File: monstrous regiment.png (11 KB, 1352x134)

11 KB PNG

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.

…

File: zithzi carazzi.png (4.86 MB, 4000x4000)

4.86 MB PNG

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.

File: zz cz lvl 4.png (285 KB, 922x911)

285 KB PNG

>>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.]

File: zithzi carazzi bw.png (14 KB, 727x639)

14 KB PNG

>>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...

File: 3237302_seath-lorkencrain(...).png (707 KB, 656x656)

707 KB PNG

>>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>”

File: mood.png (714 KB, 658x658)

714 KB PNG

>>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

File: temp temp update.png (16 KB, 1726x196)

16 KB PNG

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.

File: Spoiler Image (6 KB, 181x278)

6 KB JPG

>>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.”

File: Spoiler Image (1.03 MB, 800x800)

1.03 MB PNG

>>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 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.]