

Or you can talk your way out of this.

“You are a bold little thing,” the Ettercap notes.

You squint at it/her. It’s tough to get the fairy-monster’s true measure. Something about the deformed demigod’s appearance distorts and warps your understanding of scale. It reminds you faintly of Cara-Zi’s aura of <Fear>, but it’s less an irrational emotion and more a trick of perception? Illusion magic, huh? Makes sense. But you know someone SHE might know, to… The one who gifted you this pretty, pink skin she’s making creep and crawl. Someone who’s magic is far more than mere illusion, or parting a bit of plant-life.

“Before ya do anything else to attack me ‘n mine, you oughtta know something.”

“Ought I?” The Ettercap makes a sound like a laugh, and its bloated belly does not shake, though its saggy skin and grey cloak of fur shift slightly. “But knowledge is so dangerous… So troublesome. Should I really?”

“Yeah, well… Whatever,” you say, the fairy’s stupid little word-games doing little to help your aching head. “You’ll wanna know THIS. If you mess with me, yer messing with a CLOSE personal friend of Tower Magus Ezreal Mious Van Houtzmann.”

That asymmetrical constellation of beady black eyes stares at you. The pedipalps rub against one another. The Ettercap says nothing as you place your hands on your hips and stick out your chest. AT first, you figure she’s intimidated, but after a while, you hear from behind you—from KHORINE, who seems well-versed in the sort of lore that passes n the wind by way of unseen sprites:

“Who?”

“You know, the ner—the BADASS Disciple of the True Fey who came outta the Sylvan Woods, became apprentice to the Archmage of the hawksong Mages’ Tower, traveled to the damn MON and back again…”

You pause for dramatic effect and pick a pair of eyes to meet from among the Ettercap’s upsetting collection.

“…And the guy who killed Queen Banelight.”

Well, THAT gets a reaction, at least.

ZZ has no ranks in Intimidation, Diplomacy, or anything else of that sort. Nobody else can really step in for a personal boast like this, either. 1d20, DC 16; reduced to 14 for speaking of things most people wouldn't know about, or would consider rumours, with confidence.
>>
Rolled 14, 4, 7, 3, 19 = 47 (5d20)

>>6185372
“…You know the one who slew Banelight?”

“Ah, so ya DID hear about that, all the way under whatever rotting log you were festerin’ under?”

“Knowledge… Knowledge of others, of their fates… Of friends, and of enemies… It is all so troublesome, so tricky. ”


You can’t help but feel a little smug, hearing that voiceless voice changing ‘tone’. This fat bitch is running scared, now—you can smell it!

“Bet yer regrettin’ yer little show of force now, huh?” you demand, grinning a wicked little grin. “Now that you know who you might be pissin’ off?”

“My foundlings and I were not attacking you, little thing… We were playing, only playing. Testing boundaries, as children do… Welcoming you, to our home.”

(Ooo, she’s fucking QUAKING! She’s TERRIFIED!)

“Uh huh?” you scoff, tilting your head back to look down your nose at her now. “Funny way to play. But tell ya’ what, I’m feelin’ magnami— Maganamim... I’m feelin’ generous. You lot piss off now, ‘n stay the FUCK away, an’ maybe do me ‘n my party a solid, an’ we’ll just—”

“But now I KNOW… And that is such a dangerous, difficult thing, knowing terrible truths… Now, knowing what I know, I must ACT accordingly.”

“…Y-yeah,” you falter a little. “That’s what I was saying. Now, you can—”

1: Critical Failure of negotiations.

“<Mass Hold Person>”
>>
>>6185372
>"it's time to put our best face to this boss"
>the dastardly nat 1:
>>
>>6185378
>>6185388
“Wait,” you start to say, “wh—”

You’re interrupted again, not by the Ettercap’s meandering musings about the perils of knowledge, nor by a pela for mercy, but by a powerful force which seizes invisibly upon you. Every muscle locks in place from your curling toes to your stone-still sword-rm, to even you half-open jaw and partly-puckered lips. Your eyes bulge, cruelly capable of flitting this way and that just as your mind can yet race, but the rets of you is stock still as an especially sexy and badass—but still helpless—statue.

19: success against your whole party.

You can hear soft groans and muffled wails of terror. From the corner of your eyes you can see that Khorine is similarly seized by the spell—by <Mass Hold Person>, apparently, which is just as literal as <entangle> and way harder to avoid or negate.

“<Dispel Magic>”

WAY harder, apparently, since the Ettercap quickly dispenses of the faun’s own magic just as easily as she strode through it herself. Only as her malformed little minions come marching through the drooping, shrinking sea of green that once shielded you do you realize that this dreadful fairy queen wasn’t bluffing: she WAS playing with you.

And now, she’s done.

“You wish to have more knowledge, yes? Knowledge of lost things, hidden things… Deep places, and dark. Yes?”

You cannot answer, not that you’re feeling very witty right now anyway, as she approaches you and extends too-long, overly-jointed fingers to squish your cheeks and stroke your hair, patting and prodding at you like a plaything… Or a choice piece of meat.

“I have good news for you, little thing… Very good.” The Ettercap laughs again, in your brain, a scratching feeling that claws at the inside of your skull despite being technically silent. “I don’t live under a rotting log, or in the heart of a forest, or in a <Demiplane> like my dear, departed sister, Banelight, and her little friends...”

She plucks you up, and you can’t do so much as struggle or scream as she places you inside your party’s own carriage, amidst the similarly still, panic-eyed Delvers, and goblins, and your collective accoutrements.

“I make my home in that same ancient place which your Darkling friend was trying to find. And you’ll get to see it, and to know it, first! Isn’t that exciting, little thing? Why… You might even find it starts to feel just like home…”

>>
>>6185393


By the time you and Green Team arrive on the scene… There is no scene. There’s also no Red Team… No Yeb-Uit or Copperbelt, no AnYii or Khorine. Not even little old Hershy!

“Wh-where’s Zith-Zi?” you murmur to yourself, feeling terror rising, threatening to swallow you up. “Where’s… The wagon? It’s… The wagon’s gotta’ be around here somewhere…”

But there’s nowhere you can hide wagon, is there? Or Martyn meadowgrass… Or your sister. Sister? No, YOU. The rest of YOU. Your other HALF! Where… Where is she?! Where are ALL of—

“Katu, zee. Druth ku zut katu.”

You turn to Dura, uncomprehending as the young orc witch gesture to some weeds. She shakes her witchy-stick at them, poking and lifting them a little, and looks to you again, as if hoping you’ll understand. You turn to Xoldur for aid.

“She say plant is bad. Magicked. Maybe curse?”

“Maybe?” you ask, voice hollow.

Xoldur shrugs, not quite an apology.

“I no ziran.”

Your fear starts to transform into annoyance, then anger. You’re a hair’s breadth from unleashing it upon the gangly translator when his sister, Murbal, speaks up as well.

“ Gijak,” she says.

“That mean—” Xoldur begins to translate, but there’s no need, because you see it too: darkening the ground in wet little spatters, staining the soil and sprinkling the weird, maybe-cursed plants.

“Blood,” you say weakly, tears forming in your eyes. “It means fuckin’ BLOOD.”

They were here. Your sister, Red team… They were all here, not too long ago. And now they’re not. And all they left… Was their blood.

What will you do?
>Track them down, now! Looks for clues, and follow whatever lead you find!
>Anything that could snatch up Red team is going to need a small army to save them from… Or to avenge them. Luckily, the Steelwood Orcs are sort of a small army, right?
>You’re way out of your depth… You need the aid of some sort of greater power, even if that means the Dark Gods.
>If this was the Ettercap, it’s a fairy… Maybe it’s time to go talk to the Steelwood’s elven residents, and plead for their assistance?
>Write-in
>>
>>6185388
>>6185393
and the unseelie get's a 19. fuck us.
>>6185395
>Track them down, now! Looks for clues, and follow whatever lead you find!
I don't see how we could get the other orcs to help us nor how we could safely recruit an elven helper
>>
>>6185395
>You’re way out of your depth… You need the aid of some sort of greater power, even if that means the Dark Gods.
Haha, we are finding out that high death rate of adventuring first hand here
>>
>>6185395
>>Track them down, now! Looks for clues, and follow whatever lead you find!
>>
>>6185395
>Track them down, now! Looks for clues, and follow whatever lead you find!
>>
Rolled 4, 11 = 15 (2d20)

>>6185524
>>6185513
>>6185422
>>6185410
“We have to find them!” you wail. “Everyone, look fer… Fer clues! Tracks, blood-trails… Whatever!”

A chorus of agreement rings out, albeit with varying levels of enthusiasm and understanding; Xoldur does his best to make up for the latter. In truth, though, you are at a disadvantage here: you have only what tracking ability you’ve gleaned from your expeditions with Yeb-Uit, and both those hunts ended in abject failure. The three-headed chimera currently in Dura’s custody would no doubt be a great help… If it were tame, or at least not busy looking for any opportunity to escape. Maybe if Khorine had been with your team to handle the animal…

(No, no! Focus, CZ!)

You need to do what you can with the skills you DO possess! While fairy magic isn’t your forte, your occult abilities could be useful here, maybe?

Rolling Survival, +1 die for Occultism; DC 16
>>
>>6185911
Sunset turns to night, and your field of vision shrinks and becomes ever-less-colourful as your monochromatic darkvision begisn to filter your search. You’d curse it, but without at least this goblinoid gift, you’d be seeing even LESS than you already are…

4, 11: Failure!


…which isn’t a whole Hell of a lot. You can see clear signs of chaos—a battle upon the hill—and that magic was manifested and spells have affected the weird plants which Dura pointed out earlier You can even sort of, KIND of, guess at the spells involved: Khorine probably cast one of her woodsy-witch thingies to make the plants wig out and wave around, or maybe she made herself a new twig blight to replace that bramble-patch soldier that got smashed up the day before.

“Found shield,” Murbal says, giving a rusty, cracked round-shield of (if you had to guess) human make a kick. “Shit. Not worth keep.”

Yous quint at it anyway, hoping for another trace to manifest and to lead you to your missing sister and the other members of the Monstrous Regiment—and Martyn!—but there’s nothing there. Murbal is right: it’s shit. Justa rusty old antique, damaged and abandoned in the fight.

“This isn’t good,” Aarre says—and ahs BEEN saying epridoically, to your growing annoyance, every few minuets or so.

“We should leave,” Taito mutters. “We… We should go… This is bad, bad…”

Sma dyr weak. Scared. “ This is Murbal’s diagnosis of the gnomes. “Murbal no scared. Murbal kill Et-Tur-Cap, easy.”

“Lat saib olk drepa nalkra lat saib olk gimb,” replies her brother in a droll tone, making his sister growl like an animal and launch herself at him in a narrowly-avoided attack.

“Duty is warn chief,” Xoldur notes stoically. “Danger to orc. Need move.”

“Daka ma?! laments Oodagh, and you can see the other orcs are similarly unenthused about the prospect of uprooting their lan’s camp.

“We’re NOT leavin’ them,” you snap.

Xoldur opens his mouth to object, but something in your eyes—or in your aura—must give him pause. He shrugs.

“Learn more first, tell chief more,” he says, making an excuse to obey. “He decide if move, or fight.”

Right now you’re struggling to even figure out where to START ‘learning more’, though. How are you supposed to convince the orcs—let alone ELVES—to aid you? ZZ was the party’s face, not you! She was the pretty one, the smart one, the charismatic one… All the GOOD parts of the original Zith-Zi. You’re just… What was left.

You feel terribly, painfully alone…
>>
>>6185933
Something brushes your arm. You flinch, calming down when you see it’s Dura, regarding you with vague concern, while her ashen fingers graze your arm. Normally this would get you a little hot-and-bothered, this casual physical contact implying emotional intimacy… But not here, and now.

(Helps screw your head back on straight, though…)

“Aight,” you say, “think, think, THINK… The Ettercap knows what I knew, for what good it’ll do it. it knows we were lookin’ for that mega-whatever… The dungeon, ya’ know!”

Only Aarre and Taito nod—the orcs just stare at you blankly, apart from Oodagh, who has started whittling some small sculpture and isn’t even pretending to listen. It doesn’t matter, though: this is mostly for your benefit.

“It seemed interested in us bein’ here… An’ I bet it’s what nabbed Red Team, bet yer fuckin’ ass… So maybe it felt threatened? Like… Maybe, knowin’ we were lookin’ fer the dnegon upset it, ‘cause it wants that fer itself?”

“Let it keep the blasted thing!” Taito retorts.

“No, shut up, that’s not… Ugh, I almost had it!” You rub your temples and squeeze your eyes shut. “If we find the dungeon… Maybe we’ll find the Ettercap, an’ ZZ an’ Martyn too?”

“Cara, with all respect, that’s a lot of ‘maybe’,” Aarre tries—and fails, obviously—to reason with you.

“You shove it, too, pointy-hat!” you shout. “I don’t hear YOU tossin’ out any ideas, HUH?!”

Aarre is cowed, falling back a step as you stab your fishing-spear at the empty air between the two of you. Xoldur raises his eyebrows, though if you intuit the emotions coming off of him correctly, her approves of this method of maintaining order. Must be proper orcy, in his estimation. You take that as a sign to simmer down a little.

“I’m only trying to say that if we can’t find the megastructure… Or if you’re wrong… We’ll be sitting ducks, if the Ettercap, or WHATEVER got them, comes for us, next.”

(Well, THAT’s a notion… Maybe you COULD just use yourselves as bait, instead?)

What will you do?
>Keep looking for the buried ruin of the megastructure, as you have been
>Use yourselves as bait, milling about conspicuously and such, and set up an ambush
>Petition aid from someone [who? what kind of aid?]
>Hey, wait a minute, wasn’t there something you learned during this trip that could come in handy here? [secret ‘right answer’ that expedites the process, hinted at in previous thread…]
>Write-in
>>
>>6185934
From the story Martin told about the ettercap, it should be close to the near east and considering the thing likes to larp as an spider and rapt children and little folk, we could go for what would be an ideal nest in that location
>>
>>6185934
>>6185934
>>Hey, wait a minute, wasn’t there something you learned during this trip that could come in handy here? [secret ‘right answer’ that expedites the process, hinted at in previous thread…]
The rusty shield : is that looking like one of the weapon of our group?
Else, it might be a ruin indicating the dungeon is RIGHT BENEATH OUR FEETS
>>
>>6185934
>Keep looking for the buried ruin of the megastructure, as you have been

Why?! Why my you test my poor reading comprehension? Only thing I remember about the Ettercap is that it lives in deep forests and dark places, so I guess look for a densely forested hill to check next
>>
[One quick hint: the secret solution is more about locating the dungeon than the Ettercap.]
>>
Maybe we sucked and it was at boarfight?
>>
>>6185934
>Keep looking for the buried ruin of the megastructure, as you have been
Can’t pull up previous thread right now :(
>>
>>6186106
It isn’t that Dwarven style is blocky and inorganic, and that we’re looking for a hill that’s squarish right?
>>
>>6186108
Maybe...Or Other stuff Martyn said?

>>6186246
That makes sense. Did he say anything else about the ancient dwarves, or the boar, or that magic thing it found?
>>
>>6186205
>Can’t pull up previous thread right now :(
here https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6159283
>>
>>6185972
>>6186052
>>6186085
>>6186205
>>6186246
>>6186255
[No one found 'the secret', but I'll incorporate your ideas and efforts.]
>>
>>6186515
You can’t just stand around waiting, HOPING to be attacked… And to survive an attack by a force which snatched up your sister and her companions so swiftly and utterly. Besides, you’ve already wasted hours searching for non-existent tracks or trails!

Your first failure means that you cannot intercept the Ettercap before she spirits Red team to the dungeon’s depths.

You need something more… A better plan, a well-informed strategy! But, well, you’re YOU. You’re not stupid, but you know your limitations. You struggle to focus,a nd to think clearly, espeiclaly when emotional or…

<WANT: 17>

…’hungry’. Nevertheless, the others are counting on you, so yo try your hardest, and do your best!

“That shield… The shitty one!”

Murbal looks at you strangely, and with a kick she flips the shield into her hand and stares at it in deep focus.

“Yeah!” you enthuse. “Is that one of our party’s shields?”

“Hff. Naog.” Meaning ‘no’—damnit! “Human. From here.”

(Huh. It DOES kind of resemble a crummier, older version of the one Murbal’s toting around… Didn’t ZZ mention her being half-human? Must be a hand-me-down.)

“O-okay,” you press on, abandoning that line of reasoning and skipping swiftly to the next one. “Well, Martyn said that the Ettercap lives east’ve here, I think… or was it west?”

“West human,” Xoldur provides. “East elf, and orc,a nd goblin, and other human… Far, squinty eyes, yellow skin. Small.”

“Y-yeah! An’ little humies, an’ gobs, an’ elves… That’s all the kinda’ shit this Ettercap likes ta snatch up, right?”

“‘Shit’ like us,” Taito laments, head in his hands as Aarre pats his back soothingly.

You don’t let tis get you down, though. If your theory is right, and you’re PRETTY sure it is, you ought to head eastward bound and down, down this hill and up another. But what KIND of hill? All of ‘em look so fucking ALIKE! It’s like a finding a one undiseased prick in a goblin gangbang—or, uh, a needle in a haystack, you guess?—but with miles and miles and MIELS of ground to cover!

“Well fairies like forests, even evil ones,” you reason aloud. “So we should find one that’s all leafy ‘n green… An’ I think I ‘member Martyn sayin’ that dwarves build their shit all blocky, right?”

The others shrug, Oodagh holds up his little sculpture, which Dura smiles and quietly laughs at. You glare at the little effigy of the three-headed chimera, and throw a rock at the young orc warrior.

“Stop distractin’ me!”

No… You’re sure of it! If you wind your way eastward and focus on hills that are densely-wooded and maybe a little blockier than usual—or with signs of squared-off stones, maybe?—you’ll find your friends, and your missing piece.

You have to.
>>
Rolled 20, 12 = 32 (2d20)

>>6186520
Another roll, DC 13 or your three well-remembered particulars. Failure means consequences, though...
>>
>>6186520
>>6186521
It’s not easy work, nor fast. Driven by a new urgency, and harried by fear of falling to the same fell fate as your friends, you and Green team travel quickly, but it IS still many, many miles of uneven turf to trod. At every promising hillock, you stop and search, though you dismiss many more out of hand past on your new criteria. This is good, because every time you try one, Aarre and Taito set up their nerd-rig to scan the subterranean realm for signs of a submerges structure—the dungeon, now made a more LITERAL sort of dungeon, as a prison to Red Team.

(How long until the Ettercap and its foundlings kill them? Or eat them? Or… Oh shit, would they turn them into more of those THINGS, into ADDITIONAL foundling-fodder? Would you arrive just in time to discover them all purple and spidery and… No! NonononoN—)

“Uh… Cara?”

Dura nudges you, and you register the voice of… One of the gnomes. Aarre, you think? Yeah, the slightly-less-flighty one, with the beard! You look up from where you’re squatted, clutching your knees and whisper-screaming into the earth. With exhaustion-stung eyes, you see something unfamiliar on his face, intermingling with the fear: hope. You automatically match his emotion as you rapidly rise, and stagger towards him.

“Is it…?”

He nods, His eyes are brighter than they have been for the last few days, but his face is yet grimly-set, and you can taste the internal incongruity wafting ff him on the air.

“It’s not this hill.” He points past you, and you follow his finger to a slightly-lower neighbour to your present hilltop rest-stop, nestled between higher, slightly-pointier peaks like a baby antelope or horse amongst its elders. “It’s in perpetual shadow from all sides… Shielded from weather. Even without the seismological survey, it’s well-situated, protected from nature. And the hills around it… Their mineral composition isn’t entirely natural. Rather than multiple layers, it’s all rather uniform in randomness, with arbitrary pockets of density… Grown, rather than deposited. Constructed, in other words.”

You barely register the gnome’s dorky droning; he lacks Martyn Meadowgrass’ tonal changes, or the poetry of his voice. You’re heart and soul are fixated upon this lower—and, indeed, ever-so-slightly SQUARER mound, girded by a little glade of creepy-looking trees, growing short and stunted in the dim, dank, dirty darkness. They shine faintly in your second-sight, and the reflected, dimmed sun of early evening casts them in oranges and purples that make them seem more otherworldly.

(Well, fuck them trees—YOU’RE otherworldly, too!!)
>>
>>6186531
It IS late, though, and everyone has been run ragged. The orcs show it the least, of course, and would never admit it, but the gnomes are skinny, and scared, running on fumes and jumping at shadows. You feel it, too…

<WANT: 18>

…Among other feelings.

(You wish you supplies for a picnic… But then again, maybe this ain’t the best time? Better to celebrate AFTER you save the others…)

What will you do?
>Charge in now—you can waste no more time!
>Wait until daybreak, and then go in at first light.
>Make more preparations before you descend upon the dungeon-cairn, though it means leaving your friends longer…

Regardless of which option you choose, vote in the next two votes, as well. If option 2 wins (“first light”), only the camp activity will go ahead. If option 3 wins (“make more preparations”), the daytime activity will go ahead. If option 1 wins, neither will, morale will drop a stage and there will be a roll to see if anyone suffers exhaustion penalties, but there will be less chance of a terrible fate befalling members of Red Team.

Camp Activity:
>Brew potions with Dura
(increases bond, adds some more healing or buffing options, upgrade your synergy)
>Practice sparring with Murbal, and quiz her a bit about that shield
(raise your melee stats a little, learn about her)
>Talk to Xoldur about those weird feelings he’s been having, and make sure you’re on the same page
(raise your social stats a little, learn a bit about him)
>Apologize to Oodagh for throwing that rock at him, and see what he’s whittling
(improves morale a little bit more, and learn about him)
>Force yourself to focus on that nerd-lingo the gnoems are shooting back and forth
(more dungeon-lore, chance to pick up on some Delevr/Treasuretrove secrets)
>Try to scout ahead [specify if you bring anyone]
>Sate <WANT> with someone [specify who; compatible with other options]
>Seclude yourself, and reach out to something Beyond… [specify if you reach out to The Nothic or The Knight]
(gain a spell or ability, probably at a price)
>Write-in

Daytime Activity:
>Go hunting and scouting by day
(less ‘intimate’ opportunity to sate <WANT without social consequence, safer scouting opportunity)
>Pay a visit to the nearby elves to see what they know about the place, and maybe to get aid or equipment [specify if you bring anyone]
(can gain additional party members, equipment, lore)
>Attempt to commune with, and better tame, the three-headed chimera
(???)
>Write-in
>>
>>6186532
>Charge in now—you can waste no more time!

>Force yourself to focus on that nerd-lingo the gnoems are shooting back and forth
>Pay a visit to the nearby elves to see what they know about the place, and maybe to get aid or equipment [specify if you bring anyone]
Taito maybe
>>
>>6186515
No real opinion on the current strategy vote, but I would have appreciated a notice that I was barking up the wrong tree with >>6186246.

>>6186532
>Charge in now—you can waste no more time!

>Practice sparring with Murbal, and quiz her a bit about that shield

>Attempt to commune with, and better tame, the three-headed chimera
>>
>>6186570
> I would have appreciated a notice
[Sorry anon, I was busy at work. By the time I could have replied, it was time to update.]
>>
>>6186532
>Charge in now—you can waste no more time!

Camp
>Seclude yourself, and reach out to something Beyond… [The Nothic]

Daytime
>Attempt to commune with, and better tame, the three-headed chimera
>>
>>6186532
>Wait until daybreak, and then go in at first light.

>Talk to Xoldur about those weird feelings he’s been having, and make sure you’re on the same page

>Pay a visit to the nearby elves to see what they know about the place, and maybe to get aid or equipment (Taito)
>>
>>6186532
>>Charge in now—you can waste no more time!
>Force yourself to focus on that nerd-lingo the gnoems are shooting back and forth
>Sate <WANT> with someone [Murbal but non sexually if possible]
>Attempt to commune with, and better tame, the three-headed chimera
>>
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Rolled 12, 1, 20, 11, 13, 8, 15, 20, 15, 8 = 123 (10d20)

>>6186674
>>6186623
>>6186592
>>6186570
>>6186539
[Well nevermind the activities, we're rushing in where angels fear to tread!]
Rolling against exhaustion for: CZ, Nermal, Xoldur, Murbal, Oodagh, Dura, Aarre, Taito. 1d20 each, except for those with Athleticism (2d20 each for them); DC 15, or 13 for orcs and half-orcs due to natural hardiness, 14 for CZ due to Survival
>>
Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>6187103
You spend a few minuets debating internally as to how to proceed. There’s wisdom in taking some time to rest and to prepare—you KNOW that. You’ve DNE that before such dungeons, in the past, when youw here whole…

But you’re NOT whole. The other half of you is already IN there, being maimed or murdered or mutated or something even WORSE that you’re too scatterbrained to stupid to even THINK of, and you NEED HER BACK NOW!

“We’re going in,” you declare, in a tone that brooks no argument—not that the orcs, at least, are likely to argue with such an order.

CZ and Taito fail their stamina rolls, and suffer exhaustion. Their rolls have +1 DC until their next long rest, and -1 to the DC of rolls against them.

You find yourself regretting your own order far faster than expected, but you press on. Through the weird woods, you take step after step, you feet feeling heavier with every footfall. Yet you do not stop.

crooooaaa-oooaa-oooak…

Poor Nermal’s feeling it worst of all, which makes sense. Amphibious though they are, dragging themself across dry land must be way worse for them. Being underwater had made you feel all floaty and light; to an aquatic entity born and raised on Sunset Lake like your eyeless, tentacle-faced cave-drake familiar, the land must add an extra fifty pounds of pressure.

Nermal critically fails, and suffers double the usual exhaustion penalty until the next long rest.

“Sorry little guy,” you tell the drake (who’s actually a bit bigger than you). “It’s for ZZ though… And hershy!”

You’d almost swear bringing up the much smaller, fluffier chimeric drake companion of your better half only makes Nermal LESS enthusiastic. Huh. They must not get along great…
>>
>>6187106
When you reach the valley below, you see that the weirdness of the trees is no illusion of the light—or, at least, not a MUNDANE one. Rather than merely weird, it’s wyrd down here, as in MAGIC-weird. A tingly field of mystical distortion transfigures the light of first sun,a nd then moon, into a kaleidoscopic nightmare. The glow is dimmer, tinted green and purple and orange, and almost seems INVERTED in some peculiar fashion: shadows look like patches of glowing light, while that which ought to be illuminated is made dark and dusky. Grey-faced orcs are green as goblin; pinkish gnomes (and you, in matching hue) are turned a bruised-and-battered purple that uncomfortably evokes the faces of the Ettercap’s foundlings.

“Kigiji ku ij zut kona. Ij kona ro zut jigi.”

“Yeah,” you agree with Dura, or at least with her tone of voice. “Creepy shit…”

Honestly, it would bother you a lot less if you were horny-hangry, dog-tired, and fearful for ZZ and eh rest of Red Team. This not-quiet-Dark magic is a little ‘off’, like swimming through smoky air or peering into the magic mirrors in that funhouse you (well, Zith-Zi) visited that one time in Hawksong, but you’re a little wyrd yourself and you have a goblin’s native spell resistance: you can cope. Under other circumstances, you might even be intrigued by the strange sponginess of the living-though-rotted trunks, the curious recursive curling of the branches, or the dry, flaky leaves with their spiderweb veins that almost seem to pump with a pulse.

The others, orcs ESPECIALLY this time, are more put off by it all.

Ee-ee-Yoooowwww-kk!

All of ‘em jump when the three-headed chimera howls, and you, Oodagh, and Dura rapidly grab hold of its many mouths to hold them shut. After hearing about how it tipped off ZZ to the first Ettercap attack, though, none of you dismiss it out of hand, but rather immediately cast about for the source of this latest upset. It doesn’t take long, either: as you turn your collective attention towards the foot of the squarish dungeon-cairn, your long ears hear the flutter-flap of leather, and you dark-adapted eyes spy signs of movement amidst the somewhat-denser foliage foliage, amidst a misty murk that spreads out like miasma from the barrow’s base. Squinting with your second sight, you can faintly make out the silhouette of what look like large bats, or maybe drakes.

“Friends of yers?” you joke, but Nermal’s quiet hiss is far from mirthful.
>>
>>6187118
“Aren’t large bats supposed to be frugivores?” Taito whispers hopefully.

“Froo… Gi…”

“Fruit-eaters,” Aarre helpfully supplies Murbal, who grunts in response as if disappointed, and lowers her shield slightly.

“Hey, yeah, I think I even see th’ fruit,” you realize, eyes widening as you also detect: “An’ it’s magic! Magic fruit!”

“Shh!” the gnomes admonish you, and you wince.

Peering closer, you can even see that the strange bats are indeed clustered around the trees bearing the fat, juicy-looking (and lightly luminescent, to your arcane eye) fruits. It seems to you that this little grove is more like a cultivate orchard... A well-stocked larder, though positioned like a moat around the base of the dungeon's 'castle',

What will you do?

>Proceed normally [fastest]
>Send in some scouts to get a closer look while the others hang back [who]
>Try to sneak through at a slower, quieter pace, to avoid detection
>Try to collect some fruit
>Try to capture a bat
>Write-in [encouraged]
>>
>>6187120
>Send in some scouts to get a closer look while the others hang back
the 2 with highest speed
>>
>>6187120
>Proceed normally [fastest]
Might not be another realm but I’m betting we still need to follow dark fae DON’T EAT THE FOOD rules
>>
>>6187120
>Proceed normally [fastest]

I don't think the outside of the dungeon is all that safe, so maybe everyone should stick together.
>>
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>>6187306
>>6187244
>>6187150
“We keep goin’,” you decide. “No more wastin’ time.”

Aarre and especially Taito—who’s looking nearly as winded as you, if not more so—groan softly at this. The orcs have no such issue, though, and Murbal in particular quickly moves to the head of the formation with a flash of ivory teeth. Xoldur falls in behind her, axe in hand, and you take a deep breath and hurry to scurry into place behind them, with all the others forming up behind you in a cluster.

As you advance into the grove, the air thickens with the strange scent of the strange fruits hanging from the trees—unplaceable, unusual, like sweetness with a bitter-sour tang of something metallic. The soft glow of their uncanny energies casts an eerie un-light on the twisting branches that curl like the tendrils of some ancient, curling centipede. Each step on the soft earth beneath you releases a faint, musty aroma that mingles with the fruity scent, creating a heady cocktail that makes your senses swim.

“There is NO chance this place is safe,” Taito mumbles. “There MUST to be a catch.”

“Just keep your wits about you, and do NOT eat any fruit,” Aarre cautions his cousin—and, by proxy, the rest of you.

“What, you figure it’s poison?” you ask.

“Worse,” he answers grimly, “fairy magic. Some fairy-foods have magical effects… And here, in this place, I SERIOUSLY doubt they are likely to be positive.”

At least Taito seems to be correct—the fluttering of wings remains clustered among the upper echelons of this creepy, cultivated patch of wood. These bats-or-drakes-or-whatever must really be ‘frugivores’! They glide here and there, casting brief shadows-of-light in this inverted night, but they never draw near enough o give you a good look them.

squisch

You wince as you feel wetness seeping through your simple leather shoes, wetness crawling in between the two toes of your hoof-like paws, which still resist efforts to shift their shape. You look down, and see one of the fruits of the trees, dim and dead of life and of magic, lying rotten beneath your tread. You pull back you foot and start to wipe it off on the nearby leaf-litter, thinking little of it. When you look up, though, everyone is staring down where you just stepped, looking queasy—even the orcs.

“What?” you demand. “What’s the big fuckin’—Oh.”
>>
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>>6187506
Though its is somewhat squashed, and tinted blue by the eerie fairy-light field surrounding the dungeon-mound, you recognize the half-splatted shape of the fallen ‘fruit’ for what it is: a bruised and broken HEART, like that of a goblin, elf or orc, lying discarded upon the ground, to rot and go soft. Its internal architecture looks alien—or at least somewhat more vegetative—yet as you sniff the air anew, the stronger odour of this spoiled ‘fruit’ confirms your suspicion: the metallic undercurrent in the air is that of iron. The juice is a syrupy-sweet sort of blood.

“Aw shit,” you hiss.

You aren’t the only one to notice the strong scent produced by the pulped produce. The bats-or-drakes native to this grove gather in greater numbers above you. Unlike any bats or drakes you know of, they seem capable of hovering in place, or at least bobbing up and down in open air without much forward, backward, or sideways movement. And they do so. One, two, three, four… More. Too many more. Their wingspan is wider across than your won arms, in many cases, and their black, bulging eyes reflect the blue of the fruit… And then, as they turn upon you and yours, the green of the inverted orcs, and the purple of you and the gnomes. You see the creatures’ faces for the first time: not cute and furry like a flying fox, nor weird and lumpy as with some bats, nor broad and dopily toad-like as with drakes. Instead, they are tipped with a long, thin needle of a beaks, extending outwards and narrowing into a proboscis that reminds you of this hummingbird Tips brought back from the moon.

Somehow, you doubt these are for nectar. Rather, they are for piercing, and sucking dry, the ‘hearts’ which bloom like berries here.

And they’re staring, you realize, right between your tits.

Through your ribs.

At the ‘fruit’ inside you.
>“Move move move! RUN!”
>“Brace for impact! We’re under attack!”
>“We need to act fast! Follow my lead…” [write-in another strategy; write-ins get reduced DCs]
>>
>>6187508
Uh
Uh
Uh
Take cover under the fruit tree? Hopefully they'll go for the easy out in the open hearts over the hearts that will get them killed
>>
>>6187612
>+1
>>
Rolled 3, 18, 19, 11, 6, 16, 9, 13, 1, 4 = 100 (10d20)

>>6187612
>>6187660
(Uh. Uh. Uh! Uh???)

“Take cover under the trees!”

It’s the first thing you think of, and the ONLY plan you can come up with on such short notice. Your reasoning—your hope—is that these spear-faced leather-winged bird-bat THINGS will became distracted by the easy-to-access heart-shaped fruits, and prefer them to the ones pumping in yours and your allies’ chests, beneath a bunch of pain-in-the-ass-to-puncture ribs. It makes sense, right?

(R-right?)
>>
>>6187750
The others follow your command. Well, you think so. You bolt, and the others chase after you in same direction. It could well be that their own inherent sense of self-preservation has simply led them to the same conclusion as you.

Unfortunately, it seems easy pickings of same old gory foodstuffs are less interesting to the winged horrors hereabouts than moving targets. The monsters fold in their wings and, like a hail of arrows, they drop in arcing descent, aimed at your defenceless backs…

3d20 for CZ (Stealth + Survival); 19 vs DC 15, success!
1d20 everyone else…
Nermal; 11 vs DC 16, failure
Xoldur; 6 vs DC 14, failure
Murbal; 16 cs DC 14, success!
Oodagh; 9 vs. DC 14, failure
Dura; 13 vs. DC 14, failure
Aarre; 1 vs. CD 14, critical failure
Taito; 4 vs. D15, failure


The trees serve some purpose, at least: their recursing bramble of branches shield some of you—yourself and Murbal, really, who alone is able to keep up with your early lead—from the hail of nightmares. As you both turn to see how the others are faring, though, it isn’t good. Aarre, in particular, has slipped and tripped upon another fallen heart-fruit. Seeing him scramble, covered in (fake?) blood and screaming like a little girl while his cousin cries out to him while indecisively scampering forward and back, between cover and recovering his relative, it would be almost amusing… You know, if, uh, you were a bad person. And if Dura, tugging along the struggling three-headed chimera, wasn’t in the very same situation.

You succeeded by two degrees of graduated success, so you can choose one of the following options
>Run back to retrieve up to two allies, sparing them the incoming attack [specify whom]
>Stay hidden and attack from cover when the monsters land and begin to feed [advantage to next attack, one extra d20 and reduced DC]
>Press on with just Murbal, and hope (some?) of the others survive and catch up once you’re clear of the heart-suckers’ territory
>Write-in [make it count]
>>
>>6187763
>Run back to retrieve up to two allies, sparing them the incoming attack [Aarre & Dura]
>>
>>6187763
>Run back to retrieve up to two allies, sparing them the incoming attack [specify whom]
Aarre and Taito. They're less durable than orcs
>>
>>6187763
>Run back to retrieve up to two allies, sparing them the incoming attack [specify whom]
Crit-Fail Aarre and Nermal
>>
Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>6187799
>>6187825
>>6187909
[Writing soon.]
>>
Rolled 5, 1, 3, 17, 19, 15, 16, 10, 1, 8 = 95 (10d20)

>>6188109
Well, you need to save the gnomes, obviously. Aarre in particular, prone upon the ground and quiet possibly with twisted ankle, is a sitting duck; his rescue is of paramount importance if he’s not going to get sucked dry like a—

<WANT: 18>

(No, bad CZ!)

—like a bottle of rice-wine in a Wasteland bandit-camp. But Taito… Well, he’s on his feet, isn’t he? And it’s not ONLY gnomes at risk here. Dura’s distracted by the (admittedly useful) beast with which you and ZZ have saddled her. But above all others, one individual (or pair of individuals, sort of?) stands out to you: Nermal. The overgrown cave-drake is exhausted and sluggish from all this hiking, out of their element. They’re almost as much of a sitting duck as Aarre, and more directly your responsibility: they’re your ‘familiar’, after all, a fellow hermaphroditic child of occult powers, left in your care by your mutual benefactor in the dark.

So it is hat you rush back into the fray, past startled Taito, just long enough to scoop up his cousin and to shove an ornery, croaking Nermal along to the safety of the denser vegetation. Taito watches dumbfounded as you hustle back past him, but you spare him no second glance, and only two words:

“RUN, stupid!”

And run he does, though only after a delay, and not quite so swiftly as your little legs and thumping heart carry you, buoyed by the vague extrasensory sensation of thirsty little spirits, housed in fairy-twisted flesh, hurtling ever closer…

2d20 each against: CZ, Xoldur, Taito (DC 16 due to armour), Oodagh (DC 15), Dura (DC 13/15)
>>
Rolled 1, 5, 4 + 4 = 14 (3d8 + 4)

>>6188126
The flap of loose leather is joined by a keening whistle as the living missiles plummet towards your hearts. You take advantage of your admittedly-imprecise understanding of their approximate distance to deftly dodge, swinging your fishing-spear to bat away one which threatens your amphibious friend; even failing to skewer it, its blunt end proves more than sufficient to adjust its course and sent it pinwheeling face-first into the trunk of a nearby tree, where the needle-nosed asshole remains fixed in place, too dazed to do more than weakly flail its forelimbs and flap its two pairs of wings in uncoordinated order.

Yous pare a fearful glance towards Dura and her own chimeric charge, and are both startled and relieved to see that she is quickly at your side. The orc-girl brushes some of her shaggy, tassled hair from her face and graces you with a small, grim smile. She nods to the chimera behind her, whose mouth-binding brindles have remained fixed… Save one, which having slipped loose, allowed it to snatch her pursuer from empty air and to chomp down upon it with fatal violence. You surprise the loosed head by tousling its fur; it drops its predator-turned-prey, and you and Dura quickly join forces to restore its bindings before it can turn those quick-snap jaws upon either of you, or sue them to free its other aspects.

Unfortunately, not all your allies are so skilled, or so lucky, as this…

Special Ability: the stirges' initial attack, if it hits, deals their usual 1d8 damage plus 4
>>
>>6188131
Xoldur takes 5 damage; 30/35 HP left
Taito takes 9 damage; 1/10 HP left
Oodagh takes 8 damage; 17/25 HP left


A cacophony of simultaneous screams erupt from those who remain exposed, unable to reach cover in time. Xoldur takes the least serious wound, by your quick-and-dirty analysis: between his hide-and-leather armour and his orcish toughness, and by way of quick thinking and unlucky angle, he is able to ensure his pursuer buries its proboscis only in one of his meaty and muscular shoulder-blades. He stays on his feet, barely even flinching, and soon enough he’s at your side, where his sister puts aside their mutual animosity to slam her shield down upon his half-embedded attacker with the force only those of orcish ancestry can bring to bear.

Oodagh is an orc, too, of course—orcier even than Murbal or Xoldur—but he’s young, unseasoned, and slow in more ways than one. He catches a sab square in the back and is knocked face-first into the turf, his spear tumbling from his hands. He reaches behind his hunched back to bat at the bat-winged belligerent, but to little luck. He roars war-cries and rolls around, but it remains, stuck firm by its beak, and begins to feed.

And then there’s—

“Taito!”

You can hardly blame Aarre for crying out for his cousin, though you block his efforts to limp back into the danger which you have only just barely spared him. Taito, exhausted already and delayed in his escape, now lays splayed upon his back on the technicolour forest floor, with a spear-like face plunged into his sternum and drinking deep of his lifeblood. He fumbles with his dagger, but his stabbing is limp-wristed from shock and bloodloss... And he's only losing more and more blood, judging by the rhythmic throbbing of his attacker's abdomen, as it swells with the gnomish technician's leeched life.

“W-we have… We have to help…”

“No.”

All faces turn to Xoldur, who is grimacing as he rolls his injured shoudler.

Sma dyr is weak. Dead.” The Steelwood tribe’s diplomat pronounces Taito’s fate thus, and turns instead to the living. “Maybe save Oodagh. Maybe not.”

“You vicious brute! You… You vile savage! We are NOT leaving my cousin!” Aarre spits. “And you… You’d leave your own kin?!”

“Maybe,” Xoldur says noncommittally, rolling his jutting jaw slightly as if chewing empty air in thought. His shadowed eyes drift to you as if awaiting your own input.

(Oh, shit, that’s EXACTLY what he’s doing. You’re still in-charge, ain’t ya’?)

>Try to save them both, though it risks your escape being cut off and having to engage in a full battle here
>Try to save Oodagh… But Taito is a lost cause, with how badly he’s been hurt
>This is the best chance you’re going to get to make an escape with minimal casualties… Move on
>Write-in
>>
>>6188164
>Try to save them both, though it risks your escape being cut off and having to engage in a full battle here
Delvers are gonna face a huge morale drop if we don't even try
Also it's kinda our fault, we just ran right by Taito to save Nermal instead
>>
[A friendly reminder to all anons: if you go for the save, writing in a plan of attack may get you a lower DC.]
>>
>>6188214
If we have any spare shit to throw over our torsos and guard our hearts the rescue team members should do that
>>
File: current inventory.png (3 KB, 119x225)
3 KB
3 KB PNG
>>6188261
[Current inventory, give or take stuff on Red Team's person.]
>>
>>6188164
>This is the best chance you’re going to get to make an escape with minimal casualties… Move on

At this pont, I don't really care about the Delvers and at no point did I care if the orcs lived or died. We have to keep going to save ZZ
>>
>>6188292
Alright, while most stay under the tree we and Murbal as light armor wearers go out and save our two stragglers. We'll take the blanket to cover Taito with and hide his heart.
>>
>>6188164
>Try to save them both, though it risks your escape being cut off and having to engage in a full battle here
going with >>6188380 plan
>>
>>6188164
>Try to save them both, though it risks your escape being cut off and having to engage in a full battle here
Most important thing is to kill the one draining Taito. Best way should be a thrown knife? Meanwhile, Murbal can run to him and get him out? While Xoldur and Dura get back in to extract their retarded brother-cousin?
>>
>>6188560
>>6188410
>>6188380
>>6188196
>>6188351
[Alright, locked and writing shortly!]
>>
Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>6189056
It’s not that you have any special attachment to Oodagh, nor Taito. You’d feel no loss if either the annoying gnome or the dimwitted orc died. You aren’t sure if that makes you a ‘bad person’, but you DO know it’s not because you’re a demon: it’s because you grew up a goblin. The orcs… the rocs, at least, would get it. Aarre wouldn’t, probably, but who fucking CARES about Aarre?

…Well, maybe ZZ would.

She recruited these guys, right? And if all the other Delvers die, Aarre and Taito are the only ones who’ll know what you did, and can sign off on your paycheque for this whole clusterfuck. And right now, about to delve into a dungeon and face down a scary fairy, you need every advantage you can get.

So… You guess you’ve got to save them both, or at least try.
>>
Rolled 4, 9, 14, 9, 7 = 43 (5d20)

>>6189071
8 or thrown dagger: miss!

You are perhaps a little overcautious in your effort to avoid impaling Taito—you goblin-knife sails clear over the peculiar parasitoid sucking up his life. Still, it’s enough to startle the creature, and it pulls its bloodied bill out from between his ribs to regard you warily. You swear aloud, but yank the blanket from your backpack and one of the larger serving dishes.

“I’ll get Taito,” you exclaim. “You save the retard!”

If any Steelwood Orc takes umbrage with your characterization of your kin, they don’t say so. Rather, Xoldur and Murbal leap forward. The male half-orc wields his crude axe in showy chops, meant as much tod rive off the hovering harriers as to do actual damage; when they swoop in to stab at Oodagh, or at either of the siblings, Murbal reflects them with her roundel and a roar.

You, meanwhile, do as you said you would: you scream fury and stab with your spear at the monster perched upon Taito’s limp form. The gnome’s paled is complexion warped to a shadowed, rotted-looking hue by the distorted and inverted illumination in this eerie environment; his eyes fluttering weakly and his quiet moan are the only indication he yet lives.

1d20 for CZ (DC 16->15, reduced for write-in), 1d20 for Xoldur (DC 15), 2d20 for Murbal's Shield-bash (DC 15), 1d20 for Murbal's Intimidate (DC 17, due to being outnumbered and on the back-foot)
>>
Rolled 6, 16 = 22 (2d20)

>>6189081
You noisy, flailing attempts to drive off the murderous menaces only seems to draw more of them to your patch of the grove. Youd rive the one off of Taito, but when you attempt to shield his heart and bundle his bleeding wound, you are interrupted again and again by both the beastly bird-thing already glutted on his blood, and still more who plainly covert your own thumping heart. You can barely afford to spare them a glance, but you can feel in a flood of feeling that the orcs are having just as little luck.

“Fuck!”

You narrowly avoid a one of the spear-faced sons-of-bitches sailing straight into your skull, and you can only impotently wave your three-pronged spear in response. With your other hand, you drag Taito back a few feet, before hastily dropping him again to dodge another attack.
>>
Rolled 3 (1d4)

>>6189089
>>
Rolled 2, 11, 10, 15, 18, 3 = 59 (6d20)

>>6189095
You are bowled over by the impact this time, knocked way from Taito. Yu grip the elongate head and fluffy, furry-feather nap of the freakish forest-critter’s neck to hold back a head that resembles more a mosquito than a bird, up close. It pushes forward, thin tongue extending to probe at your face in perhaps the least-pleasant tongue-kiss you’ve ever been party to; you keep your lips firmly shut, but your nostrils aren’t so lucky, and you yelp in disgusted and dismay.

(Is THIS seriously going to be how you die?!)

Suddenly, though, the thing attacking you twitches, it tongue withdrawing into its fused, permanently-protruding lips.

16: success!
3 damage: sufficient to incapacitate a strige!


You shove the nightmarish thing off of you and sit up, stunned to see AARRE of all people has stepped up to save you. He wiped some of the blue-glowing blood of the pestilent thing off on his pant leg, before wincing at the staining of his fabric. Before you can thank him OR make fun of him, he hands you your cruelly-curving, roughshod dagger, collected from where you threw it. You take it as you stand up, and exchange a nod, before you both move to retrieve his cousin, HOPEFULLY not as a corpse.

But, of course, the damned bat-squito bird BASTARDS won’t let you have him without a fight.

Enemy attacks...
>>
Rolled 2 (1d8)

>>6189099
>>
>>6189104
2, 11, 10…
Together, you and Aarre are able to guard one another against the swooping strikes of the heart-hunters, alerting one another to their efforts to attack from your blind-spots. Covering one another every step of the way, you grab Taito and, with greater speed than either of you could have managed alone, you drag him beneath the relative safety of the foliage. There, Dura beckons you to a particular dense and low-lying patch of brambles, overgrown across a toppled tree to form a sort of tunnel through the tangled trees.

15, 18, 3

The orcs eventually reach you as well, Oodagh is whimpering all the way loping almost ape-like and clawing at his bleeding back. Murbal cuffs him over the head and shoves him along, muttering hat you presume to be greyface curses. Though her armour and shield-skills have been sufficient to protect her from any harm, you see her brother has been worse for wear—his own armour has a hole punctured straight though it and into his chest, though by the amount of blood you gather it’s not deep enough to be overly worried about it; he certainly shows no visible concern, stubbornly stone-faced and unwilling to even discuss the damage.

Xoldur takes 2 damage: 28/35 HP left.

“We go,” he says.

“NOW we go,” Aarre says pointedly, holding his wobbly-kneed cousin aloft.

Xoldur doesn't rise to the bait, instead simply starting forward without apology nor complaint, as outwardly indifferent to this jibe as to the others, or to his injuries. It's honestly sort of impressive, but you guess that's a orc chieftain's son for you.

The eerie-voiceless sentries still swoop overhead, occasionally crashing down into the branches above to try to squirm through to wear you and the others slowly make your way. The three-headed chimera whined and struggles against Dura, desperate to be away from this place, and you can hardly blame it. You stroke Nermal idly whenever you stop for a moment, but you aren’t sure it brings either of you much comfort; the cave-drake is a familiar, but not a pet to appreciate such things, and you would rather Hershy’s comforting fluff to his slimy secretions.

(Beggers can’t be choosers, though…)

Eventually, you exit the other side of the ‘moat' of trees. There, you spy the base of the squared-off dungeon-cairn. Up-close, it really does show signs of having been constructed: it is curiously symmetrical once you work up the courage to leave the trees and approach it, and seems vaguely terraces in a rough-and-lumpy way, as if there is some form of step-pyrmaid beneath the soil.

(Which, like.. There probably is?)

You have successfully escaped the stirges, and reached the dungeon!
>>
>>6189123
Apart from its shape and Aarre-attested hollowness, however, it’s still just a hill. There’s no entrance, either dwarf-forged or natural cave, to wander on into.

(But, like… There’s GOTTA be, right?)

The stab-happy bat-bird-bugs don’t dare draw this close to the cairn, affording you and Green Team a moment of rest to collect yourself and plan your approach. You’re loathe to let a moment balloon into anything longer, though—every delay beneath danger to ZZ, to Hershy, to Martyn!

What will you do?
>Work with Dura to make a poultice to staunch someone’s bleeding [incurs a delay; 3d20 DC 13/15/17 to heal up to 3 people]
>Convince Murbal to share the potions on her belt with someone [much faster, heals 2d6 without a roll, uses some of your finite resources]
>Keep moving; healing can come later

How will you get into the dungeon?
>Try to use your magic-sense to scour the hill with Dura [3d20 DC 13/15; on a 13 or 14, incurs a delay, but you succeed; lower than that, you have a delay and make no progress]
>Have Aarre and Taito set up their seismological survey device and search [guaranteed success, guaranteed delay; if Taito isn’t healed, double the delay]
>Write-in

If you vote to heal anyone specify whom, in order of priority. As a reminder, Taito has 1/10 HP, Xoldur has 28/35, Oodagh has 17/25, and everyone else in Green Team is at full health. Nermal, CZ, and Taito are suffering exhaustion penalties.
>>
>Work with Dura to make a poultice to staunch someone’s bleeding [incurs a delay; 3d20 DC 13/15/17 to heal up to 3 people]
Taito, Xoldur, Oodagh
Hate any delays but hopefully a small break will help with the exhaustion too.

>Have Aarre and Taito set up their seismological survey device and search [guaranteed success, guaranteed delay; if Taito isn’t healed, double the delay]
Not trusting our rolls right now

I should also ask - people still die right at 0 or is there negative HP?
>>
>>6189244
[At 0 HP, if not rapidly healed, they must make a death save or perish. If the blow that knocks them below 0 is especially tremendous, NPCs can die instantly.]
>>
>>6189244
>+1
>>
>>6189127
>>Work with Dura to make a poultice to staunch someone’s bleeding [incurs a delay; 3d20 DC 13/15/17 to heal up to 3 people]
Taito, ZZ, Oodagh
>Have Aarre and Taito set up their seismological survey device and search [guaranteed success, guaranteed delay; if Taito isn’t healed, double the delay]
this will be the best use of our time
Get Orks on guard duty meanwhile
>>
Wait i'm retarded, ZZ is not there and CZ didn't took damages. Changing into Taito, Xoldur, Oodagh
>>
Rolled 15, 15, 18 = 48 (3d20)

>>6189412
>>6189299
>>6189244

Taking a brief resspite at the foot of the dungeon-cairn, you feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at your every muscle, and that gnawing hunger inside doesn’t help. The fight with those weird-ass bird-bat-fuckers has left everyone looking ragged, some worse than others; you’re honestly not sure Taito will survive without treatment of some sort. But there's no resting yet—not while ZZ is still in there.

When you look at Aarre and his injured cousin, an idea sparks. It's not ideal, and it sucks more than a gobtown whorehouse, but it’s a plan.

"Aarre. Set up yer seismo-doohickey. Find us a way in," you order. You intend your vocie to carry command, but even you hear the guttural rasp scuffing at the edges. Nermal croaks beside you, echoing your concern. It’s a weird comfort.

Aarre nods, supporting Taito who’s looking paler than the moon—though, granted, what moon you can see through the misty haze and distorted light is more like a half-disc of darkness, so it’s not a great point of comparison… ANYWAY, getting that machine up and running might take a bit, but it's better than stabbing around aimlessly.

In the meantime, you pull Dura aside. You might not have a proper healing kit, but you DO have a ziran, whatever the fuck that actually means, and you know firsthand that the orc witch knows her shit. You hope you’re right… And that this queer realm has something suitable for her purposes.

“Hey, Dura. We need a poultice or a patch or somethin'. Those heart-shaped fruits back there... They’re kinda’ magicky. Think you can brew up something from 'em?"

You communicate in Common and by way of rough gesture. Dura watches you with her big, confused—yet strangely alluring—eyes, but nods along. You THINK she gets it!
>>
Rolled 5, 4, 4 + 4 = 17 (3d8 + 4)

>>6189481
Xoldur comes with you, watching with dispassionate curiosity; his sister remains with the gnomes, playing guard-dog while Aarre erects the equipment. Together, you double-back to the edge of the grove, the orc axe-man keeping his eyes on the skies for signs of curious carnivores. You and Dura do the ‘woman’s work’, scooping up a few of those bizarre bleeding hearts which have spoiled and fallen to the forest floor. The sickly-sweet and metallic scent makes your nostrils scrunch up.

“Alright,” you mutter to Dura, “let’s make some magic, huh?”

You carry the crop back to base, and you spread out the Taito-stained blanket and the antique human cookware which you carried here from New Goblintown. Dura kneels down beside you, mumbling bits of the orcish tongue as you watch her mash the (false?) hearts into a pulpy mess. You raise your eyebrows much the mash resembles actual blood and guts, enough to make a more squeamish person gag. Not a gob, though, and not an orc. Dura is utterly unbothered; as she works the mess with her bare, bloody hands, she pulls out a pouch of herbs from her belt, and shakes out some dried, pre-prepared herbs such as those with which you two worked before in the Steelwood witch-hut.

“Uh, so... What's the plan, here?”

Dura looks up at you, gestures from the mush towards the others, and says:

“Zug tek zemar ro bur mikog kigija zemar.”

You blink at her, trying to parse out meaning from the scant context. She repeats herself, carefully enunciating the orc-tongued explanation, but you are left scratching your head. She seems to get that you don't completely follow along just based on the face you’re making, and so she holds up a yet-unpulped heart-fruit, and touches two fingers to it, before drawing them in an invisible like to—

“Eep!”

—to right against your left breast. She doesn’t grope you or nothing, which is both a disappointment and a relief with your <WANT> being what it is, but merely pushes down over your heart.
>>
>>6189509
You think you get it… It’s something about similarity. Dura goes on to hold up sprigs of each herb added to the mush-mash, speaking the orc name for it and gesturing to the limb or organ, on her or on you, that it’s meant to affect. As much as you were her teacher before, now it’s the young orc-woman who is all professorial even taking your hands in hers to help guide you in how to work the substance. At one point, she send you for extra ingredients: water from your canteen, since she is untrusting of the local sources and you’re wary about traveling too far from this apparent ‘safe zone’; also, oddly-enough, a hair plucked from each of those who will be healed by the mixture.

Xoldur stands watch nearby, casting the occasional glance your way when Dura makes an especially animated gesture, but mostly keeping his attention on the perimeter. He is blasé in proffering his muscly, bristle-haired arm to pluck one of his own hairs, clearly having been through this song-and-dance before. And when you’re done…

18, 15, 15: full success!

Dura’s potioncraft heals as much as An-Yii’s kit, 1d8+2, though it requires fresh local ingredients. Because you used magical ingredients, you heal an additional +2 points.


After the hard work is done, it’s a matter of smearing and massaging in the muck onto each afflicted individual. Xoldur presents his bare back, his mesomorphic frame nevertheless well-built with the hard and savage life of a raider. Oodagh’s own body is burlier, broad-framed and with a hump of muscle rather than the deformed hunch you had expected. Even Taito’s chest has a cute little tuft of fluff and supple smoothness to the skin around that big fuckin’ hole punched into her sternum.

Yeah… You leave most of this part to Dura, to stop yourself getting TOO excited.

Taito heals 9 HP, and Xoldur and Oodagh each heal 8 HP, bringing them up to full health!

You can’t argue with the results, though: once the mixture is applied and the blanket torn into crude bandages to hold the strange spread onto their skin, each of the men seems more lively. Though they bitched and moans about the strange sensation of the application, even Taito’s colour returns to his cheeks, and soon enough he’s hard at work with his cousin to uncover the entrance!

Two delays incurred here; three total
>>
>>6189523
“See this?” Taito asks you, gesturing at a sheet of parchment bearing a spiky-and-wavy series of charcoal liens, drawn by the Delver device. “This area here is denser than the surrounding soil or rock, but if we calibrate the seismographic survey machine to penetrate just a LITTLE deeper—”

“Yeah, right, penetration,” you mutter, nodding along.

Taito opens his mouth to say something, then closes it with a supressed sigh escaping his nostrils.

“It’s a hard patch, and behind it there’s a hallways or hollow area of some sort,” he clarifies. “In other words…”

“Dar,” supplies Xoldur, rising from where he was seated. “Door.”

“That’s… Actually right,” admits Aarre.

Together with the orcs (the gnomes, despite being allegedly descended from burrowing mammals made into little people, are ironically quite useless for this task) you use the freshly-cleaned cookware as crude shovels for scooping away soil from the spot which the Delvers point you towards. It’s hard work, made all the harder by how sorely overtaxed your muscles already are, but eventually you scrape smooth stone. You beckon Murbal over, and she gives the rock a hard hit with her shield, and you all listen closely to the resultant sound, which reverberates JUST right to let you know:

“Zhavar! Murbal announces with a tusky smirk, as if claiming credit for the find.

“Means… Empty, hollow,” Xoldur translates.

“It means,” you say, “we’re in.”

Well, that might be a SLIGHT overstatement. This is a dungeon-crawl, after all, which means a very real risk of traps. When you and your sister were one and the same, you were often an adventuring party’s default trap-handler. Part of that is because small-folk are sometimes safer to take point where traps might be calibrated to target taller, or heftier, individuals. Another aspect is your race’s inherent spell resistance: you can’t generally DO magic (nilbogs and demogoblins aside), but you also can sometimes negate or lessen its effects upon you. ZZ might have your old trapfinder with her—where-the-fuck she is—but YOU are the aspect of the original Zith-Zi that’s still housed in goblinflesh, and thus that resistance is still YOURS.

How will you approach the entrance, and proceed through the dungeon?
>You’ll take the lead, proceeding as swiftly as you safely can and tanking any traps you accidentally activate [Fast; CZ risk injury]
>You’ll have Aarre and Taito take point—they’re small, and also mechanically-inclined, so any technological traps are within their wheelhouse [Slow; lowest risk of injury to everyone]
>ZZ hired orc muscle for a reason, and you’re gonna use these goons to your full advantage: Oodagh can head up your procession, with Murbal and Xoldur close behind
>Write-in
>>
>>6189524
>ZZ hired orc muscle for a reason, and you’re gonna use these goons to your full advantage: Oodagh can head up your procession, with Murbal and Xoldur close behind
Meat shields
>>
>>6189523
>two delays incurred here; three total…
why 3 total ?
>>6189524
>ZZ hired orc muscle for a reason, and you’re gonna use these goons to your full advantage: Oodagh can head up your procession, with Murbal and Xoldur close behind
>>
>>6189647
>why 3 total ?
[The failure to find tracks and catch the Ettercap right after she kidnapped Red Team.]
>>
>>6189524
>You’ll take the lead, proceeding as swiftly as you safely can and tanking any traps you accidentally activate [Fast; CZ risk injury]
>>
>>6189523
I beg to differ : we healed Taito first so he can return to work with his cousin which set-up. Can we get half-a-delay to -delay refund?
>>
>>6189524
>>ZZ hired orc muscle for a reason, and you’re gonna use these goons to your full advantage: Oodagh can head up your procession, with Murbal and Xoldur close behind
>>
>>6189959
We failed the find check
We brewed healing potions
We deployed THE DEVICE
1+1+1 = 3
If we hadn’t healed Taito, deploying THE DEVICE would have been a double delay, so when those two were picked together healing was free time wise
>>
>>6189997
(don't use facts and logic, I'm trying to get us something better for our efforts)
>>
>>6190053
[Sorry, anon. But not all is lost yet!]

>>6189960
>>6189878
>>6189647
>>6189580
[I'll be posting after work. Meant to last night, but didn't have it in me.]
>>
>>6190053
Don’t bother the QM over illegitimate nonsense
>>
>>6190219
Hey, haggling QM/DM for more gibs is the backbone of every quest/rpg
>>
>>6190072
That's chill OP, you've been working really hard on this
>>
>>6190222
[It's okay, I know how the metagame is played.]

>>6190219
[Also appreciated, though.]

>>6190266
[Thanks, I try!]

>>6189580
>>6189647
>>6189878
>>6189960
[Locked and writing now.]
>>
Rolled 10, 20 = 30 (2d20)

>>6190496
You’re not the kind of gob who’s argue with Zee—after all, she’s sort of YOU, just without your brain all scrambled by amnesia and <WANT>! She specifically pciked the Steelwod orcs to be allies because they make mighty-good meat-shields, and you’re inclined to agree!

“Hey! Orcs, you lots should, uh…”

(Though maybe a SLIGHTLY more diplomatic-like pharsing might be smart?)

“…You should be the vanguard for us ‘small deer’.”

Murbal snorts.

Sma dyr,” corrects Xoldur. “This is good. We first, you follow.”

Murbal grabs Oodagh by the scruff like a naughty dog and drags him along, with her brother just a step behind them. Dura geos to join them, but you grab hold of her wrist. She looks back you questioningly, and you shake your head.

“Hang back here, huh?” you say. “‘C-cause of, like, the chimera? You gotta watch it, ‘member?”

She doesn’t understand your words, nor perhaps even your REAL reasons to keep the surprisingly-cute-for-an-orcish-[/ikhoblis healer out of harms way, but Dura intuits your instructions well enough. She remains towards the rear of the formation, with bandages-and-battered Taito, while you and Aarre form the filling of the adventurer sandwich. Before you can start your march, though, you need that dar opened… And anticipating what will inevitably come next, you hold the others back, and let the orcs finish removing the soil over the small, squarish slab of dtone which plugs the entrance to the dungeon.

“Tog!” bellows Xoldur.

“Nalkra prana kigija? Egor.

Xoldur huffs quietly at his sister’s snarky (if unintelligible-to-you) response. She and Oodagh follow his instruction, though, as he supervises their two-orc dead-lift of the door…
>>
>>6190512
…Only for the telltale ‘click’ which you expected to immediately ensue. You open your mouth to cry out in warning, but even your hazy memories of OG (original goblin) Zith-Zi’s adventures provide enough context to know I that whatever’s about to happen will be faster than you can prepare them for. True enough: a strange apparatus like a compact, over-engineered ballista pops up to fill the entrance. The warning click is followed immediately by a quiet hum of activating enchantments, and then a—

poof!

—like someone blowing out really hard. It all happens so fast you don’t even initially register that the projectile has been fired, until you see that Xoldur has slightly turned his body and whipped out his hand to—

20 for Athletics: Critical Success!

“Hooooly shiiiiiIIIT!”

—CATCH the damned thing in mid-air, snatching it with the casualness of a thrown ball.

“Thatw as so fuckin’ cool!” you gush, unable to help yourself (or to take proper precautions) as you rush up to meet him. “Did you fuckers SEE that shit??”

Murbal rolls her eyes and tuts while Oodagh claps. Even Aarre affords the orc a whistle. You, meanwhile, observe the missile that the half-orc proffers you. It is a solid steel shaft—or metal, anyway, not like You know what the alloy is or whatever-the-fuck—with a sharpened point. It’s machined so precisely as to be oily-smooth, implying magic manufacturing or truly-astounding craftsmanship.

“They say that the old dwarves had access to stuff we can only IMAGINE, even nowadays,” Taito says.

“Yeah, before goblins and orcs came along and overran them,” Aarre adds bluntly.

Xoldur regards him coolly, rolling his jaw again, and eventually concludes:

“Work harder. Not smarter.”

“It’s the other way around,” Aarre counters.

Xoldur raises an eyebrow, and notes: “Dwarf dungeon here, no dwarf. Orc? Orc still live here. Orc way right.”

Taito barks once in laughter, earning a glare from his cousin, but in the end neither gnome can really argue the point. You make no effort to do so. Your orcish vanguard, for their part, have already begun to squeeze through the low entrance and down the stairway. You stash the metal missile away, and coax Nermal to follow you down next; they put up no fight, seemingly keen to get back underground.
>>
>>6190525
Your darkvision kicks in immediately, casting the unexplored (except for the Ettercap and other Unseelie, you guess?) ruin into a faintly-fuzzy grey for several meters. It's a bit boring, but a welcome relief at this pointy from the funky, unnatural colours cast by the unwholesome, Unseelie aura above. You are surprised by how un-eroded the walls are, bearing signs of geometric patterns which are (or so Martyn Meadowgrass told you) characteristic of the sensibilities of the dwarven race. Many are directional lines, or arrow-like shapes; others are patterns of interlocking cubes, diamonds, or hexagons. The over all motif of them, though, at times comes together to resemble something like a great sunburst of sorts.

“…Huh.”

You trace your fingers over the inscrutable symbolism, unsure what it might mean. Or maybe the old-timey dwarves just thought it looked nice? It kind of does, so who are you to argue? Anyway, you ain’t a scholar, so better to focus on what you DO understand, sort of kind of: adventure!

Looking ahead, though, most of your vision is blocked by the orcs, of course, who proceed haltingly, with their fingers tracing the smooth stone to their side. They stumble where stairways crumble, and only belatedly do you recall that orcs are generally not possessed of your particular goblin faculties—nor, for that matter, are gnomes. Only YOU have Darkvision.

What will you do about that?
>Switch places, so you and eyeless Nermal serve as vanguard for a while
>Light a torch [full brightness, no penalties for anyone, but you’ll be more visible to whatever herein dwells]
>Light only a dim, smoky flame, and shield it so it produces only dim light [the gnomes will have partial penalties but everyone else will be able to see]
>Write-in

What is your plan for approaching the dungeon?
>A straight shot towards the deepest depths or biggest areas! That’s where the Ettercap will be dwelling, no doubt!
>Check every side-passage and segue—you’re also here for treasure, after all, and you don’t want to be surprised from behind!
>Look for somewhere secure to encamp, in case you need to double-back and mount a defence or rest and tend to wounded…
>Write-in
>>
>>6190526
>Light only a dim, smoky flame, and shield it so it produces only dim light [the gnomes will have partial penalties but everyone else will be able to see]

>A straight shot towards the deepest depths or biggest areas! That’s where the Ettercap will be dwelling, no doubt!
we lost time already so let's rush
>>
>>6190526
>Light a torch [full brightness, no penalties for anyone, but you’ll be more visible to whatever herein dwells]
If they live in darkness, I'm pretty sure they'll also have darkvision
>>
>>6190564
>If they live in darkness, I'm pretty sure they'll also have darkvision
[Ah, but a creature adapted to seeing in darkness will be VERY aware of the sudden brightness, colour, and definition of a sudden lightsource. Sorry if I was unclear: a bright light WILL increase probability of hostile encounters.]
>>
>>6190576
M-maybe they’re all blind and have tremorsense…

I’ll swap to the dim shielded flame and also I forgot the second part
>A straight shot towards the deepest depths or biggest areas! That’s where the Ettercap will be dwelling, no doubt!
>>
>>6190629
[To be doubly clear, there are still advantages to bright light. it isn't the WRONG answer. Darkvision has limitations, and the gnomes are your only party-members who have any idea what ancient dwarf ruins might be like inside, and can only see by full light,]
>>
>>6190526
>Switch places, so you and eyeless Nermal serve as vanguard for a while

>[WRITE IN] Use our tingly demogoblin senses to try to psychically sense where the unseelieness is coming from and go there. Charge straight there
>>
>>6190526
>>Light a torch [full brightness, no penalties for anyone, but you’ll be more visible to whatever herein dwells]
>Check every side-passage and segue—you’re also here for treasure, after all, and you don’t want to be surprised from behind!
Power-Word : Loot
>>
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Rolled 87, 27 = 114 (2d100)

>>6190688
>>6190669
>>6190629
>>6190533
[Writing...]
>>
>>6191208
If you’re going to properly deploy your orc muscle, they kind of have to be able to see. Sure, an unseeing wall of grey skin and gristle can absorb a blow or two, but it’s not like you necessarily HATE Xoldur, Murbal, or Oodagh. You just don’t really super care about them, at least not in the way you do about Dura., let alone ZZ, Hershy, and Martyn.

(And if he can see, maybe Xoldur can pull off more stunts like the fuckin’ ARROW CATCH back there! That’d be cool as fuck!)

With that in mind, you nudge the gnomes, and get Aarre to produce a torch and the flint to light it. You strike flint against your dagger’s steel with a sharp scrape that sends a cascade of sparks flying. With a flicker and a whoosh, the torch leaps to life, only for you to swiftly swaddle it in the tattered edge of your cloak, the fabric hastily wiped across a protesting Nermal to prevent its combustion. Thus shadowed, the smoky flame sputters dimly, enough to give your vision back some (still distorted) colour, and to grant the rocs their own, inferior nightsight.

“What about us?” Aarre asks. “We can barely see, Cara.”

“What, you plannin’ on fightin on the front lines or somethin’?”

Aarre looks a little affronted, but backs down rather than brave the challenge. Taito, having recently taken a peek behind the curtain separating life from Death’s Domain, doesn’t raise the issue, either. And so you go deeper, deeper, descending the stairs. The tunnels, taelr than a dwarf would need, prove consistently cramped for your vanguard.

“Doddog,” Murbals grunts up ahead.

“Dog-dog?” you whisper back.

“Tight,” she clarifies in Common.

You snigger, which only seems to confuse Murbal. Her brother takes a moment to fall back a step, and asks you:

“Have plan?”

Plans… Plans are normally ZZ’s thing. The only plan YOU can think of is getting her back, and fast, so she can get back to doing the planning! But how to find her..

“The boss is usually deep down in these places,” you reason.

“Boss?” Xoldur asks.

“It’s uhh… An industry term.”

“I’ve never heard it,” Taito notes.

“Oh!” you titter nervously. “Uh, musta’… Picked it up from An ‘n Yeb. You know, gob-slang.”

(You think they buy it…)
>>
>>6191238
“Anyway,” you continue, “we should beeline it for, like… The throne-room or main sacrophagus or whatever the biggest, fanciest place is!”

Xoldur grunts in nods in apparent acquiescence, and you turn back to the gnomish Delvers.

“What is this place, anyway?” you ask. “What kinda’ place should we be lookin’ for? And what other defences should we be dodgin’?”

“How should we know?” Aarre laments. “Martyn and Iorund were the experts in that field, and they’re… And anyway, we can hardly even see around us!”

(Ugh, fair…)

27 for the treasure/opportunity roll, against DC 30, +20 for the straight shot, +20 thanks to your gnomes being mostly-blind.

After many minutes of trekking downwards, occasionally choosing a direction more-or-less based upon which seems to curve downward or inward, you exit the tight tunnels. You emerge into a wider room—one so expansive, in fact, that it stretches out into darkness beyond the limited range of your darkvision even with the dimmed light of the torch. There are various walk-ways, stretching across a sort of chasm, and brocaded by safety rails some curving won into darkness and some stretching across to a panel of stone doorways.

It is there, breathing stale air that at least smells less intensely orc-y, that you remember: “Oh shit I have magic eyes! I can just, like… Look around for fairy-dust or whatever!”

A groan goes up from all other parties who can understand Common, and you wince a little. Nermal nudges your shin, and you pat him.

“Well, like… It wouldn’t’ve done any good in the tunnels, anyway,” you reason, unsure if that’s true or not. “An’ none a’ YOU remembered to remind me.”

“Not my eyes,” Murbal counters.

“Ugh, okay, FINE. Lemme’ jus… Hnnngh… One sec, stage fright…”

You squeeze your eyes shut focusing your senses and spirit into arcane alignment as the others wait. When you open them again, the cavern is positively AGLOW, no longer shrouded in shadow. You see sigils and runes on many of the surfaces, enmeshed with the geometric patterns on the wall. You wonder at them, reaching out impulsively to stroke one before.

“Tsst! No! Bad CZ!”

You grab your own right wrist with your left hand before you touch it. Rule number one in a dungeon-crawl, after all, is assume everything’s trapped ‘til you know otherwise. Taking advantage of the new glow, you look down below, into the previously-pitch black chasm. Though you can still scarcely see area below, you CAN make out… Desks, maybe? They emerge almost organically from the stone foor, and with strange-looking doodads atop them. They look like some strange magical device, but they’re broken in most cases, and even the seemingly-intact ones are inert, casting a hardly any aura at all.

But something ELSE does.
>>
>>6191239
87 for encounter roll, DC of attracting enemies is 30, +20 for dim light…

You can make out movement of some magical mooks down in the depths there. It isn’t purposeful or predatory, but rather lackadaisical. They small and humanoid in vague shape, as one might expect from—

“Found-Ling?” asks Xoldur in hushed tone.

“Yeah, prob’ly foundlings,” you murmur, for you think you recognize some similarity in their aura to the magic you associate with fairy shit… Not that you’re an expert. “I think there’s about… Ten of ‘em? Twelve?”

Since you haven’t been spotted, though, the question is what to do about it?

>Attack! Rip and tear these sister-snatching sons-of-bitches!
>Try to sneak down and snatch one up, to interrogate…
>Dungeon lethality increases with every encounter—turn your magic eyes to the prize, and sneak across the walkways and out of here
>Take this opportunity to mess about with the runes a little… Maybe you can figure ‘em out? They must do SOMETHING…
>Write-in
>>
>>6191240
>Dungeon lethality increases with every encounter—turn your magic eyes to the prize, and sneak across the walkways and out of here

I think finding foundlings is a good sign, though, right, we're getting close.. or something
>>
>>6191239
>It is there, breathing stale air that at least smells less intensely orc-y, that you remember: “Oh shit I have magic eyes! I can just, like… Look around for fairy-dust or whatever!”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KXpkiWfGdg
>>6191240
>Dungeon lethality increases with every encounter—turn your magic eyes to the prize, and sneak across the walkways and out of here
I was gonna get mad about how we got a high roll for the dice we needed a low one, but thankfully we saw them first before an attack
>>
>>6191240
>Dungeon lethality increases with every encounter—turn your magic eyes to the prize, and sneak across the walkways and out of here

>>6191251
I think it's because it was so high that we spotted them instead of the other wa around
>>
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>>6191291
>I think it's because it was so high that we spotted them instead of the other wa around
>>
>>6191306
I see. The wording made it seem like it was a roll under situation.
>>
>>6191613
[On a 50 or lower, you'd have been spotted before you could react. Monsters exist either way, beating the DC just means you have the advantage of surprise and deciding whether to engage.]

>>6191244
>>6191251
>>6191291
[I was invietd out to the pub tonight, thoguh, so the udpate will likely have to wait for tomorrow. Sorry anons!]

[In the meantime...]

>How are you liking the Ettercap as an enemy? Are her minions and her region sufficiently spooky?

>Are the orcs (and gnomes) getting enough characterization to make them feel distinct?

>Do you have any theories about the nature of the dungeon?

[And more generally, I'm curious...]

>Which of my quests have you played before this one, if any?

>Are there any character or roe elements that you need clarification on?
>>
>>6191699
>How are you liking the Ettercap as an enemy? Are her minions and her region sufficiently spooky?
yup, specially considering we don't have a reliable way of dealing with them, for now

>Are the orcs (and gnomes) getting enough characterization to make them feel distinct?
indeed. they seem like different species and not just x but tall

>Do you have any theories about the nature of the dungeon?
considering what we know from last time, it probably has some parts linked to warp spaces

>Which of my quests have you played before this one, if any?
Esoteric Seeker

>Are there any character or roe elements that you need clarification on?
the unseelie being able to mindread us through their minion was a bit of a surprise
>>
>>6191699
>roe elements
*lore elements

[the other typos sort themselves out well enough, but better clarify that.]

>>6191712
>they seem like different species and not just x but tall
[That's good! But I meant more as individuals, distinct from one another. Thank you for the input, btw!]
>>
>>6191699
>How are you liking the Ettercap as an enemy? Are her minions and her region sufficiently spooky?
Hate her, but in the way that tells me she's doing a good job of being an antagonist. Definitely was not prepared for an enemy of her caliber. Underestimated her and we're paying for it now, never should have split up :(

>Are the orcs (and gnomes) getting enough characterization to make them feel distinct?
Aarre and Taito feel kinda samey to me, but orcs are very distinct. Xoldur is the budding politician, Murbal is the musclehead, Oodagh is the empty head.

>Do you have any theories about the nature of the dungeon?
Nothing more specific than fae horrorscape yet

>Which of my quests have you played before this one, if any?
All

>Are there any character or roe elements that you need clarification on?
I NEED to know what percentage of CZ is goblin and what percentage is demon along with anything else floating around in there.
>>
>>6191699
>How are you liking the Ettercap as an enemy? Are her minions and her region sufficiently spooky?
Yes, weird and spooky and surreal. I think fey are hard to right because they can seem kind of silly, but having the heart trees and the warped foundlings and everything gives the fey an appropriate level of creepiness. The only other work I've read that got fairy right in the creepiness factor was Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell

>Are the orcs (and gnomes) getting enough characterization to make them feel distinct?
Yes, they do feel like distinct and different people, including the fact that one is essentially a nonverbal retard. Him not speaking makes me different from the ones that do speak

>Do you have any theories about the nature of the dungeon?
Nope, totally mystified about the nature of ancient Dwarven construction

>Which of my quests have you played before this one, if any?
I've played this Cambion Quest since the start, but nothing else

>Are there any character or roe elements that you need clarification on?
No, right now we're playing as CZ almost exclusively and she's not the brightest so me not knowing 80% of the lore helps with character immersion
>>
>>6191699
>How are you liking the Ettercap as an enemy? Are her minions and her region sufficiently spooky?
Perfect "Eldritch" feeling.
>Are the orcs (and gnomes) getting enough characterization to make them feel distinct?
Yes. Gobbos are not small orcs; orcs are not big gobbos.
>Do you have any theories about the nature of the dungeon?
Still on my OG idea of "common smallfolk ancestor" like a bulky gnome that actually can cook. Maybe us getting some loot would have helped me understand better.
>Which of my quests have you played before this one, if any?
Theral and Tips; caught up Reptilian Infiltrator while playing Theral
>>
>>6191712
>the unseelie being able to mindread us through their minion was a bit of a surprise
[I bet! What was the clarification you sought: how the Ettercap did that? A mother must keep a close eye on her young children, one could say... And she keeps a very, VERY close eye.]
CZ could theoretically accomplish the same sort of thing. Players of Reptilian Infiltrator Quest know this gambit as 'the ecotplasm trick'

>>6191728
>I NEED to know what percentage of CZ is goblin and what percentage is demon
[I bet CZ wants to know that, too...]
An answer will emerge eventually, in-narrative

>>6191832
>No, right now we're playing as CZ almost exclusively and she's not the brightest so me not knowing 80% of the lore helps with character immersion
[Kek, fair. Welcome aboard!]

>>6191883
[Writing! Sorry for the late start, I was VERY hungover.]
>>
>>6192111
>Consistently write up 5-length update almost everyday
It's okay mate. Really.
>>
Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>6191244
>>6191251
>>6191291
“Dungeon lethality increases with every encounter.”

Taito looks at you strangely, and his cousin eventually whispers: “What??”

You don’t know why you suddenly remember these words, once spoken by James Efron, with such sudden urgency and crystal clarity. You don’t often remember your time with Efron, from when you and ZZ were BOTH Zith-Zi. You try not to, because seeing them together, or catching snippets of your ‘sister’ dreaming of her distant paramour, sometimes aggravates your <WANT> with particularly envious intensity.

(And as you are now, it—HE—is something you cannot have…)

Nevertheless, it’s good advice, and you heed it. Without another word, you start out across one of the walkways, dropping into a low crouch to avoid being spied by the eyes of those below, and stepping gently and carefully so as to make no noise. You need offer no instruction for the others to do likewise, even slow-witted Oodagh or the less-experienced gnomish Delvers.

While you wish to avoid an unnecessary ‘encounter’, the presence of the Ettercap’s foundlings is a promising sign. It probably means you’re getting, like… Close, or something. You felt the closeness of the psychic connection between the Unseelie Fey and her mutant ‘children’ when you probed the mind and soul of that other one, and thereby alerted its creator…

(Which is what got ZZ captured, probably. Stupid. STUPID!)

You stop smacking your head when you see the others looking at you with alarm, and clear your throat in quiet awkwardness before continuing on to the doors across the way. There, you’re forced to stop, for these aren’t open and empty doorways as with those before, nor are they a stone slab which can be moved like a lid, as with that which the rocs had given the old heave-ho at the dungeon’s entrance. Rather, THESE stone doors are almost seamlessly integrate into the stone around them, marked only by a thin strip of complex geometric runework around the edges.

“Damn… Wish Martyn was here fer this… Or Tips…”

“Who??” asks Aarre.

“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss him.

You square up with the middle-most door and screw up your face in focus as you strain your magic sense. It tells you that the runes are, as you’re sure was obvious even to the orcs, magical. The centre of each door is marked with a rather obvious marking: an arrow. There are six doors total, with arrows pointing left, right, up at differing angles, and down.
>>
>>6192129
Following your instincts, you stand before the ‘down’ arrow. You just need to figure out how to get through, and thus deeper down into the dungeon, and how to do so safely and without alerting the Unseelie Fey.

15 for Feycraft… DC 17, because you’re still exhausted not trained in it at all. Failure

“…Alright.” You sigh after scrutinizing it in silence, and turn to your small crowd of impatient onlookers. “I’m PRETTY fuckin’ sure this thing’s gonna be trapped somehow. Like… I can tell there’s magic her, an’ I THINK I can activate it even, but I bet it don’t jus’ open up all silent-like, ya know?”

“Alarm?” asks Xoldur.

You raise your eyebrows, a little surprised the orc knows the Commontongue word for that, or even the concept of the <Alarm> spell… But then again, it’s a common camp-spell for magic-users, and the guy’s tribe fights elves and shit, so maybe that makes sense.

“Might be,” you say. “Or, like… maybe it’ll explode? Or have another ballista? I dunno. Dungeoncrawling’s… Kinda dicey sometimes.”

You can tell by the grimmer set of Xoldur’s face that he caught at least some of those words. Murbal sniggers, and says something while miming his earlier arrow catch in what you take to be a mocking manner. Xoldur gives her a sidelong look, but doesn’t rise to the bait. Oodagh looks expectantly between them; Dura’s eyes remain upon you, her expression expectant.

While the family drama is funny, your own gaze catches movement, and you see Taito step up to one of the other doors, with an arrow pointing up and right.

“These must lead to other exists, somewhere else on the surface,” he reasons aloud. “These creatures have to creep in and out of this dungeon somehow, right? And the way we got in was covered up with soil, and had an unactivated trap.”

“We ain’t leavin’,” you snap.

Taito holds up his hands defensively, his expression and aura tinged with guilt for his cowardice. Aarre, though, steps to his cousin’s side, eyes first that door and then the others.

“The entrance was enchanted, but had mechanical aspects, too. And see along the bottom of the door, the stone here? It’s uneven… Barely, but everywhere else here is perfectly smooth and flat. It’s a pressure-plate of some sort!”

You all take a step away from the door, with the Common-capable orcs dragging Oodagh and you pulling Dura yourself, without any objection from the witchy woman.
>>
>>6192133
“If it’s mechanical, Taito and I can probably deactivate this aspect… And fi that’s what triggers to spells to activate, like removing the stone from the entrance activated THOSE old spells to spring…”

You follow his logic. You’re just not sure you believe it, or trust your lives in the hands of GNOMES, of all things. As you consider your options, you again meet Dura’s eyes, who turns slowly towards the doors. Yous ee her subtly narrow her own shadowed, greyish gaze to the doors, and you pick up the tingle of her own attunement to the weave of magic around them.

(That’s right! Even without Martyn, or Tips, or ZZ, or Khorine, or Jimmy… You’ve got Dura, too! She has a magic0-sense as well! You’re not wholly alone if youw ant to take a magical angle on this…)

What will you do?
>Try to deactivate the enchantments to enable the gnomes to fiddle with the mechanisms
>Try to activate the enchantments to open the door and advance that way, hopefully without activating any traps
>Screw it—send the orcish meatshields in to activate one of the pressure plates, and to see what happens, then brute force your way through any traps that’s spring
>Write-in
>>
>>6192134
>Try to deactivate the enchantments to enable the gnomes to fiddle with the mechanisms
>>
>>6192134
If there's a heavy rock we can safely roll or throw onto the plate then I'd like to do that, otherwise

>Try to deactivate the enchantments to enable the gnomes to fiddle with the mechanisms
Might need to up the light for the gnomes to work
>>
>>6192134
>>Try to deactivate the enchantments to enable the gnomes to fiddle with the mechanisms
>>
Rolled 5, 6, 12 = 23 (3d20)

>>6192152
>>6192162
>>6192196
“Dura, c’mere… Time for another lesson.”

The others, orc and gnome alike, are surprised when you single out the ziran, for none of them are fully apprised of the occult rites which you have been tutoring the young orc-maiden in. Dura, however, understands immediately in spite of the linguistic barrier between you two. She hands off her animal-handling duties to spring to your side. If Murbal is nonplussed to be tasked with keeping the unhappy three-headed chimera appeased and its whines quiet, she does so anyway; Xoldur flatly refuses on the grounds of it being ‘womanly work’, and even aside from his sex, neither of the Steelwood chieftain’s children seems to entertain the idea of trusting Oodagh with the important responsibility.

Dura takes up station beside you, smiling a sly and private smile which initially provides an unwholesome distraction from your work. Luckily, the ribbon-decorated hedge-witch is less ‘distractable’ than you, and with grunts and firm gestures your ‘student’ is able to keep you focused on task…

(Which is really a double-edges sword, because owing to your experiences with your ‘creator’ and your vague sense-memories of your former self and Jimmy Efron, you have a bit of a thing for magic-nerds…)

Rolling Occultism for Cara-Zi & Dura, DC 18 for lack of direct analogy, exhaustion, and language barrier... But -2 for working with aid and SOME past experienced which might advantage CZ here! 16/19/20, graduated DC...
>>
>>6192378

Together, though, you buckle down on understanding the peculiar dwarven system for runic enchantment at work here. You have no way of knowing if this is true of MODERN dwarven magic, but you recognize this ANCIENT system to be similar in some of its magical workings to the ‘look and ‘feel’ (imprecise terms of non-material properties) of Feycraft, the fairy-magic used by the Ettercap, but also Khorine, Tips, and even ZZ as a pink-skinned ‘nilbog’ when she tries her hand at casting her one, admittedly-unreliable spell. This is rather unlike the orcish system of potion-brewing and curse-casting, OR the Dark rites you’ve learn or the Hellish manipulations of mind and body to which you are heir. In sharing knowledge from your respectively disciplines, though, the pair of you are able to cross-reference your capabilities, and to cobble together some vague understanding of the arcana at play.

(See! You’re NOT a retard! Uh, no offence to Oodagh.)

Confident that you’ve figured out how to deactivate the aspects of the spell that can ‘perceive’ the plate’s activation, you call out to Aarre and Taito to do their part…

5, 6, 12: Failure

…only for your confidence to prove, sadly, unwarranted. Mentally-challenged or not, it turns out two monstrous young women (or ‘women’ in your case) barely-trained in unrelated magic are simply ill-equipped to reverse-engineer an enchantment set by the ancient dwarven empire. At least, that’s how you assuage your ego when the gnomes’ set to disabling the mechanism only to immediately activate a loud reverberating rumble from the frame of the door, which repeats rhythmically in a moaning sort of alarm-call.

“Ah, fuck…”

The runic geometry shines with an alarmingly-bright light even to unmagical eyes, which at least give the eyes of your Delver companions something to see by besides your dim torch, though the way it rhythmically pulses with the alarm perhaps-understandably also seems to serve as a distraction to the now-panicked technicians. It ALSO audibly attracts the attention of those dungeon denizens down below. Looking down, your grimace to see their overlarge eyes reflecting the door’s glow as their dark, flat faces turn upwards. Immediately, they begin to move towards the curling stairway to rises to where you and your party still stand.
>>
>>6192401
Ee-ee-ee-YOOooOOooW!

“Good!” Murbal declares with a grin, as she abandons all attempt to quiet the three-headed chimera, dropping its rope to instead take her shield from her back and ready it to bash. “Bored of watch magic. Time fight!”

Xoldur sighs and shakes his head, but his own hand goes to his axe as he turns form the pulsing door to the stairs. He cuffs Oodagh, who had taken to humming and etching inaccurate-but-intricate mockeries of the dwarf-runes onto his spear, and he takes up his now decorated weapon to aid the others.

Dura looks to you, shame-faced and silently aghast. On impulse, you reach out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze, for this is our failure as much as hers or even the stupid gnomes. It seems small comfort to her, though to your pleasure, she does grip your hand in turn as the creatures come ever closer.

For all the orcs’ immediate assumption that battle shall be joined, the panicked Delvers are still hard at work, chattering noisily in their gnometongue now as they argue over how to disabled the alarm or to gain access.

You’re still in charge, nominally. What are your orders?
>Direct your forces to focus on fighting back and eradicating these enemies who are approaching
>Establish a defensive perimeter to allow Aarre and Taito to complete their work, so you can escape with minimal martial risk
>Try to capture some of the dungeon’s denizens alive—maybe you can force them to share their secrets, by coercing or mentalism?
>Actually, fuck it—have the orcs force the door!
>Write-in

And… Oh, shit! With Murbal having abandoned her delegated duties, that wild chimera which you captured is now sprinting this way and that, shaking its three heads to try to rid itself of its bindings as it sprints across the walk-way back towards the surface-world!

What will you do about the three-headed chimera?
>Send someone to retrieve it [who?]
>Go get it yourself
>Let it go—you can’t spare the manpower to babysit it
>Write-in
>>
>>6192402
>Establish a defensive perimeter to allow Aarre and Taito to complete their work, so you can escape with minimal martial risk

>Send Dura to retrieve it
>>
>>6192402
>Establish a defensive perimeter to allow Aarre and Taito to complete their work, so you can escape with minimal martial risk

>Let it go—you can’t spare the manpower to babysit it
Sorry little buddy
Shoulda left you back at camp
>>
>>6192439
Support
>>
>>6192402
>>Establish a defensive perimeter to allow Aarre and Taito to complete their work, so you can escape with minimal martial risk
>Send someone to retrieve it [who?]
Dura.
>>
>>6192687
>>6192623
>>6192531
>>6192439
[Locked and writing!]
>>
Rolled 13, 13, 4, 18, 14, 12, 7, 7, 1, 16, 16 = 121 (11d20)

>>6192913
Dura sees the same thing that you do, and pulls away from you. You let her go without resistance, and with no need for instruction, as she hurries after the discombobulated, flailing chimera. It would be almost comical, seeing the orc-girl dipping this way, then that, following the three-headed beast’s disoriented dance…

But there’s no time for mirth. Not right now.

“XOldur, Murbal, Oodagh, pull back!”

Thee grey faces turned to you in confusion (and in Murbal’s case, disappointment). You reiterate the order, though, and Xoldur repeats it, as he takes a step back. His sister and their… Cousin? Neighbour?... Their Oodagh both fall into line as well.

“Keep working,” you shout over your shoulder to Aare and Taito, who have frozen stock-still. “Yer our ticket outta here! get that door open!”

You may not be a natural leader like the OTHER ZIth-Zi, but self-preservation is a commander beyond reproach. The Delevr cousins set to work once more, while you and the Steelwood orcs ready to meet the dungeon’s dark tide head-on, and to hold it back from the tiling technicians.

The first of ten-to-twelve rise over the crest of the stairway, and immediately you can see that they are unlike the other foundlings. There is nothing of the arachnid to their face, nor do they have a child’s warped proportions. Rather, they resemble… Well, YOU, or your sister, or An-Yii and Yeb-Uit. That is to say, they look goblinoid.

Samund dyr?” asks Murbal.

“Nah,” you reply. “I don’t think so…”

The not-quite-goblins have the same wide-flanged, pointed ears as your kin, set on either side of a boggle-eyed head, and atop lean body. Despite that, they seem… Wrong. Their green skin is bluish in hue relative to the goblins you’ve known—or your own, when not in shifted shape—almost like that of an asphyxiated corpse. Their eyes are aglow, though, yellow and wide and without pupil. They scream no shrill goblin war-cries and offer no taunts, instead staring with grim, blue-green faces set in neutral indifference even as they advance. They wear simple grey body-suits, form-fitting and strangely reflective as you expose them to the brilliant light of your unobstructed torch.

Their glassy eyes take in you and your party, but not ONLY those mustered in defensive perimeter around the door; so, too, do some turn to follow the uncoordinated stumbling of the three-headed chimera, and Dura chasing close behind.

(Oh… Oh shit!)

No anger or excitement is betrayed in the dead eyes or flat faces of these goblinoid things than before, but they move with purpose. Most of them move towards your party proper, but the break way to sprint after the ziran and her quarry. You scream out in alarm, but before you can do anything else, you are embattled.
>>
Rolled 4, 2, 3 = 9 (3d4)

>>6192931
>>
>>6192934
>>6192931

For all their dead-fish eyes and choked-out complexion, the strange goblinoids attack with an unexpected savagery. It isn’t skillful, and they’re blissfully unarmed, but what they lack in precision, they make up for in unrelenting force and fearless persistence. The space around the door does not afford each of them an opportunity to attack, but eight are able to squeeze into the space between blocked egress and safety railing, to fall upon you and the orcish ‘meatshields’.

13 & 13 against CZ...
Miss!

With your fishing spear, you are able to poke and prod two of them back. They don’t seem to fear the stabbing points, not exactly, butt they’re cognizant enough of the weapon’s potential to prevent their attack, and so continually course-correct to try to sweep under or around it. You give them no quarter, and thus spare yourself you onslaught.

4 & 18 against Oodagh…
Hit!
4 damage; 21/25 HP left

Oodagh is not so lucky. He stabs with his spear in imitation of your won technique, but for all his added range due to his superior stature, he also presents a bigger target, with more obvious gaps in his defences. They exploit these, setting upon him with iron-gripped fingers and tearing into him with tiny teeth. The teenaged orc howls in pain to your left, but you can afford to pay him no heed, though, nor can the chieftain’s children whoa re busy avoiding a similar fate.

14 & 12 vs. Murbal; 7 & 7 vs. Xoldur; Miss!

It is the next scream—a more feminine one, this time—which gives you greater pain. You hear a loud clatter and distant thud, a characteristic chorus of chattering yelps from the three-headed chimera, and the shuffling of a struggle. You crane your head to see what’s happened past the melee in which you are engaged, and spy part of the walkway has been knocked loose… And no sign of Dura, or of the chimera. Your heart skips a beat as you briefly fear the Steelwood hedge-witch has fallen to her death in the strange space below the walk-ways, but then you catch sight of two of the goblinoid things wrestling atop an unseen victim, and you hear Dura shouting muffled curses in her race’s guttural tongue.

1, 16, & 16 vs Dura…
One critical failure, two hits!
Dura takes 5 damage; 10/15 HP left!
>>
Rolled 19, 4, 4, 10, 5, 6, 6, 19, 8, 8 = 89 (10d20)

>>6192950
>>
Rolled 6 (1d8)

>>6192951
>>
Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>6192950
>>6192951
>>6192952
A scream of rage and fear rips through you as you push forwards a step and stab forward with your fishing-spear It’s three-pronged fork penetrated the throat of one of the monstrous not-goblins before you. Its bluish face and yellow eyes register no pain as it squirms like a stuck trout, though it does weakly raise its hands to the offending implement embedded in its esophagus. You Grimace with exertion aa you strain to lift the goblinoid off the ground, and then thrust the spear again, hard enough t that when you jerk it back, the barbs rip loose and the dead-eyed thing is sent sailing over the walkway’s banister and down into the dark depths below, to land with a crystalline crash upon some ancient equipment.

19 to hit, 6 for damage: one enemy slain!

Your other allies are penned in and crowded to the point of ineffectiveness though; the cluster of little bodies is simply pressing down too tightly, affording the rocs now ay to utilize their superior reach without risking hitting each other or leaving themselves open. They hold the line, but in a stalemate.

(And Dura’s still out there… Outnumbered… Pinned down… Alone!)

there is one spot of luck, at least, in the form of a click behind you, and a jubilant cry from the Taito.

“We got it!” Aarre announces. “Now to just open thi—”

whoosh
tissss

“Oh fuck.”

THOOM
thunk
>>
Rolled 5 + 10 (1d10 + 10)

>>6192956
>>
>>6192957
“AARRE!”

The grief-stricken cry that goes up from Tato is enough to tell you what those other, somehow familiar sounds must mean: another ballista-trap, or some similar device using runes and air-pressure to launch a projectile… A projectile that must have found its mark. With another goblinoid already advancing joylessly to fill the spot you emptied out in the front-line, though, you have no time to spare worrying after the gnomes, nor can you turn to see how bad the damage it.

“How’s that door?!” you shout instead.

“Aarre’s… It… Aare isn’t…”

“DOOR!” roars Xoldur over the sound of battle.

“I-it’s open,” Taito says so quietly you almost miss it. “And… Disarmed.”

(Well, that’s good… But what about Dura?)

>Hold the line! Fight your way to Dura, with the others’ aid, slaughtering all who block you!
>Command the others to fall back while you exploit the temporary gap you made in the lien to rush out and retrieve Dura
>You can’t afford to linger here… Fall back, escape through the open doorway, and leave Dura to her fate
>Write-in
>>
>>6192959
>Command the others to fall back while you exploit the temporary gap you made in the lien to rush out and retrieve Dura
Really shoulda just let the chimera go :(
>>
>>6192959
>Hold the line! Fight your way to Dura, with the others’ aid, slaughtering all who block you!
>>
>>6192956
I was hopeful that the nat 1 was for the ballista...
>>6192959
>Command the others to fall back while you exploit the temporary gap you made in the lien to rush out and retrieve Dura
>>
>>6193222
>I was hopeful that the nat 1 was for the ballista...
Aarre's untrained Athletics roll, serving as a sort of Reflex saving throw to borrow a 3.5e term
>>
Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>6193222
>>6193053
>>6192983
“Fall back!”

Your command draws six orcish eyes briefly from the battle before them. Xoldur glares as if in grave offence, and Murbal takes things a step further:

“We own you, no you own we!” She grins a mirthless grin, an ape’s savage sneer. “We fight! No afraid of samund dyr!”

It’s the most Common you’ve heard the big gal speak, which you take as testament to her passion for the subject of combat. You’ve heard about this aspect of orclore, of course—that though they’re savage as your race in battle and given to ambush as any other band of bandits, they fear cowardice more than death. Among goblins, this is often a subject of befuddled mockery, but maybe it’s different when you have gods waiting with open arms for your battle-weathered soul, beyond Death’s Domain. You don’t know enough about orc faith to say, not do you have time to learn it now… Or inclination at all, actually. That sort of talk ahs always bored you. Instead, you snap:

“Just, like… Bottleneck ‘em back there at the door! We gotta get to ZZ—we don’t have time to fight every fuckin’ weird goblin-lookin’ fuck down here!”

Murbal sputters indignantly and starts to formulate a response, only for her brother to slap her upside the head. She snarls at him, and turns to swing, but Xoldur is already dragging a confused Oodagh towards the Delver-opened door, sparing you nary a glance. Murbal roars in frustration and lopes after him, banging her shield against the passage’s illuminated entrance and clearly soiling for a proper sibling smackdown as soon as possible. You’d pay good gold to see THAT throwdown… But not right now.

Right NOW, you have another war to wage.

The blue-green not-goblins rush forwards to fill the gap, chasing their departing prey. This isn’t to say none pay you any head, but the sudden shift and your own earlier kill leaves a n exploitable gap in the flow of the fiends, and exploit it you do: with typical gob nimbleness usually used to expediently retreat, you instead brave the onslaught of ugly, staring fuckers, slipping between swinging limbs and grasping hands. You stumble forwards into a hunch, forgetting for a moment your prettified forms normalized proportions; you cannot scramble like an animal on all fours for added speed, as you might if you were green and beastly.

But then again, if you WERE to do so, you wouldn’t have your spear… And since you do, you are able to instead bridge to distance by hefting it high and casting it before your passage, straight at the back of one of the gormless goblinalikes menacing your pet pupil.

“Get off a’ her, you reri erre hahg!”
>>
Rolled 20, 19 = 39 (2d20)

>>6193265
10: Failure!

Your spearcast goes wide, but it’s enough to attract the attention of the two wide-eyed fucks who raise their heads and gape at you with bloodstained maws. The sight of the crimson dripping down their chin fills you with still great purpose, and the quiet whine of pain from Dura makes your blood rise and the infernal flame at the core of you flare to full fury.

Occultism roll against <WANT> to resist frenzy; DC 18
>>
>>6193268
You feel your flesh tremble, your hair frizz up like an angered cat upon your scalp and begin to spread. Your teeth ache and your jaw juts…

19, 20: CRITICAL SUCCESS!

<WANT: 17>

You remember the lessons of Maladoo, of The Nothic, and you murmur Dark syllables under your breath, suppressing your urges and keeping your cool. Flying into a frenzy, aside from embarrassing the literal Hell out of you, would only endanger Dura further… Any yourself, and everyone else, honestly. Rather than pop claws, you draw your dagger, and brace for the dungeon-dwellers’ to come to you…

Which, for better or worse, they do.
>>
Rolled 3, 9, 1, 12 = 25 (4d20)

>>6193276
2 & 6 for the enemies; 10 for CZ

You duck their lunges and slash frantically at them to keep them from leveraging their numbers to overpower you the way they did Dura. The ballet of battle whirls you and they around, switching your positions back and forth. As you stumble back, unharmed but winded by the exertion, t stumble back into something soft. You scream in panic and anger and very nearly stab at it, before realizing ‘it’ is ‘her’, and ‘her’ in this case is Dura, on her feet and holding up her hands in a sign of peace.

“Oh,” you say, “uh, hey. I’m here ta rescue you.”

Though she may not understand your word, the orc witch’s small smile shows she understands your meaning. Furthermore, she takes up her ribbon-wrapped witch-stick and takes a position next to you, clearly ready to do her part—perhaps out of gratitude, perhaps out of shame for losing the three-headed chimera (which, you note, is nowhere in sight any longer), or perhaps simply out of the intrinsic orc lust for war which had earlier animated Murbal.

Whatever the case, you’re not complaining, because now there’s a whole HORDE of these weird underground assholes between you and your allies… And beyond them, deeper down, your missing sister.

“Let’s do this!” you shout

“WAAAAGH!” shouts Dura.
>>
Rolled 2 (1d4)

>>6193282
>>
Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>6193283
>>
Rolled 15, 8, 15, 9 = 47 (4d20)

>>6193284
>>
Rolled 6, 11 = 17 (2d20)

>>6193285
>>
Rolled 1, 3 = 4 (2d4)

>>6193286
>>
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>>6193282
>>6193283
>>6193284
>>6193285
>>6193286
>>6193289
You both barrel into the fray with your hearts beating as one, but when it comes right down to it, the ziran is no warrior-maiden in spite of her heritage, and you have spent far more time lately practicing magic than the blade. Outnumbered as you are, and without the advantage of overwhelming force or any special skill, you are blocked from making an easy exit, and rapidly overwhelmed.

Initial exchange: 3 & 9 for enemies, 1 for CZ, 12 for Dura. Everyone misses; CZ fumbles

As unnaturally-strong little hands grasp and grope at every inch of you—and not in a fun way!—you try to make up in wildness what you lack in raw strength or ability, but you only succeed in inflicting further injury upon yourself, driving your forearm right into the open, dagger-mouthed maw of one of the gaping goblinoids.

2 damage: CZ has 28/30 HP

It’s a small wound, but it draws an involuntary hiss from you. Dura, hearing this, swings her ick…

6: failure!

…but if the bitey bastard feels the impact, it shows no evidence of it. Worse, more of their bluish-green buddies fall upon the roc-girl, just as they do upon you,. Swinging fists, tearing nails, boney elbows and more snapping teeth do their work.

15 & 8 vs. CZ, 15 & 9 versus Dura: one hit on each!
CZ takes 1 damage: 27/30 HP left!
Dura takes 3 damage: 7/15 HP left!


While you’d like to say you give as good as you get…

6 and 11 for CZ & Dura’s counterattacks; failure!

…You don’t. You’re losing. Your aching muscles are flagging, you swing and stabs growing weak with your weariness. Even the force of fear, of mortal terror, can only keep you going so long. You silently curse yourself for trying to play hero. Stupid, STUPID! You’re not a hero. You’re no even a proper villain! Not like this… Not without your own claws and teeth. But you JUST suppressed that urge to transform—to reveal your freakish true form before Green Team!

(Before Dura… And how might she react, recalling how Martyn Meadowgrass had? Can you truly stomach another such rejection? Maybe… Maybe it would be better to die here, with dignity?)

No… No! Obviously not! ZZ is waiting down there for you, if nothing else!

But… Surely there’s another way?

>Write in a strategy. Clever write-ins lower your DCs further. One way or another, this encounter ends next update…
>>
>>6193294
Welp, can we try some form of partial transformation ?
>>
>>6193362
[Sure! Specify what you have in mind. It may require a Shapeshifting roll in a way that full reversion to CZ's true form wouldn't, but on a success you could be rolling 2d20-4d20 per attack.]
>>
>>6193294
>>6193362
>>6193365
I can back that, bring out the fangs and claws but keep everything else looking nice
>>
>>6193422
I think that is a good idea: supporting
>>
>>6193362
one more vote
>>
>>6193365
alright then
>>6193422
good idea
>>
Rolled 4, 16 = 20 (2d20)

>>6193804
>>6193537
>>6193449
>>6193422
[Seems unanimous! Now, aside from partial transformation, there's not really any clever strategic whatsit going on ere, so we'll go with 2d20 Shapeshifting to see if CZ can hide her true nature and how powerful her claws are, and either way you'll start rolling at least 2d20 for attack and 1d2 for damage, but the usual DC of 15 +1 for exhaustion still applies]
>>
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Rolled 11, 7, 20, 2 = 40 (4d20)

It’s no good: you can’t see any way out of this. If you’re going to gut these knock-off gobbos and clear a path to the next level of this dungeon, you’re going to need your claws… No matter what anyone thinks of them, or of you. Imagining the sneers of disgust, and bracing for the inevitable loss of what little status you’ve accrued with Green Team, you get ready to reveal the reason for the squad’s unintuitive name.

But then again… maybe it doesn’t need to be as bad as all that, right?

Yeah, yeah! That’s right! They all know you’re a shapeshifter, right? Or, well, the Delvers do. They just figure you’re some kind of fairy-type one, like a weird gnome or whatever. Maybe you can shapeshift your claws just right to hide their true nature, and keep the rest of yourself all dainty and demure-like? It’s at least worth a go.

“Cover me,”

Dura blinks at you in confusion, then widens her eyes as you focus your mind, flex your fingers, and feel the hellfire flow from your belly to your biceps, and then out into your extremities. You will them to look like anything other than the hands of some ghoulish gargoyle—or demogoblin, or cambion, or any of that other shit. You try to imagine something strong, and powerful, and NOT despicable or dirty… Something fearsome!

4, 16: Success!

You hear a gasp from your potion-producing, grey-faced gal-pal, and when you open your eyes, you can see why. In place of hairy, warty mugging mix with knurled nails such as you usually have in your true form, you now wear a goat of emerald-green SCALES, shiny and sturdy and fit for a monster of legend. You suppose it makes a certain amount of sense: what’s more fearsome, in this day and age, than those great green beasties who razed half the farmland outside of Hawksong, and whose terror still looms large in the shadows of the Bloodrise Mountains?

“Awwwright,” you say, spreading your teeth—still even and pearly white—in a nevertheless FEARSOME grin. “Who wants ta tangle with Cara-ZARD, and her FIST OF THE GREEN DRAGON?

You have unlocked a new utility of your shapeshifting: you can manifest claws granting half your Shapeshifting dice to your Natural Weapons roll to hit, without having to roll for it, and without revealing your true form!

…But because it was only a narrow victory, you’re rolling 3d20, not 4d20.
>>
Rolled 1 + 2 (1d2 + 2)

>>6193953
>>
Rolled 2, 12, 15, 15, 2 = 46 (5d20)

>>6193954
>>6193953
Almost immediately, the momentum shifts. It isn’t like any of your obstructive adversaries suddenly quail in fear before you or anything like that—they seem as dully disinterested as ever—but YOU feel different. Maybe it’s like ZZ’s said to you in the past: it’s all about feeling confident in yourself!

(And a big fuckin’ scaley-knuckled, sharp-clawed hand helps, too.)

One of the sharp-toothed sentries lunge for you, but you give it a mouthful of scale, which its tiny teeth fail to tear. Then with a single mighty swing of your reinforced forearm, you hurl the false-gob like a cudgel into several other, sending them staggering towards the others. With a roar to make a dragon proud, you leap towards them before they can regain their balance, and with a bald-fingered backhand you rip open one of their onesies, and spread open its stomach in the same motion.

20: critical success!
3 damage, one kill and overflow damage!


You spare a single confused look at the lack of gushing blood, faintly disappointed and subtly disturbed. The organs which fall loose show no signs of rot, nor is this meat-puppet of a mook filled with the dust of ages. They don’t seem UNDEAD—which is good, ‘cause you don’t really know fi you have the means to kill proper zombies—but now can these things be deemed entirely alive. In fact, you think you see… Crystals, and some sort of strange mesh of metal tubes and wires up in there?

Time’s wasting, though, and while you ain’t no scholar of Living Alchemy, Mama Zi also didn’t raise no fool.

“Dura, tehs epar!”

“Spee—Ah!”

The orc seems to pick up what you’re putting down—literally, in fact, as she snatches up the fishing-spear which you had hurled in her defence. She gamely tries to menace some of these gross quasi-goblins, and while it has little effect, it keeps them at bay just long enough for you to seize the orc-girl by the wrist and wrench her along after you.

But the bloodless, blue-skinned goblinoids—or WHATEVER-the-fuck they are—are hot on your heels.
>>
Rolled 1 (1d6)

>>6193965
You can practically feel their breath on the nape of your neck as you near the door. The breeze thrown by their swinging limbs and grabby little goblin hands makes your skin tingle with their proximity. You hear Dura again cry outa s one of them grabs hold of her, threatening to tear the Steelwood witch away from you. Already injured as she is, she’d surely be torn apart before you could save her a second time…

croooaaak!
“WAAAAGH!”

Which is when one of them catches a masterwork steel shield to its unblinking mug, while another is seizes by slimy tendrils and set upon by five feet and eighty-odd pounds of hermaphroditic sala-monster.

2, 12, 15 for Murbal: hit!
15, 2 for Nermal: miss, but only due to exhaustion.
>>
>>6193969

You can’t even bring yourself to be mad at the big, burly tom-orc for being disobedient of your orders: whatever her meat-headed reasons for interceding on your behalf, she saved you (or at least Dura) from being dragged back into that morass. Nermal’s not quite so lucky, immediately regretting their own involvement in affairs. Given that even the ugly little shit whose nose Murbal broke is still coming after you, you tug your familiar’s tail to drag the whiny cave -drake along after you, and when you finally reach the other side of the portal, you shout:

“SHUT THE FUCKIN’ DOOR!”

No sooner have you issued the order than your will is done: Xoldur slams a fist down on a luminous glyph on the wall just beyond the frame, and the stone which one barred you passage now likewise serves as a blissful barrier between you and the goblins-of-blue-hue.

You immediately fall flat on your face on the stone floor, wheezing with exertion and laughing—laughing so hard your chest hurts—with open relief.

“That… Was fuckin’… Awesome…”

<WANT: 18>

Only when the darkness at the edge of your vision is banished, and the floaty stars with it, do you notice nobody else is laughing with you. When you push yourself up and look around, you understand why.

“…Ah, shit.”

There, propped up against the wall a short distance away, is Aarre… Or should you say ‘was’, Aarre? Is that how past-tense works, when you’re talking about a gnome with a big fucking spike punched clean through his eye-socket and out the back of his skull? You’d ask Taito, but he’s… Well, he’s looking pretty pal, jaw locked like he’s got tetanus, arms around his knees, rocking back and forth. Oodagh watches him curiously, prodding the living Delver with the butt of his spear; Taito, worryingly, hardly seems to even notice.

His CRITICAL FAILURE on his Athletics to dodge meant Taito took a critical hit from the hidden ballista.

Taking 15 damage when he only ahs 10 HP was enough to suffer INSTANT DEATH


A certain other orc, badly bitten and bruised but still alive thank to you, does some little-person-poking with a spear of her own… or YOUR own, actually. You accept the proffered fishing-spear and sue it like a cane to haul yourself to your weary feet, exchanging a shared smile with Dura. The relief of being alive is hardly dimmed by Aarre’s tragic (you guess?) demise—if anything, knowing you evade that gruesome fate just brings you relief.

“Hey, uh, the ballista ain’t still…?”

kuh-lang!

Murbal ‘gestures’ with a hearty wallop towards the ballista which did the deed to the dead Delver, which luckily seems inert and exhausted of ammo, having served its grim purpose.

“Well,” you say brightly, “like, that’s good at least, right?”
>>
>>6193985
Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to cheer Taito up.

“We never should have come here,” says the gnome. “We should… We should just leave. Just go.”

“Nothin’ doin’,” you say firmly.

“No leave,” Xoldur agrees, albeit with the shade of a sigh as he looks toward the sealed-shut door—or through it, wistfully, to the Steelwood’s surface, and his village. “Not same way.”

“We’re going to die down here, then,” Taito moans, burying his face in his knees, and heaving with sobs so fierce you fear he might puke. “I’m sorry, Mum, Dad… You warned me, you f-fucking warned me…”

Taito’s morale: Very Low
Murbal, Xoldur, and Oodagh’s Morale: Stable
Dura’s Morale: High


You grimace a little at the display, and at the waves of despair wafting off of the mourning gnome. A powerful emotion like that tingles your tongue and tonsils, sure, but sadness is a bittersweet flavour you’ve never much cared for—not like fear or fancy. Moreover, you DO sort of get how he’s feeling—what just happened back there was too close for comfort, and you’re STILL not sure exactly what those yahoos were what you were tussling with!

What will you do?
>Take a short rest here, and offer what comfort you can, before you press on
[Raises morale; if you’d like, you can also ask Murbal to use a potion on anyone you’d like, and/or use Monstrous Regeneration to heal yourself]
>Press on immediately
[Must roll to see if Taito comes willingly, or specify if you will use magic or force to drag him along if he refuses]
>>
>>6193986
>Press on immediately
Use Charm on Taito and I guess promise we'll come back for his cousin's body
>>
>>6193986
>Press on immediately
Magic if needed, supporting >>6193996 with the promise too
>>
>>6193985
>His CRITICAL FAILURE on his Athletics to dodge meant Taito took a critical hit from the hidden ballista.
>Taking 15 damage when he only ahs 10 HP was enough to suffer INSTANT DEATH
a crit fail right after we managed to full heal him, fuck. the worst part is that since it was a +10 bonus to attack, even a 1 on the dice would be overkill.
>>6193986
>Press on immediately
charm him if necessary.
>>
>>6194028
I think Taito was the one who got healed

Probably would have been better if Taito died instead of Aarre
>>
>>6194028
>even a 1 on the dice would be overkill
[If he'd been at -11, I would have given you a shot at healing him, though it might have required a delay in aiding Dura to convince Murbal that a "sma dyr" noncombatant is worth her potion. taking 1.5 times his HP in one hit on a crit-fail was enough to trigger his instant death, though.]

>>6194035
[Taito was indeed the one healed; also the one who shares your exhaustion penalty. He has Diplomacy as a secondary skill, while Aarre had Stealth, wasn't exhausted yet, and was a bit bolder but also more fractious.]
>>
>>6193953
Hey I have a copyright patent on "Fist of the Green Dragon" in quests
>>
>>6193986
>Press on immediately
>>
File: carazzi_final_nobg.png (473 KB, 973x2047)
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>>6194151
[Tell that to that sick IG art!]

>>6194154
>>6194028
>>6194018
>>6193996
[Locked & writing!]
>>
Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>6194651
It doesn’t matter how tired you or anyone else is, nor how mournsome, nor even how dead. You cannot, WILL not, stop or slow down while your better half is trapped and in dire danger. This is NOT up for negotiation.

“Taito… I know yer scared, and ya miss yer cousin, but we gotta go.”

Taito looks up, staring through teary eyes in obvious shock.

“I… No!” He shakes his head. “I won’t! I… I’m no sue to you,a nwyay.”

“Bullshit,” you say, as nicely as you can. “You saved us all, getting’ that door open.”

“Not all of us.”

You tug at your collar and look away, eyes falling again on the spike-headed Aarre.

“What am I going to tell my aunt and uncle?” Taito moans. “They’ll… They can’t even give him an open-casket funeral, not like this…”

“Tell ya what,” you say amiably, kneeling down before him and braving the haze of guilt and despair surrounding him to place a once-more-elfin hand upon his shoulder. “You come on, help us finish what we started, ‘n save ZZ ‘n Martyn, an’ we’ll get them the body at elast… Even tidy it up, make it presentable.”

Taito looks vaguely insulted at the notion, but you quickly add:

“It’s better than nothin’, right? Like, no body at all, right? Empty casket instead a’ a closed one?”

You’re sort of guessing, of course. Goblins don’t usually DO funerals, at least not the way humans and demihumans do. Among your won kind, it’s foregone conclusion that when the body is gone, so goeth the gob. The look on Taito’s face tells you he’s at least considering your proposal, though.

Rolling 1d20, DC 18 since CZ’s got no social skills and both of them are exhausted and Taito’s morale is so low.
>>
Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>6194657
>>
Rolled 4 + 4 (1d4 + 4)

>>6194663
>>6194657
Taito’s expression slowly twists and contorts. His aura simemrs down like a dying flame, fading to such a faint flicker that you’re briefly alarmed he might literally die of a broken heart. He squeezes his eyes shut and groans through gritted teeth.

“Aarre… Oh fucking Hells Below… We were both so… So STUPID to come on this quest.”

“Hey now, don’t beat yerself up about it,” you attempt to assuage him.

Suddenly his face screws up in a new expression, and his aura flares up in a sudden maelstrom, ablaze with… Oh shit.

“If we hadn’t listened to YOU, you and that loud-mouthed Youngtree woman—risked our lives to recruit this useless barbarians, split our forces, aggravated the Ettercap, chased folly after folly down into these damned tunnels without a prayer or a plan…”

“Taito,” you warn him, tightening your grip a little. “Watch yer mouth before—”

“And now we’re all going to die down here—ALL of us—because of YOU, you and that that pink-skinned BITCH who’s ALREADY probably dead!”

You’re not sure if it’s the insults alone, or the gnome’s own madness seeping into you across your empathic connection, but your own temper flares nearly as bright as Taito’s. You haul him up by the collar with both hands, and shove him up against the wall, ready to give him what-for…

But for all your extrasensory perception, you didn’t expect the dagger.

Critical Failure for untrained Negotiations roll.

Failure for untrained Vigilance

Rolling damage...
>>
Rolled 11, 2 = 13 (2d20)

>>6194668
It sinks, deep. It hurts, bad.

You don’t need to look down to know that much. You also know it’s not fatal…

At least, not fatal for you.

Rolling Occultism against a frenzy, DC 18…
>>
Rolled 7, 20, 19, 20, 7 = 73 (5d20)

>>6194669
You’d had best of intentions, going into this. You really did. You’d thought, hey, maybe you could make a nice little deal with the sad little gnome-boy, get the Delver to see sense. It would’ve been best for both of you, if Taito had only listened. And if he hadn’t, well, maybe you’d have turned up the ol’ <Charm>. You know, for his own good! After all, heading back the way you came would have been a death sentence anyways!

8 damage taken; CZ has 19/30 HP left

Now, you think maybe death is exactly what this limp-dicked little shit deserves.

“OooOOoo, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t done that!”

You see Taito’s expression, which had begun to waver towards regret, shift once more. His aura’s axis tilts and wobbles with it, much to your delight. His is not to the placid face of a man <charmed>, but instead takes on an entirely new dimension of horror—not the woeful horror of having lost a loved one, or of facing his own theoretical demise. No, it is the raw and rarefied realization of his own IMMINENT mortality.

And it. Is. D̶̢̀́̔͒Ë̸̬̟̠̎͝L̶̦̋I̶͔̝̦̋͋C̶̫̙̪̐I̵̧͍̹͌O̵̧̠͉͋̒̃̍U̶̹̞̔̾͝ͅS̸͇̜̜͆̔́̃.̴̙̟͇͓̓͋

“Wh-what is happening to you? To your face?” he gasps.

“Puckerin’ up for a kiss,” you answer, your voice reverberating strangely in your own ears, as if it isn’t quite your own. “That’s the normal order, ain’t it? But since you went ‘n broke tradition by going fer penetration first…”

Rolling 2d20 Mentalism for Fear, 2d20 for Natural Weapons to grapple… And 1d20 for the spear

“Why doncha' lay back an' let little ol’ I̷̛̗̳̞͕̾̈̔̌̊̍̚r̵̤̼̙͚̼͒͂i̶̛̫̯̘̘̬̮͈̱̓͊̒̓̽̌ṋ̸̛̭͙̪̀́͌̾̆͆͠ͅn̶̡̖͍̜̖̤͇̼̿̃̎̕i̷̯̮̜̝̹͔͚̣̎̓̔̊̈́͠l̶̛̫͇̃̈́̃e̶̗̬̖̺͊̈́͑̆͝͠ return the favour, huh?
>>
Rolled 1 + 2 (1d2 + 2)

>>6194688
>>
Rolled 3 (1d8)

>>6194689
>>
>>6194689
>>6194691
>>6194688
The cute little gnomey thrashes in your grasp, quailing and wailing, too terrified to even think. he releases his dagger, like a fuckin’ IDIOT, and you can only laugh at his adorable antics a you slam him against the wall, dashing the back of his head against the stone. That dazes him, and leave a smear of blood when he made impact. Acting on instinct, he cuddle against his cheek as you elan past him to lick it up….

But it’s not enough.

True to your word, you kick your abandoned spear up into your hand and stab it into the Delver’s (yellow) belly, reciprocating his attack on your in kind. The barbed prongs of your fishing spear plunge deeper, and probably hurt worse to judge by his expression… But then again, judging by the delectable tang of his terror, his eyes might be rolling up in his head more from panic than pain.

(Either way is fine by you~)

“Ooooh yeeeeah. That’s that GOOD shit!”

You shudder in almost orgasmic bliss—almost, but INFURIATING not QUITE., feeling a SECOND ‘spear’ rising beneath your grey-black, shredded and now doubly-or-triply blodostaiend robe.

CRITICAL SUCCESS on <Fear>; Taito is too terrified to think straight, and cannot oppose you.
CRITICAL SUCCESS on Natural Weapons to grapple; Taito is trapped in your grasp, unable to escape.
You’ve inflicted 5 damage; he has 5/10 HP left
>>
>>6194710
A small, distant fragment of yourself—the you that others call Carazzi, or Cara-Zi, or CZ, or just Cara—squeaks up in protect, reminding you that you still need this gnome. He has skills nobody else in your ever-shrinking party has, and he cannot act against you anymore even if he wanted to. You could show him mercy, spare him and use him!

(Heh… Shows what you know itty bitty little ‘me’… We don’t need to spare this little snack to use him!)

Another part of you—the simple sensory aspect, not silly little ‘CZ’ this time—is aware of the orcs’ eyes upon you. Your face and arms have transformed themselves to some degree, you know. There will be questions to answer, if you are so inclined when your fun little fugue state fades away…

But it hasn’t yet, and you’ve been a ‘good’ ‘girl’, like everyone’s expected of you, and you’re soooOOOOooo hungry. Since you’re already going to be having an awkward conversation anyway, can’t you indulge just a LITTLE bit more?

>Eat Taito’s soul
[Kills the gnome, restores 1d10 HP instantly, lowers <WANT> by 5, eliminates exhaustion penalties and grants you limited use of his skills until your next long rest]

>Spare Taito’s life
[The Delver will obey you without question for the rest of the dungeon; orc morale will likely be better (there will be a roll to resolve that), and CZ not drift towards Chaotic Evil]

>Write-in
[Make it interesting, anons!]

Ithink I finally cleared the mysterious formatting error on the third attempt, lol...
>>
>>6194657
>nat 1 to convince him
>>6194668
>>6194668
>we fail to detect his sttack and he maxxes the dmg dice
>>6194688
>we get nat 20's for the fear and attack
classic
also I'll never stop chuckling when getting a bonus attack for a 1d2 dice.
>>6194711
>Spare Taito’s life
alright, we had enough fun
>>
>>6194711
>Spare Taito’s life
Can't think of a good write in here
I'm sorry OP
I have failed you
>>
>>6194723
>also I'll never stop chuckling when getting a bonus attack for a 1d2 dice.
If you critted the spear, you'd have probably killed him as instantly as his cousin died.
>>
>>6194744
>If you critted the spear, you'd have probably killed him as instantly as his cousin died.
I'm aware that their hp is low, but still it's funny to see.
>>
>>6194711
>Spare is life WHILE eating a bit of his soul
let's keep a broken nerd-toy
>>
>>6194916
>>6194740
>>6194723
[Alright, locked and writing!]
>>
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>>6195273
You stare into the limpid, fear-fiddled puddles that are Taito’s eyes, debating yourself in quite-literal manner. This schism within you, and this other ego… It begins to chafe. A more familiar sense of self starts to reassert the old order. You feel, if not regret exactly for stabbing the spiteful little shit, a sort of worry about what you are on the precipice of becoming…. Because it’s not Cara, or Cara-Zi, ro Carazzi, or even Zith-Zi. It’s…

Someone else.

You shake your head like the flea-ridden street-dogs that you—YOU—remember seeing as a little gobling, back out East, on the other side of the Wastes. When you look back at Taito, he’s considerably less appetizing than he was a moment ago, even if the hunger persists. If anything, it’s more yawning than ever, for the self-denial and the mana you expended shifting shape and instilling <Fear>.

<WANT: 18>
MP: 2/3

You drop the gnome to the stone, and he falls to his knees, sobbing and babbling his thanks for sparing him, and saying how sorry he is for having stabbed you. You grimace at the display, and at the sensation of the dagger still stuck in your gut. You slide the knife out with a wet shlick, and fling it, clattering, to the gnome at your feet.

“Pick it up,” you command the pitiful little prick. You speak icily, but without venom. The hellfire in your heart smoulders low again, and you find yourself almost as afraid as Taito to awaken it again.

Turning to face the orcs, you see every eye is a wary one—albeit some more so than others. Dura looks at you with shock and confusion, but you sense little fear from her. Well… Good! You DID just save her life, after all! But the others… Oodagh is plainly terrified, taking a step back from you and brandishing a spear. As for the siblings, neither of them is exactly horrified by what they’ve beheld, but you sense questions unasked, and no small trepidation. Perhaps they lack the words, or maybe they already think they know the answers.

Most surprising of all, though, is the sense of RESPECT>

“Should kill,” Murbal spits, not at YOU, but at Taito. “ Sma dyr ku ij fraukanak agh ar naog pros ve naj-ri.”

Dura nods slightly as if in agreement with… Whatever that is. You look to Xoldur for translation, but instead get him own, measured opinion as he snatches Oodagh’s spear from his hand and pushes it into the other orc-boy’s face length-wise, shoving him back and snapping him out of his frightened state with the rough, orcy discipline.

“You have bad curse,” he diagnoses you. “Danger.”

You open your mouth to argue, but then close it, brows knitting as you remember how it had felt this time, the frenzy. It was different… Almost like being detached from yourself. Or perhaps like FINDING yourself, after being lost for a long time. That you aren’t certain which it was only makes it worse.

(Maybe you ARE cursed?)
>>
Rolled 95, 60 = 155 (2d100)

>>6195292
“More dangerous ta the Ettercap,” you say, to put on a brave face.

Murbal barks in laughter that says she both understands your words to some extent, and agrees with them. Xoldur, too, offers a curt nod and gestures for you to continue. You note, however, that the chieftain’s son is no longer willing to turn his back to you, nor Oodagh, nor even Murbal.

“You scared a’ me, too?” you ask Dura, once your skittering new, half-shattered pet nerd has scuttled off after them.

Dura doesn’t nod or shake her head, mostly likely because you may as well be talking Easterling for all it matters to the hedge-witch, but instead tried to sound out the word:

Eerey-Nai-Ull??”

You aren’t sure how to answer her, and so you say nothing. Sensing your trouble, nermal croaks and nudges you, his tendril-like whisekrs tickling your calf. You shake him off with a snort, and shake your head.

“No time fer angst OR mysterious shit,” you say. “Come on, let’s get goin’.”

>>
>>6195293
The stairs take you deeper still, though they are more spacious and less claustrophic now, even as they spiral down into areas of the Earth unplumbed for aeons by mere mortals, and even knowing the ones doing the plumbing are decidedly-deadly, dark-minded fairy-folk. Eager to avoid further fatalities along the way—even Taito’s own, since you went to the hassle of not killing him—you shroud and dim your torch once more. Oodagh takes the lead now, fearful of you but seemingly too stupid to perceive the same risk that Xoldur does. Taito, close behind him despite his inferior night-sight, seems eager to make the case for your continued mercy, as if worried you’ll change your mind and eat him after all.

“L-look!” he whisper-shouts. “Look here, bring the torch! It’s… I found something!”

95 for treasure roll. 60 for encounter roll.
You find something… And it’s not yet awake.


Indeed the Delver HAS found ‘something’, but ‘something’ is all you can ay for sure. At a glance, it resembles a great egg, or perhaps a smoothly-polished gem the size of a grown man—and not a goblin-guy or a gnome or nothing, either, but a humie or even an orc! The strange, yolk-golden gem-egg isn’t alone, either. The strange ovoid and its queer fellows are each set into sockets upon the wall, ringed in studded , glyph-printed metal frames. You and the others approach curiously, where Oodagh is crouched and stabbing his spear in mock-charges at the gnome’s unusual discovery.

“What, yer scared a’ treasure now?” you snort. “That’s a new one. Fuck, stones this big gotta’ be worth a fortune… if only you could haul ‘em out, huh? As shit is, though…”

Only when you draw near enough to peer past their clouded surface do you see why Taito was so excited, or Oodagh so overcautious. Well, maybe not OVERcautious, actually, as it turns out… For trapped, like bugs in so much amber, are silhouetted shapes. Within the man-sized eggs are gob-sized silhouettes, features blurred and shadowed by the half-opaque nature of their casings, and the faint light shining from behind them.

“The fuck?!” you mutter, staggering back from the egg-gem you’d been fogging up with your breath. “More’ve those weird gob—THINGS , from back up there?”

“Or dwarves,” Taito suggests softly. “Suspended here.”

“What, like a big fancy sarcophagus or somethin’?” you ask. “Why’re you whisperin’, then? ‘Fraid you’ll wake the dead?”
>>
>>6195311
You were only half-joking, but Taito’s answer erases the humour entirely:

“I remember, when we started planning this expedition… Iorund said that in ancient times, the magical technology of the dwarven empire could extend their lifespan beyond the typical two-hundred years of a modern dwarf. That it could let someone live for nearly as long as you’d like. It was just one of many legends surrounding ancient places like this, and I don’t think even HE held out much hope but…”

“Lich shit,” you hiss, as hazy memories of adventures predating the CZ/ZZ split come rushing back, fragmented but very much unpleasant even in their piecemeal state. “Fuck! Shoulda’ known. Khoblis shit always leads ta’ liches!”

(Or demogoblins…)

Still, you can’t help yourself: you step closer again and tentatively, your cup your hands around your face and squint past the glow at the shape inside the nearest monument to dwarven lich-shittery. Your own witchy-tingles and barely-trained witch-eyes don’t pick up any particular aura of undeath, not as you know it… But there IS magic in there. LOTS of magic. And most especially, it coalesces around the figures within the peculiar pods. It’s not from within the figures themselves, either, or their casings, but from their clothes and accoutrement.

(Holy shit… These zombie wannabes have got themselves equipped with all kinds of magic items!)

There are eight eggs, and each contains such a well-heeled dwarf—or proto-dwarf, or maybe quasi-goblin like those you fought before. Considering how your LAST scuffle went with some of those blue-green motherfuckers, you’re not exactly excited about the prospect of facing off with eight more of ‘em with proper gear and shit… But then again, you ARE at rather a disadvantage facing off against the Unseelie Fey without magic items, aren’t you?

What will you do?
>Try to smash open one of the pods, and see what happens
>Attempt to puzzle out how to unlock them with mechanism and magic
>This is too risk… Move along, and let sleeping liches (?) lie
>Write-in

Also, will you try to convince Murbal to share her potions?
>Yes [how many, and for use by whom?]
>No
>>
What’s the HP of our team again ? I know we ourselves will probably need the heal before opening an egg
>>
>>6195342
CZ: 19/30 HP (exhausted)
Taito: 5/10 HP (exhausted)
Dura: 7/15 HP
Oodagh: 21/25 HP
Murbal: 35/35 HP
Xoldur: 35/35 HP
Nermal: 20/20 HP (very exhausted)
Aarre: -15/10 HP

Murbal has 2 potions which heal 2d6 each.
>>
>>6195313
>Attempt to puzzle out how to unlock them with mechanism and magic
If we can't figure it out, roll one away from the rest before we break it
Also if they really are liches we might be fucked, but Taito said lifespan, and liches are undead.

>No
>>
>>6195313
>Attempt to puzzle out how to unlock them with mechanism and magic

>No
>>6195347
thanks
>>
>>6195313
>>Attempt to puzzle out how to unlock them with mechanism and magic
>No (not for now)
>>
>>6195313
>This is too risk… Move along, and let sleeping liches (?) lie
>No
>>
>>6195569
>>6195517
>>6195400
>>6195349
[Locked and writing!]
>>
>>6195900
Though you’re no ziran nor khoblis—that is to say, the rather rude goblin word for a wizard-type—you ARE a sort of amateur occultist by now, and you’re PRETTY damn sure you could detect a lich, at least a proper one. That means that if these pod-people ARE liches, they’re real half-assed ones, exceptional equipment aside.

(Plus, didn’t Taito say these dwarfy doofuses were doing something to extend their LIFEspan? Well, liches aint’t alive! Bingo bongo, this guys ain’t liches!)

Confident in your logic, and suddenly feeling QUITE wise for having spared your resident machinist, you beckon he and Dura over. Unencumbered by your sadly long-lost chimera, the orc witch si free to help you with the mystical end of things, while Taito does machines.

“We’ll start with one egg” you announce, “an’ if we can’t get it open the fancy way, we’ll just pry it out an’ crack it open!”

You mime your intentions so that Dura an follow along. She looks rather more confident than Taito, who suddenly looks like he wishes he could rescind his discovery.

(Well, too bad, so sad! Ungrateful little shit…)

At least the gnome doesn’t object, upon seeing your sneer, but rather sets to work like a good little artificer. You and Dura set to work as well, they as before, the Fey nature of the magic at play and the unfamiliar character of the ancient dwarf alphabet makes it more GUESSwork than anything else…

Rolling 2d20 for Machinery, DC 17 for the difficulty of the check and Taito’s exhaustion, +2d20 for the aid of the others at a similar DC due to unfamiliarity and Cara-ZI’s own exhaustion penalties…
>>
>>6195913
There’s something to be said for the virtue of persistence, as it turns out, and for the benefit of experience. While no member of your trio has ever encountered the curious archaic characters before, each of you has at least some experience with SOME squat-scribbles; if none of you is a practitioner of Feycraft, well, Taito knows a bit about elf-shit by way of being pretty much a pint-sized elf himself, and you and Dura can fill in the gaps in general magical aptitude well enough. Best of all, of course, you’ve all been toiling in this dungeon and examining halls and walls of the geometric screed of these ancients for what feels like (may actually BE, in fact) hours now, and Taito has even done similar work not so long ago.

“I’m confident that this rune means ‘open’,” he says, pointing at one with his finger not QUITE touching.

“Then why aincha’ pressin’ it?”

Taito stares at the rune and pulls his finger back a little.

“I’m FAIRLY confident,” he corrects himself. “But it COULD also mean ‘activate’, and as to WHAT it activates…”

You groan, and grab his wrist firmly. He squawks in alarm and tries to pull away, but a hard look from you sets him straight.

“Dura, be a doll ‘n…?”

You don’t’ bother finishing the thought, both because you’d need to have Xoldur translate it and because, to your pleasure, Dura has gotten quite good at reading your mood and deducing your directions. While Taito was tinkering, the two of you had set about intuiting and interfering with each of the magical ‘mechanisms’ at play, disabling or suppressing those which seemed most potentially-volatile or merely mysterious. The last thing you wanted was an unexpected surprise when this egg opened up…

(Well, the second to last. Being unsurprised by a doom from distant aeons would be pretty shitty, too, even if you half-expect as much.)

Some spirit of fortune must be smiling upon you all, though—or more likely, your studies and strong hand have paid off to make the most of a bad situation and a poorly-split party. Not only does the gem-egg open…

20: CRITICAL SUCCESS!

You can tell in an instant that you’ve done as you hoped, and disabled those enchantments meant to rapidly rouse and invigorate the egg’s inhabitant! The metal ring rotates and flexes ever-so-slightly with a hiss of heat and a small spray of vapor. Taito leaps back, and the other Steelwood orcs take up weapons in readiness, but you and Dura merely exchange a smile, because you both sense your success as the gemlike exterior begins to lift away, splitting the capsule in twain.
>>
Rolled 17, 6, 7, 14 = 44 (4d20)

>>6195933
True to appearances, the opening egg gushes forth with a thin, golden yolk. Dura, thinking fast, scrambles through your satchel and removes the cookware, to gather up some of the faintly-luminescent fluid. You, meanwhile, hurry forward, shoving Taito back as you lurch to catch the falling form which the egg now ejects. The slumbering shape’s dead-weight drop, made more impactful by its odd armour ,weigh you down heavily; you’re nearly crushed in spite of the wearer’s small size! Grunting and groaning, huffing and puffing against your sore and training muscles, you’re able to lower the occupant down to the smooth stone floor of the chamber with gentle care. Only then, when the runny remnant of the capsule’s interior is washed away and you have all gathered around, can you truly start to analyze your find.

“Well,” you pronounce unnecessarily, “he ain’t a dwarf.”

“No,” Xoldur agrees.

Samund dyr” Murbal adds with distaste, “like others.”

Indeed, the sleeping (?) knight of this strange ruin is no dwarf or other demihuman—not a gnome or halfling either, despite Martyn Meadowgrass’ speculation that this ruin could predate the splintering of those three races. There’s nothing else he COULD be but a goblin, or at least a goblinOID. Like those brainless, bitey bastards you’d nearly torn you and Dura to shreds a short while ago, his face is bluish-green rather than the limey or froggy shades with which you’re familiar from your stints in New Goblintown or the Wastes. Even asleep, though, his calm expression doesn’t exactly scream ‘mindless monster’, nor does his meticulously-groomed (if currently somewhat mucky) chinstrap beard. His head is shaved, and his smooth flattish face is symmetrical and smooth—better than you can say for your own, when you’re not shifted, but ALSO more than you can say for any gob you ever grew up with or encountered since.

“Ain’t ever seen a gob like him…”

“Could he be a hobgoblin?” asks Taito.

You laugh aloud at his ignorance. “Hobbos are tall, and a bit more humany… And orange.”

He’s short, like you’re short to like Taito’s short, but broad and well-built insofar as you can tell under his limber-looking silver-blue armour. Upon his head he wears a decorative-looking helm; you knock upon it on impulse, to a sharp intake of breath from the others, and find he sleeps deeply, and that the helm feels sturdier than it looks, as does the close-fit sheath of metal around the rest of him.

“Belt,” Murbal mutters, and waves her hand at it, still refusing to draw closer or to touch the goblin-looking thing.

You follow her gaze and see, indeed, that there are several objects n his built. With a true goblin’s gift for looting the fallen, you swiftly snatch up each in turn, turning them over in your hands before handing them off to Dura. You and she share another look, your smiles spreading.
>>
>>6195934
Jigi!

“Fuckin’ RIGHT it’s jiggy!” you say, for the this is the orcish word for magic, and this is some GOOD fucking magic!

The most interesting objects you discover, armour and wearer aside, are three: a small cube, a cylinder, and an oval. You and your fellow archaeologists—which you decide you are—fiddle with the runes on each…

17: Another success!

…and quickly deduce what each is capable of. Upon pressing and holding a familiar rune upon its surface until it glows, the cube opens and expands into a sort of chest, unfolding to many times its original size and revealing enough space to store all your cookware and other sundry stuff. On a hunch, you snatch the little figure which Oodagh has been sculpting as he watches, and (much to his vocal dismay) you stuff it inside. Then, you press and hold the same rune which opened it up, and it glows again and folds back in on itself. The others laugh or roll tehri eyes at Oodagh’s outraged hooting and hollering, but when you press the button again, you produce the half-formed wooden figurine unharmed, and hold it up.

“Bag a’ hoding!” you identify it. “But way fuckin’ tinier when folded in on itself!”

This is all well and good, but it’s the OTHER items which prove the most intriguing: the ovoid lozenge of metal, when activated by similar processes to the cube, produces a peculiar field which causes the holder to levitate in place, and—with a bit of practice—to even float this way or that by gesturing with the hand holding it. AN the cyinder.

“Unholy fuckin’ SHIT!!”

When you activate THAT son-of-a-bitch, you nearly take your face off with the sudden lance of luminous force which blasts forth, scorching the sunburst pattern upon the ceiling before it settles down, with a dull-but-persistent thrumming sound into a golden, glowing rod. You give it an ill-advised lick before pulling away at a sudden sensation of burning that mere fire could never elicit—at least, not in something Infernal as you are—and you nearly drop it.

“That’s… That’s radiant energy,” you realize. “Holy magic. Like… Like a Paladin or some shit…”

All of you stare at the motionless repose of the blue-green goblin in his shining armour.

Who IS this asshole??

What will you do?
>Take the loot, stuff the sucker back in his pod, and skedaddle—you have people to save, magic items to do it with, and no more time to waste
[Specify how you distribute it; if you keep it all, expect issues in the future]
>Open up some more eggs, and collect some more magic shit!
[Incurs a delay]
>Wake the sleeping ‘goblin knight’, and figure out what the hell is going on in this place
[???]
>Write-in
[There is at least one other option I haven’t listed, which springs to mind…]
>>
>>6195942
>Take the loot, stuff the sucker back in his pod, and skedaddle—you have people to save, magic items to do it with, and no more time to waste
Give the holysaber to whoever has the best sword skill here, since we can't use it anyway. Give the ovoid to Taito and keep the bag.
>>
>>6195942
>Take the loot, stuff the sucker back in his pod, and skedaddle—you have people to save, magic items to do it with, and no more time to waste
We can open the rest on the way back - rescue ZZ first.
Cylinder to an orc since we promised them a weapon, backing >>6195977 for the others

....Before we leave, stuff the goblin knight in the bag of holding...
>>
>>6195942
>>Open up some more eggs, and collect some more magic shit!
Adventurer rule number one : steal everything that's not nailed down.
Adventurer rule number two : a crowbar enhance the range of rule 1
>>
>>6195977
>>6195989
>>6196162
“No time to waste, and you all know the adventurers’ motto, doncha’?”

In response to the sea of blank, most-often grey-and-tusky faces, you clarify: “ ‘Loot what’s not alive, pry open anything that’s not well-locked, and collect every coin you can carry!’ ”

You look towards the other pods and add with a tut: “And they ain’t dead, not exac’ly, an’ they’re pretty well-locked.”

It’s true: opening up the single gem-egg-pod took what might well have been a half-hour. It was WORTH it, don’t get you wrong, and time well-invested. Without these magic items, you might not be able to DO anything about the Ettercap when you reached it. But even so, you wanted to reach that Ettercap while everyone was still alive and un-freakified by the dread fairy’s malevolent magic.

Speaking of those items, though, you distribute them quickly among your party. You’re only too happy to par with the radiant saber—or ‘rad-saber’ as you took to calling it. Sure, as long as you don’t touch the blade or get it turned back upon you, it’s technically SAFE for you to wield, but… Well, you didn’t feel COMFY around it, okay? It gives you a queasy, dick-climb-back-up-inside you feeling when you light it up and extend its glimmering positive-energy blade. You offer it to whoever can wield it best, and while Oodagh makes a missed swipe at it, the chieftain’s kids play an Orcwilds gambling-game with their fingers for who will ACTUALLY get to the magnificent magic weapon that their chieftain was promised. Murbal groans and throws up her arms in defeat as cleverer Xuldor accepts the cylinder thanklessly.

Xoldur gains: Radiant Saber (2d3+1 radiant damage)
Xoldur’s Morale: High


(Hmph…)

Taito is seemingly shocked when you offer him the ovoid, which he quickly dubs ‘the floatation spheroid of artifice and magic, or Float-SAM’.

“But why?” he asks, dumfounded. “I thought… After what happened…”

He clams up quick, eyes bulging a little as he realize that he’s reminding you of why you might give him nothing—take away even his life, n fact, and with full justification. You frown a little at the reminder of the gut-wound he inflicted on you, which while your generated the organs within and stopped yourself from bleeding out, DOES still hurt like a bitch. But in the end, you give him the device anyway, saying:

>“We’re good. Shit happens in a dungeon.” [+Good inclination]
>“You’re giving that back when you’re done. You get fuck all except your life.” [+Lawful Evil Inclination]
>“I still might kill you, you know. Don’t push it because you made yourself BARELY useful, you little shit.” [+Chaotic Evil Inclination]
>Write-in
>>
>>6196607
As for the rest, you have timid Taito carry the ‘cube of holding’ for you like it’s your purse and he’s your beau—or, more accurately, your servant-boy. It’s kind of nice, actually, though you’re not about to tell Taito that. After all:

>You’re more interested in Dura right now…
>You’re still pining after Martyn Meadowgrass…
>There’s someone else you’re interested in… [who?]
>You’re embarrassed by how much you actually DO kind of like having Taito at your beck and call…

And as for the knight-in-shining-armour, well, YOU’RE taking the armour, obviously. After all, it’s FITTED armour, and YOU’RE the only one who can fit yourself to it with the ability to shift shape. Though that leaves you with two questions…

Wear the armour now?
>Yes [-1 MP to shift shape, +1 AC, -2 to all damage taken, and gain additional spell-resistance]
>No [Keep 2/3 MP, allowing a second spell or an upcast in the battle(s) ahead]

And what will you do with the man who was in that shiny old tin can? You don’t have time to wake and interrogate him now, but what is to be done with the ‘goblin knight’?
>Stuff him in the cube
>Leave him here in the empty gem-egg, and maybe come back for him later
>Tie him up and take him prisoner
>Kill him

[Was going to leave it open, for a bit longer, but I decided a small update with a series of clarification votes would do, if that's fine with you anons? I'm a little pooped.]
>>
>>6196607
>“We’re good. Shit happens in a dungeon.” [+Good inclination]
>>6196608
>You’re more interested in Dura right now…

>Yes [-1 MP to shift shape, +1 AC, -2 to all damage taken, and gain additional spell-resistance]
The only problem would be it slowing us down, but that doesn't seem to be the case

>Stuff him in the cube
Surprise item
>>
>>6196607
>Write-in
>"You get ONE chance at redemption, don't blow it." Neutral inclination?

>You’re still pining after Martyn Meadowgrass…
+
>You’re embarrassed by how much you actually DO kind of like having Taito at your beck and call…

>Yes

>Stuff him in the cube
lmao get cubed nerd
It's cube time for you
>>
>>6196607
>>Write-in
>>"You get ONE chance at redemption, don't blow it." Neutral inclination?
>>6196608
>You’re still pining after Martyn Meadowgrass…
>Yes [-1 MP to shift shape, +1 AC, -2 to all damage taken, and gain additional spell-resistance]
>Stuff him in the cube
Of course, we need to regularly open the cube to give him some fresh her, totally not metagaming the usual "one hour of breath time in a bag of holding"
>>
>>6196690
Do we? I thought he was still in some kind of magic suspended animation
>>
>>6196607
>“You’re giving that back when you’re done. You get fuck all except your life.” [+Lawful Evil Inclination]

>>6196608
>You’re more interested in Dura right now…
+
>You’re embarrassed by how much you actually DO kind of like having Taito at your beck and call…
Dominant leadership- just like her Ma (and sis). More interested in the feelings of power and the power dynamics ngl.

>Yes [-1 MP to shift shape, +1 AC, -2 to all damage taken, and gain additional spell-resistance]
>Stuff him in the cube
>>
File: locked sort of.png (3 KB, 398x142)
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3 KB PNG
>>6196611
>>6196622
>>6196690
>>6197056
[Hmm... Alright, writing!]
>>
>>6197134
“It’s fine,” you conclude.

Taito starts to breathe a sigh of relief, only to stop when he sees your finger in his face. The curly-stached gnome practically pisses himself, as his eyes cross comically o focus on the thin tip of your once-more fine finger.

“But yer on THIN fuckin’ ice,” you remind him. “You pull a stunt like that again…”

“I-I won’t! I s-swear!”

“Good,” you say smugly, withdrawing your finger from his much-less-relaxed face. “Last chance, Taito. Don’t fuck it up.”

As you withdraw to an adjoining room to chance into your brand-new battle-suit, you reflect on Taito’s reaction. That thrill of fear, that sensation of domination… it’s honestly a little embarrassing how much it gets you going. You aren’t about to tell TAITO that, since it would spoil the whole thing, but he’s a pretty fun chew-toy. But is he ‘fun’ fun, the way Martyn Meadowgrass is? Or even Dura? You’ve had no time to sort out your feelings for them—or even to decide how deep they go, and what sot of feelings they are. They’re all pretty fuckable to be honest… But you don’t know if Martyn’s even interested anymore, now that he knows you’re green underneath it all, and fi THAT isn’t a mod-killer with Dura, the cucumber you’re smuggling might be.

(Gah! There’s no time for this!)

You stop tugging out your hair and finish pulling on your armour. You have to adjust your remaining feminine proportions to fit, broadening your shoulders and shrinking in your hips, and pretty much ditching the tits altogether. Between this and the bossy sort of bent you’ve had to take to wrangle the orcs and such, you’re feeling a little mannish, honestly… And THAT’s a whole other complicated matter that you are NOT going to start contemplating right now.

(Though you’ll freely admit that it’s a bit of a boost feeling both Taito’s dreadful reverence and Dura’s curious appreciation washing over you when you return, all shiny and chrome.)

“Well?” you demand, delighting as Taito jumps in startlement. “Why ain’t that goblin cubed yet?!”

“R-right, it’s just… Won’t he suffocate?”

(Oh, right. How much air is in a bag of holding again? An hour? A minute? Probably depends how fast you’re breathing, and how hard… Hells Below, this guy’s in some sort a’ suspended state, right? Maybe he don’t even NEED no air…)

Dura grunts and jabbers something to get your attention, waving her stick. It snaps you out of your reverie, though you can only frown apologetically as she waves and gesticulates to make a point that flies right by your. She sighs quietly when she sees you’re not getting it, and gestures to the unconscious goblinoid upon the ground, and then to the cube which Taito is holding in his hands.

“You heard the girl, open it up!”
>>
>>6197154
Taito obeys you promptly, unlocking the cube and allowing it to unfurl and unfold its collapsed dimensions into something that you can just about stuff the stripped down (and surprisingly ripped) ancient knight into. At your urging—and with Xoldur’s nod of approval backing you up—Oodagh does so, warily lifting the little man and plopping him into the portal at the entrance. He disappears inside, and a moment later Dura drops her sacred staff with a rattle, hurrying over to where she set down the coking-bowl which he had used to collect some of the spilled ‘yolk’ of the gem-egg which had once housed your newly-cubed prisoner. Your eyebrows arch as she carries it over and, after a moment’s hesitation, pours the mysterious, thick amber-like liquid in after him.

“But why… Oh! Oooooh!” You grin, and Dura grins back, still pouring. “I get it! So he can breathe. If it was good enough to keep him stable in that chamber for who-the-fuck-knows how long…”

Dura can’t finish the sentence, not in Common, but she nods eagerly.

(Clever girl!)

You seal the cube back up again once she’s done, and spare the other gem-eggs and their shadowy occupants one last look. Weirdo gobbos in an ancient dwarf ruin, some of them seemingly brainless and wandering around like constructs, while others are kept in some sort of stasis, strapped with ancient artefacts… You wish you knew what any of it meant, or had time to puzzle it all out, but you simply don’t.

Alright, one more time!

Since your torchlight hasn’t given you away yet, you decide to stick with your s-far so-good strategy: you dim the light and proceed slowly. If the rocs won’t be vanguard anymore, well, at least Nermal is by your side, and the rest of the party is pretty close behind. AND you’re armoured-up!

Still, you have to admit to a bit of anxiety when you again approach the by-now familiar sight of a locked doorway.

This one isn’t quite like the others, in ways both promising and worrisome. It’s built similarly in the sense of being smooth and seamless, resembling nothing more than a big dead end at first. Only the strange shape of the room, lack of anything else of note to explain the room’s purpose, and an observation made by OODAGH of all people tips you off to its nature.
>>
>>6197157
“Why’s the re—why’s Oodagh doin’ that?” you’d asked, when you say him following the wall, forehead furrowed and the butt of his spear pushing along he floor.

Murbal had picked up on your question, or wanted t know as well for her own sake possibly; either way, she shouted at the orcish teenager. He’d gestured at the design here, a collection of jagged triangles and round arches, and howled something back as he thumped his spear a couple more times.

“Oodagh say, is half a sun, but line go in wall. Not stop at wall—go IN. He say, look like go under. That mean—”

“That mean the pattern stretches further that-a-way, past th' wall.” You rubbed your chin, flinching away in surprise at the cold and metallic feel before you remember your fancy new gauntlets. “Okay, but what’s on the other side?”

Xoldur grunted wordlessly when you asked that, a groan of quiet dread.

You don’t need to be a Mentalist or orc-interpreter to understand the reason: both previous doors were far smaller and simpler than this, and trapped against unauthorized entry. From the way the stairs had been shifting towards more gradual ramps, and the rooms had gone from expansive and equipment-filled to smaller and more secure leading up to this chamber, a pro dungeon-crawler of your (admittedly amnesiac) experience could infer you’re approaching what might be a ‘treasure-vault’ or ‘boss-chamber’ of some sort; these are highly-technical, industry-specific terms for the place where ancient evils or squatting monsters often hole up with all their valuables.

It's also, naturally, where the traps tend to be deadliest, and where ambushes are most often laid.

What will you do?
>Search for a way to get the door open—pressure panels, runes, wall-buttons, SOMETHING—and set Taito to figuring it out like the others
[Fastest, but high probability of traps/ambush]
>Backtrack and try to find another way… The Ettercap’s foundlings MUST have a way around all these hazards, after all!
[Incurs a delay; reduced risk]
>Write-in
>>
>>6197159
>Search for a way to get the door open—pressure panels, runes, wall-buttons, SOMETHING—and set Taito to figuring it out like the others
If the door wasn't so big it could be confused for a wall I'd suggest trying to force it
>>
So we found a shortcut that would else took us one delay to circumvent?
>Write in
>Actually load up in magical gear before forcing the door
>Ask Taito to investigate the door (without touching anything) while we empty other vaults after like the second or third one
Better get a delay in loot and be more prepared for what's in there than a delay in walking around.
>>
>>6197159
>Search for a way to get the door open—pressure panels, runes, wall-buttons, SOMETHING—and set Taito to figuring it out like the others
>[Fastest, but high probability of traps/ambush]
>>
>>6197253
>>6197346
>>6197357
[Locked and writing!]
>>
Rolled 5, 19, 5, 18 = 47 (4d20)

>>6197912
If the door wasn’t so big as to be mistaken for a wall, you might have had the orcs force it—or shit, demogobbed out and ripped it open yourself! As it is, though, even all of you working together probably couldn’t pry it apart. Such is the precision of the ancient artisans who crafted this dungeon that you can’t even find a seam in the stone to delineate a starting point! So, well…

“Remember, Taito: don’t fuck it up.”

Taito gulps. The look on his face and the tang of his terror is something sumptuous, something you’ll savour if… Well, if these all goes wrong. Something to remember him by, maybe. You THINK you should probably feel worse about sending the gnome to his possible death, maybe. Tips would. ZZ even might, maybe. The original Zith-Zi wouldn’t, that’s for fucking sure—you remember being her enough to know how she responded to a knife in the back, or in the stomach for that matter.

And Cara “CZ” Zi? Well, you have your own priorities which take precedence over the safety of even and admittedly-cute mook like Taito. No more delays. No more distractions. Not for treasure, not for Taito. You and Dura had already done all you can, checking for magical traps and deactivating or disabling many lines of power as you could find… Or, well, most of them. Some seemed, by sensation and intuition, like they might just be necessary to activate the opening of the door—and hopefully ONLY that mechanism—and had thus been left intact.


You pull the others back, back around the corner and half-way up the stairwell, just in case. You peer around the corner, watching the gnome work.

Rolling 2d20 for Taito (DC 16), +2d20 (DC 17) for your CZ's and Dura’s contributions.
>>
>>6197927
You and Dura had, in your endeavours, found a sort of hidden panel in the wall—a slab of stone indistinguishable form the others, right at hand-height for a member of the pint-sized races. You’d disabled the magic which had fused it into the surrounding stone. Then, with daggers and a small array of complex doohickeys which Taito has been toting around, you’d pried it open to reveal a series of strange, tubular conduits of arcane energy. It is there that the Delver now labours, working to cut off some conduits before activating others, in hopes of opening the path to save your sister, your pet, your would-be-lover, and all the others.

Sweat drips off of Taito’s forehead. You can practically hear the echo of the sound which ended Aarre’s life echoing around in that big ol’ gnomey dome of his, and you genuinely try not to revel in it TOO too much. After all, you DO want him to succeed. If he doesn’t… Well, you’re stuck at a dead end, or at least you’ll be forced to double back, assuming you aren’t exploded or set upon by evil fairy-foundlings.

“C’mon,” you murmur through gritted teeth, “c’moooon!”

19 & 18: success!

kchhh-KK!

You here is a faint hiss and a click which makes you and Taito both jump a little. No clarion call of chthonic klaxon follows, though. No explosion of compressed air, nor anything louder. There is just the eerily-quiet sound of impossibly-smooth stonework sliding against the subtle grooves of the sunburst-adorned floor, the once-imperceptible space at the centre of the wall opens up.

“Yes!”

You whoop for joy and rush forwards, the Steelwood Orcs hot on your heels. Only when you perceive the distortion of your own pink colour to a foundling purple do you stumble to a stop.

The gap grows, and so too does the Uncanny Unseelie light’s expansive glow. It sprays across your faces and floods the chamber, during grey-white stone to a bruised blue-black, while the sunburst pattern shimmers in technicolour tango beneath the fairy-light. Like the valley surrounding the dungeon above, this place has been touched by the Ettercap’s own, perhaps equally-ancient magicks.

Yep, you’ve found the boss-chamber, alright.

You all take up your weapons in response, ready for anything. However, no ambush awaits—no horde of freaky foundlings come hurtling towards you. Instead, you find strange hanging garden of unearthly delights: an underground grove, seemingly sustained by the reflected and magically-refracted light of the sunburst star-pattern on the floor. Vines creep up the walls, thickening here and there in the expansive chamber to thick, trunk-like stalks. More of the heart-like fruits hang here, some shriveled as if old and rotted on the vine, while others are juicy, plump, and pumping.
>>
>>6197949
You all advance cautiously. The hunter-killer eyes of the orcs dart this way and that: predators aware that they, too, could easily become prey. As a goblin—even a cambion demogoblin—you need no reminder of THAT terrible truth. Taito hews close to you, the coercive influence you’ve exerted over him now a comfortable cloak compared to this dark-light domain and its unseen inhabitants.

Among the Unseelie overgrowth, there is more machinery, as well—constructs of the ancient races of little-folk who made this place, before the Ettercap found it and made it a private garden. There are crystalline lamps, powered by reactivated runes and warped to cast more of the unwholesome glow which illuminates you all in inverse. At the centre of the chamber, raised above the rest of the floor, is a strange sort of dais with a pulsing, purple gem-egg, surrounded by flat, stone surfaces with shining black sheets of glass, and speckled with grid-aligned runic symbols beyond your illiterate understanding.

(Where are the Unseelie, though? Not that you’re upset by their absence, mind. For that matter, where are your missing companions from Red Team?)

A hand grabs your shoulder, and you whirl around, leveling the prongs of your fishing-spear in fright. Xoldur doesn’t exactly look apologetic, but he does hold up a hand in a gesture of peace, and then closed his hand into a fist, before raising one finger. You blink in confusion, and he nods his head upward. You follow the gesture, and the finger, and see…

“Oh.”

Hanging from the ceiling like so many massive grapes are more gem-eggs. They hang not from vines, but from strange, geometrically-aligned cables set into the ceiling, seemingly on some sort of track. Each is the same putrid purple as the one down below, each is aglow… And each contains a small, humanoid shape.

You squint your eyes, focusing on that feeling that ahs ever tied you to your other half—to the Zith-ZI still calling herself such, though she be pretty and pink and free of your own curses and misfortunes… And you feel her, up there, inside one of those gemstone grape-eggs.

“Oh SHIT!”

You and Green team have, seemingly, found your missing companions. The question, of course, is what to do about it.

>Break open the eggs! Quickly! Get ‘em out of there!
>Try to activate the old machinery, to figure out what exactly it’s for, and how to save them?
>Seize the initiative, and set an ambush yourself; the Ettercap will return, or one of her foundlings, and then you can force them to free your friends…
>Write-in
>>
>>6197950
>Try to activate the old machinery, to figure out what exactly it’s for, and how to save them?
Damn, the Ettercap didn't just set up shop here, she integrated
>>
>>6197950
>Try to activate the old machinery, to figure out what exactly it’s for, and how to save them?
>>
>>6197950
>Try to activate the old machinery, to figure out what exactly it’s for, and how to save them?
Can we get some bonus from already figuring out the other eggs?
>>
Rolled 6, 10, 9, 18 = 43 (4d20)

>>6197966
>>6198079
>>6198257
It seems obvious that the first thing you need to do is to figure out the mechanisms behind the mysterious machinery. You figure it shouldn’t be too hard, either—after all, you already cracked open a few of these weird crystal eggs, right

“Those were on the ground,” Taito annoyingly pints out. “I was—I m-mean, WE were able to open them by manually disabling the safety catches and binding enchantments. If we want to do the same thing here…”

You both look upwards, and cringe. It’s all too easy to imagine those eggs opening up to dump your friends and associates a good thirty feet. A healing potion can patch up a bad landing or two, but there are five of them up there… And if they land badly, on head or neck, then you’ll be WISHING you had a lich handy to cast <Animate Dead> or the like.

“There’s something different about these pods, too.” Taito watches the gem-eggs warily, as if they might open on their own. “I think the Ettercap did something to them.”

“It’s prob’ly just this weird fairy-lighting,” you argue, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “C’mon, let’s get ‘em down."

You call Dura over to play 'lovely assistant', while the other orcs fan out and watch your backs. Together, you three set to work one more time...
>>
>>6198337
…and with pretty positive results, too! Despite Taito’s naysaying, our continual fiddling with the archaic equipment of this place prepares you well for the operation. Things are a little more ‘sophisticated’ this time than cracking open some eggs or disabling some traps and opening a door, but activation runes are activation runes; that is to say, there is a shared, underlying language and logic at play.

18: Full success!

This time, triggering the rune in question ‘activates’ the black sheets of glass, which all alight at once This briefly incites a panic, but you and Green Team tamp down upon it quite quickly, once you realize that the glowing runes appearing across those sheets are trying to communicate something in the language of the magical machines’ manufacturers. Tapping at them—which you let Tato do, since he can actually READ and all—seems to produce a messages, symbols, and eventually the sort of pictographical presentation which even you can wrap your head around.

“Wait a minute,” you whisper, eyes widening as you point at a pair of rotating, line-covered silhouettes which have appeared amidst the indecipherable-to-you text. “Izzat…?


Taito doesn’t answer, nor does he need to: his shallow breathing and the ooey-gooey oozing of dead out of his spiritual centre confirms your suspicion. The dark display depicts a duo of bipedal forms. One resembles a little person—a gnome, or dwarf, or halfling, or even a goblin—or else perhaps the child of a large race. One the other side, there is the terror-faced, mutilated and mutated shape of one of the Ettercap’s so-called ‘foundlings’.

“The Ettercap’s bin usin’ this place ta make its weird freakzoids,” you say, voicing the dreadful realization which you, Taito, and even Dura have all arrived upon. “It ain’t just livin’ here…”

“…It’s integrated itself,” Taito concludes.

Illska jigi,” Dura says, voice carrying a tremor you’ve never heard from her when discussing matters of magic. “Ij sulj illska bolvag!

“Well it ain’t a good jiggy, that’s fer damned sure,” you agree with what you think she’s saying.

“More egg!”

You all turn to see Murbal, working together with Oodagh to haul down some fruiting vines. Two more amethyst-coloured crystal eggs are revealed, further along the ceiling track. That accounts for the entirety of Red Team, now—well, except Hershy, but maybe he’s with ZZ?—which brings you relief and dread in equal parts.

“More.”

You all practically incur whiplash looking the other way, now, where with a swing of his axe, Xoldur fells a curling, fleshy stock with a spurt of blood-like sap. Another section of creeper-vine collapses down, exposing five MORE pods.

“So it ain’t jus’ Red Team down here,” you conclude.
>>
>>6198358
Turning back to the console, you and Dura help interpret the runes with your magical sense, while Taito navigates the pop-up pictures and menus accordingly, with tentative taps of his thin, trembling fingers.

“Hey, Taito, are these bars here…?”

“I think so, yes.”

There are a dozen oval shapes—one might say egg-like—upon the display, each with a bar along the bottom. Some bars are black, some brightly lit up like the runic writing and the unsettling images of transformed beings, and some are partly lit and partly blacked-out, with the light gradually overtaking the darkness. You don’t need to be properly literate to recognize the implication there: it’s a visual gauge of progress.

Based on the last screen you don’t need to guess what they’re progressing towards.

You spend a little more time assisting Taito in navigating the ancient equipment, eventually learning how to move the hanging grape-eggs along their track with a quiet hiss and hum. The one which had been sitting empty upon the dais retreats downwards to make room as you lower one by way of a mechanical arm, which lowers down from the track above to gently deposit its charge. This egg isn’t empty, but pregnant with some unknown entity—a member of you and your sister’s Monstrous Regiment, a Delver, or perhaps something else.

“Faster!”

You spare Xoldur a glance, seeing the half-orc’s expression mostly unchanged, but feeling his anxiety swell behind the faux-chiefly façade. You understand the rationale there, too: you’ve taken your sweet time figuring out the sorcerous systems here, what they’re for, and how to work them. This is the Ettercap’s cradle, though—the place where she makes her twisted little minions. She isn’t here right now, but she or one of her abominable creations could return at any time.

(Hells, they already might be here, depending what’s in the egg…)

What will you do?
>Open all the grape-coloured gem-eggs at once, releasing and awakening those within and sorting them out thereafter
>Release one of the eggs’ prisoners—the one you just lowered—and see what emerges
>You know that the magic here has been used to mutate the subjects… Before you d anything else, you should see if that can be reversed! [Incurs a delay if you fail, provokes an encounter roll for the Ettercap’s possible return]
>Write-in
>>
Alright. I can get behind either full mayhem (as we made surprisingly good time) to buy us time to loot more on the way back, or the risky one as our team is kinda in a good spot, excepted for that fodder one I forgot the name to make sure none of the important character suffer consequences.
Important character include our group AND NPC we ignored by not doing their questlines
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>>6198359
>Release one of the eggs’ prisoners—the one you just lowered—and see what emerges
Damn, we can’t see inside these ones? Go one at a time, but if the Ettercap comes back immediately release everything
>>
>>6198401
[CZ could only ever make out very vague silhouettes, and the 'glow' of magical equipment, even in the non-corrupted capsules.]
>>
>>6198359
>Release one of the eggs’ prisoners—the one you just lowered—and see what emerges
I don't wanna try a roll with encounter chance, so let's see if we can get a clue with this one
>>
>>6198384
[Should I tally this as a vote for both
>Open all the grape-coloured gem-eggs at once, releasing and awakening those within and sorting them out thereafter
and
>You know that the magic here has been used to mutate the subjects… Before you d anything else, you should see if that can be reversed! [Incurs a delay if you fail, provokes an encounter roll for the Ettercap’s possible return]
?]

[Either way, I think I'll leave this open for clarification and our last voter(s), and update tomorrow evening.]



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