INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited December 2007
Elsewhere, Years Ago
Laycirra lifted her head and groggily wiped the sleep out of her eyes. Since leaving Ismira, she'd found sleeping was becoming harder and harder; tonight she slept well in the guest-bed of a passing house-cart, and it helped ease her homesickness. It'd been months since she'd seen another of the Kindred; halflings, to everyone else, but Kindred to one another. That idea stood out in their culture--all kindred, no matter what their thoughts, beliefs, or position--were family.
Laycirra felt guilty about accepting the stranger's hospitality, felt as if she were abusing the thought of kinship. Hadn't she turned away from her own family, her clan entirely? She wondered where they were... the caravan-city must have been nearing the Reunion by then. There was a sadness with that realization; would she ever find herself at another Reunion?
Waking up in the stranger's bed, to the familiar oak scent of a kin house-cart, Laycirra's thoughts drifted back to the Festival of Fathers Past. Laycirra was always fond of the holiday, which commemorated both fathers (in general, past and present) and Fathers (which was a loose term for those who have lead the Clan in times past). It also celebrated the warming of the air and the return of the leaves to the trees. It was always a good time.
She pulled herself out of the bed and pulled the sheets away. She pushed the bed back up and into the wall, and straightened out the tiny room. She forced the thoughts away for now. What happened during the Festival was done. She had to say her thanks and be on her way.
Christine quieted down once more, reluctant to talk about it. "I told you what I know...I was looking around in there, someone was unconscious. There was this book..." She pushes it forward slightly. "Record of the Tahir. I was taking a look at it, and next thing I know, here I am."
She nervously smiled, trying not to feel too down. "I'm sure Maestero Hielata isn't happy at all...oh, I'm going to fail for sure."
"Don't worry about it. It wasn't your fault, he can't blame you. In fact, I kind of have to thank you. Haha. Not that I wanted you to get hurt... eh, never mind. Do you want to go home, or to the performance hall...? I should escort you."
He offered her a hand to stand up along with a smile.
The legends of the lower realms are all but lost... there are few indeed who still remember.
Chapter 2 - The Voice of the Deep
Tyr could hear the voices... it was elfish, but some strange vernacular of it... guttural and sharp. It made his flesh crawl, and his free hand tightened on the hilt of his blade. He leaned his head around the corner, and in the fading torchlight lining the sewer beyond he could see four figures busying themselves about a small boat. They were throwing all manner of objects into it. All appeared to be female.
Their leader raised her head as the light from the knight's torch bled into the room. Tyr inhaled sharply as the torchlight reflected an iridescent purple in her eyes. But more disturbing was that the color of her skin seemed to reflect nothing.
Thereng'ul hrath!
Her three subordinates looked up in alarm. At the sight of the steel-clad knight, they immediately began to draw their bows.
You've run across some elveses... and if your paladin had put away his torch you mighta surprised them. Also correct me if I'm wrong on your current hp.
Grinning, Christine waved to the small group, oblivious to the fact that they were arming themselves; or at least not paying attention. Surely they were just being careful!
Traitors, anyone who knew elfin made out the word easily enough. Tyr lightly tossed the torch to Christine. As she caught it his bow was out, an arrow nocked, and Tyr's archery was proven once again to be among the best; the arrow sailed through the air and flew straight through the nearest elf's neck. The body unceremoniously fell into the water with a splash.
INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited January 2008
Laycirra pointed out the nearest of the standing elves quietly to Lidalla. She expected violence, and while she didn't know what the elves across the way were here for, blood had already been shed and she knew which side of this fight she was on. She fetches her spear back out, and prepares herself to throw into combat if need be.
If not, of course, why should she step into this blood elven blood feud?
Laycirra also delays ... Lidalla and Laycirra will take up their actions the turn after any of the non-Tyr elves make an attack.
The elves heard the word traitor pronounced with such venom, and watched as the scale-clad elf expertly felled one of their comrades. They looked uneasy and their shaken state contributed to two shots that Tyr sidestepped expertly.
Discouraged, Christine sighed and took out her mastercrafted pistol, holding Tyr's torch in the other hand. She aimed carefully as to not kill them; why did things always have to come to violence...?
Pulling the trigger with a bang, the small metal bullet pierced the elf's leather armor, leaving him with quite the nasty wound as he dropped.
INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited January 2008
Laycirra patted Lidalla and watched the wolf dart out. The halfling herself stayed back ... Lidalla could take of herself, and Laycirra didn't like the idea of closing into violence with these elves.
Lidalla carefully, but quickly, stalked the ledges of the sewer-channel-thing, and closed in on the remaining elves. She barked and growled, ready to leap onto them and end their violence.
Lidalla double-moves, to end one square right of e3
Tyr nodded confidently as he moved forward, strafing down the sewer walkway. He nocked another arrow as he moved, and let it loose at the last remaining elf warrior. It nailed her in the torso and she rocked backward into the drow cleric, who scowled and shoved the body forward back into the water. Tyr quickly prepared another arrow and sighted the drow's head. He wouldn't miss.
"Surrender and I won't kill you, traitor," was spoken in Elfin.
Christine blinked a few times at the elf's disappearance, confused, before moving to the nearest elf and attempting to stabilize him. It was only the polite thing to do, after all, even if she wasn't exactly sure how to do it.
Truth told, she probably did more harm than good...
Tyr kept an arrow at the ready, his sharp eyes darting around the tunnel. He wasn't about to let his guard down around this sort of trickery. He paced across a few wooden planks to where the traitorous elves had stood and examined their supplies while keeping a watchful eye. Easing away the top of one of the crates, he discovered a few shining objects within.
Gold, of course. And... mithral?
"Laycirra," he whispered to the halfling, "come take a look at this."
The halfling, who had been attending to her companion, scampered over to the Elf. She took notice of the crate and lifted the object out... it was a finely crafted chain shirt, its miniature links of mithral finely and meticulously woven... for a moment it distracted them both.
Meanwhile, Lidalla paced around and sniffed at the ground, whining. She didn't like the smell of this place, and the scent of the black elf was difficult to pick up. Then, her ears suddenly stood up. She smelled the air, let out a low growl and backed away a few steps.
The one Christina attended to looked up at her with eyes of malice, glazed over with the pain of his wounds. He opened his mouth as if to curse her with his last words, but pased as soon as he heard what the wolf had already detected...
A grinding of metal upon stone sounded from the murky depths of the sewers beyond... followed by an unearthly roar that no natural creature could hope to make... and the abominable, tentacled monster that lumbered toward them through the muck was unnatural indeed.
you've found a mithral shirt, 200 gold pieces... and an otyugh.
The Otyugh is 60 feet away. We'll use the same initiative order as last time, Otyugh goes last.
No map yet, but the Otyugh is approaching from the right of the map. There's plenty of sewer/tunnel behind you (to the left of the map) but it's still a bit dark to see where it goes.
Christine stared as the beast lumbered towards them, her attention wavering from the elf she was attempting to help. She shuddered, focusing again and giving patching him up another shot, but to no avail. "Tyr? Maybe if we get moving, it won't follow us?"
She bit her lip for a moment, thinking, before continuing. Chances are, Tyr would be reluctant to help at best and hostile at worst, so..."Laycirra, could you help me with this guy here? He's too heavy..."
Tyr groaned. Things always went from bad to worse. He kept his bow at the ready and inwardly groaned as Christine tried to patch up the traitor. He had chosen his lot in life; it was wrong and Tyr as Cam Ithel's representative had the ability and imperative to punish him.
He didn't say anything, though; internal philosophizing over morals could get you killed, and his keen eyes could see that whatever the beast was, it wasn't here to offer its services as a guide.
"Don't attack it unless it's obviously hostile. A beast is a beast and they act out of fear and instinct. Keep your guard up."
He of course didn't need to tell his companions, he knew they were competent and conscientious, but it felt necessary to voice these things out loud; it helped keep everyone on the same page.
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INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited January 2008
Laycirra cautiously backed away from the beast, and whistled for Lidalla. She didn't seem concerned with the downed elf.
"That thing is not born of Odam," she muttered. If it were, she'd recognize it.
The companions braced themselves as the gibbering beast charged through the canal, fetid water churning and splashing all about in its wake. But it stopped short of them at the corpses of two of the elves. With a horrid churning of air that could only have been it's phlegmatic breathing, the monster seemed to sniff the dead elves as putrid saliva began to drip from between its teeth.
A deep gurgling came from somewhere within it's amorphous bulk... it was hungry.
Sighing, Christine fumbled through her pockets with one hand to find a small, thin rod; she poked the elf with it to close up his wounds, eyeing the creature carefully.
I could've sworn I've read about this before...
It looked similar to the drawings of the Yarua in one of her textbooks...or was that the Erua? Christine was never the best student regarding beasts...
Either way, it'd probably be best to stay quiet and out of the way; maybe it'd go away?
The lumbering beast picked up the two dead elves in its horrible tentacles, and the companions looked on in horror as in lowered one into its gaping maw, tearing it in half and chewing on it... the sound of snapping bones and cartilage echoed through the sewer.
Gasping, Christine averted her eyes, hastily trying to drag the elf along with her towards the exit before it finished its meal. Stupid heavy elves...
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INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited January 2008
Laycirra watches the big horrible lumbering beast eat the elves. She cautiously steps over the elf's body while Christine tries in vain to lift it, and then slips by Christine proper, as well. She whistles for Lidalla to follow, and breaks into a jog, putting space between the monster and herself.
The otherworldly beast lumbered toward Christine while chewing the other two corpses... it smelled more blood. To her horror, the beast moved in her direction, stopping just short of her. It wrapped another tentacle around the wounded elf. The sounds of snapping bone echoed in the tunnel as it pulled the meal toward its jagged maw.
Otyugh moves three west, nom nom
Christine and Tyr are now within range of its tentacles
Christine stared in shock at the monstrosity, fumbling through her things for a pistol. Tyr would inevitably chastise her later for her rashness, but she couldn't just leave that elf to become a meal!...and besides, it was too late to run away anyway.
That seemed to happen a lot with them, she pondered.
Closing her eyes, Christine mumbled a quick prayer to Rokin before squeezing the trigger.
Tyr watched Christine wrestle with the Otyugh for possession of the near-dead elf. And then he saw Christine reaching in her jacket.
Oh no she's not going to do that no just -
Crack! The gunshot eradicated the silence, and the smell of spent gunpowder filled the air. Time slowed down as he watched the red-hot lead ball propel itself from the barrel of the gun and make a sickening 'plock' as it impacted in the aberration's skin. He felt his veins expand under his skin, adrenaline rushing in. His heartbeats quickened to the pace of an ark-piston.
Reality whooshed back into focus as the Otyugh looked bewildered and then gave what could only be described as a keening yell that could curdle milk.
Tyr raised his sword and shield. Why didn't Tom the Miller or Jeff the Stonemason ever find themselves between a bloodthirsty beast and its next meal?
Oh, that's right, Tyr thought sardonically, I'm not the protectorate of a girl whose broadly defined goal is 'heal the world'. Haha.
He didn't realize he had laughed out loud. Well, at least he knew how to use his blade.
The elf deftly sidestepped the aberration and proved his skill; his sword left a narrow cut in the beast's skin. It did nothing except make the thing more angry.
He watched the halfling and wolf pad off. "Where are you going!?" Tyr shouted. Cowardly littlefolk. Now I know why I was so uneasy. Never trust a halfling with your gold, much less your life, as the saying goes.
Stepping around the Otyugh to get me some hot flanking action with Christine (she threatens with her fists)
Ducking out of the way of the Otyugh's bite, Christine hesitated for just a moment despite being in the middle of combat. Maybe it had gotten the point, and would just let them leave without a fuss?
The wet 'n slimy tentacle wrapping around her finally persuaded her differently.
Oh, ick, that's disgusting.
She squirmed out of the thing's grip, a little panicked.
Drawing another pistol from her coat pocket, Christine ditched her old one, tossing it to the small walkway not covered in water. She aimed carefully and pulled the trigger, sending another bullet flying with a loud bang.
Worried, Christine tossed another gun aside, ducking underneath the otyugh's strike. She could hear her her empty firearm clatter on the stone ledge running alongside the water; at least she wouldn't have to go searching through the water for them after, eew.
But she was running out of ammunition, and this...thing...hadn't fallen over yet...
Why wouldn't it run away?
She pulled out one of her cheaper pistols out and aimed, but wasn't expecting a second strike from the creature; shrieking, Christine spun out of the way just in time, firing when she was safe. She may have been a bit dizzy, but her aim was still true; however, aside from a loud noise and a minor wound it didn't seem to have much of an effect. Still, the beast would have to either drop or run eventually...
Tyr rolled around the Otyugh, thrusting his blade. The thing's skin, it was like trying to cut through wyrmskin, except without the practical armor-making value.
The thing's tentacles whipped around, attempting to get the paladin in its visegrip, but the elf was agile and so far managed to avoid its grip. However, it seemed to be costing him offensively; he just couldn't pierce anything vital.
Weaving out of the way of another tentacle, Christine fired again, angering the beast in front of her some more; it looked...uneasy, though? As though it would fall shortly.
She drew once more and aimed, pulling the trigger.
*click*
...
*click* *click*
...
"Oh, shoot. Tyr, I'm out of bullets..." she whined, backing just out of the thing's reach. Fumbling through her belongings, she looked for her powder horn and bullet bag.
Combining this turn with description for my last. Backing away five feet, and beginning a reload. >_>
Tyr made a stab at the aberration and his blade looked to be on the path to strike true, and then Christine's voice pierced his battle-haze. Time once again slowed down as the words trickled into his ear.
Tyr felt his heart skip a beat. Time rushed back into focus and as he opened his mouth to protest that no, certainly not, that's unacceptable he was slapped in the face with a tentacle. Thankfully it was only the backside of the slimy appendage, but it dazed him and threw his sword-thrust wide.
Christine cringed reflexively as Tyr got slapped in the face, barely missing his mark. She hadn't meant to distract Tyr when he was in the middle of something, really...it was just a habit, like that one time in Mosswick...
Shaking her head, she raised her pistol once more and took aim as the monstrosity swung a tentacle at her; but her step back had put it just out of reach. Firing with her freshly reloaded pistol, the thing shuddered; it looked like some real damage had finally been done. Poor thing...
As Tyr collected himself, he saw Christine reload and take careful aim. The bullet impacted the creature, and it looked ready to collapse. Wasting no time, Tyr stepped forward and brought his blade deftly under the creature's neck and pulled, emptying brackish blood onto the sewer floor. It was a dirty job, but a beast is a beast and doesn't understand honor, and thus shall receive none in turn.
He looked briefly apologetic towards Christine before turning a hard eye toward the Halfling, who was loping around some distance down the tunnel.
"You know, I thought we could have placed our trust in you. Looks like I was mistaken."
operating under the assumption that 0 HP means it's unconscious so Tyr can pretty much Coup de Grace it
Christine bit her lip as she watched the poor thing, before turning to the walkway around the water to collect her pistols. She sighed, taking a seat briefly. All of that effort and probably for nothing. That seemed to happen a lot...
But she couldn't give up that easily!
Starting to reload her pistols, she shook her head, smiling to Tyr. "Don't worry about it, Tyr! I'm sure she was just scouting ahead or something...I mean, she wouldn't just leave us here without a reason!..."
At least, she tried to convince herself of that. The two of them hadn't had much luck with companions in the past, and she thought their luck had changed since Whiteshore, but it was hard to say sometimes.
Tyr simply shook his head. He pulled a cloth from his pack and used it to clean his blade.
"Either way, with or without trust, we need to find a way out of here. I'm dirty, bloody, and tired. You got the book we needed, and as far as I'm concerned it won't be too soon 'til we're back in Hogton. We can get that shirt appraised and check potential buyers. What's next on your list, Christine? I know this can't be the only book. You said there were about twenty or thirty in the whole collection."
Twenty or thirty instances of going into a library probably filled with angry things with teeth, followed by a hole in the floor to which there would be bigger angry things with bigger teeth, followed then by angry people with weapons and then, and that would be the cherry on the Winterwelcome fruitcake, a very large angry thing with very large teeth.
Lost in thought, Christine tilted her head, frowning. Infamous Artists of the Frontier hadn't been much help in putting together the pieces of that book...She pulled out a short list, looking over it quickly.
"Well, I was hoping there would be more of a hint in this one...there's the reference to the Blue Veldt, but I dunno what that's about, and aside from that, not a whole lot."
Her eyes paused on one particular title, skipping past The River God's Servants and The Tabbinster Bloodline.
"We could always try this one, Names of Old, but I have no idea where we'd start looking."
Mumbling to herself for a short moment, she snapped to attention, looking at Tyr and fumbling through her things. "Oh...oh! I should probably do something about that..." Wandering over with wand in hand, she tapped him lightly, channeling some more healing energy from the flimsy baton.
"Well, you know I don't have any particular stake in where we go. You go, I follow; it's what the Mandate said when I made the Pact with you."
He didn't usually talk about the elfin rituals that much, it made him rather uncomfortable. He changed the subject by kneeling near what was left of the elves he put into the water with arrows. The paladin was checking for identification, mostly.
Posts
Laycirra lifted her head and groggily wiped the sleep out of her eyes. Since leaving Ismira, she'd found sleeping was becoming harder and harder; tonight she slept well in the guest-bed of a passing house-cart, and it helped ease her homesickness. It'd been months since she'd seen another of the Kindred; halflings, to everyone else, but Kindred to one another. That idea stood out in their culture--all kindred, no matter what their thoughts, beliefs, or position--were family.
Laycirra felt guilty about accepting the stranger's hospitality, felt as if she were abusing the thought of kinship. Hadn't she turned away from her own family, her clan entirely? She wondered where they were... the caravan-city must have been nearing the Reunion by then. There was a sadness with that realization; would she ever find herself at another Reunion?
Waking up in the stranger's bed, to the familiar oak scent of a kin house-cart, Laycirra's thoughts drifted back to the Festival of Fathers Past. Laycirra was always fond of the holiday, which commemorated both fathers (in general, past and present) and Fathers (which was a loose term for those who have lead the Clan in times past). It also celebrated the warming of the air and the return of the leaves to the trees. It was always a good time.
She pulled herself out of the bed and pulled the sheets away. She pushed the bed back up and into the wall, and straightened out the tiny room. She forced the thoughts away for now. What happened during the Festival was done. She had to say her thanks and be on her way.
She nervously smiled, trying not to feel too down. "I'm sure Maestero Hielata isn't happy at all...oh, I'm going to fail for sure."
He offered her a hand to stand up along with a smile.
As upbeat as she was trying to be, her mind was clearly elsewhere.
---
Snapping back to attention, Christine took a good look around the group's new surroundings.
Names of Old
The legends of the lower realms are all but lost... there are few indeed who still remember.
Chapter 2 - The Voice of the Deep
Tyr could hear the voices... it was elfish, but some strange vernacular of it... guttural and sharp. It made his flesh crawl, and his free hand tightened on the hilt of his blade. He leaned his head around the corner, and in the fading torchlight lining the sewer beyond he could see four figures busying themselves about a small boat. They were throwing all manner of objects into it. All appeared to be female.
Their leader raised her head as the light from the knight's torch bled into the room. Tyr inhaled sharply as the torchlight reflected an iridescent purple in her eyes. But more disturbing was that the color of her skin seemed to reflect nothing.
Thereng'ul hrath!
Her three subordinates looked up in alarm. At the sight of the steel-clad knight, they immediately began to draw their bows.
You've run across some elveses... and if your paladin had put away his torch you mighta surprised them. Also correct me if I'm wrong on your current hp.
Initiative Order
Christine 13/13 - 22
Lidalla 26/26 - 16
Tyr 17/24 - 10
Laycirra 9/20 - 8
Naughty Elves - 6
Christine goes first!
So it's a sewer... water is only about 2 feet deep but is still quite unpleasant.
Elf warriors are e1, e2, e3, Drow cleric is D.
"Hello! Did you get lost too?"
Traitors, anyone who knew elfin made out the word easily enough. Tyr lightly tossed the torch to Christine. As she caught it his bow was out, an arrow nocked, and Tyr's archery was proven once again to be among the best; the arrow sailed through the air and flew straight through the nearest elf's neck. The body unceremoniously fell into the water with a splash.
If not, of course, why should she step into this blood elven blood feud?
rolled three, there's only two. still, go go dice not failing!
Pulling the trigger with a bang, the small metal bullet pierced the elf's leather armor, leaving him with quite the nasty wound as he dropped.
"I'm sorry!"
Lidalla carefully, but quickly, stalked the ledges of the sewer-channel-thing, and closed in on the remaining elves. She barked and growled, ready to leap onto them and end their violence.
"Surrender and I won't kill you, traitor," was spoken in Elfin.
Tyr moves up one and then right three more
Ghaz'il.
She grabbed a potion from her belt as the wolf snapped at her. She swallowed its contents... and disappeared.
Concentration (1d20 1=13), Cleric loses channeled "inflict" spell after taking 4 points of damage.
Cleric drinks a potion of invisibility.
*poof*
that's right arcanis, i just called you a poof
Truth told, she probably did more harm than good...
Gold, of course. And... mithral?
"Laycirra," he whispered to the halfling, "come take a look at this."
The halfling, who had been attending to her companion, scampered over to the Elf. She took notice of the crate and lifted the object out... it was a finely crafted chain shirt, its miniature links of mithral finely and meticulously woven... for a moment it distracted them both.
Meanwhile, Lidalla paced around and sniffed at the ground, whining. She didn't like the smell of this place, and the scent of the black elf was difficult to pick up. Then, her ears suddenly stood up. She smelled the air, let out a low growl and backed away a few steps.
The one Christina attended to looked up at her with eyes of malice, glazed over with the pain of his wounds. He opened his mouth as if to curse her with his last words, but pased as soon as he heard what the wolf had already detected...
A grinding of metal upon stone sounded from the murky depths of the sewers beyond... followed by an unearthly roar that no natural creature could hope to make... and the abominable, tentacled monster that lumbered toward them through the muck was unnatural indeed.
The Otyugh is 60 feet away. We'll use the same initiative order as last time, Otyugh goes last.
No map yet, but the Otyugh is approaching from the right of the map. There's plenty of sewer/tunnel behind you (to the left of the map) but it's still a bit dark to see where it goes.
She bit her lip for a moment, thinking, before continuing. Chances are, Tyr would be reluctant to help at best and hostile at worst, so..."Laycirra, could you help me with this guy here? He's too heavy..."
He didn't say anything, though; internal philosophizing over morals could get you killed, and his keen eyes could see that whatever the beast was, it wasn't here to offer its services as a guide.
"Don't attack it unless it's obviously hostile. A beast is a beast and they act out of fear and instinct. Keep your guard up."
He of course didn't need to tell his companions, he knew they were competent and conscientious, but it felt necessary to voice these things out loud; it helped keep everyone on the same page.
"That thing is not born of Odam," she muttered. If it were, she'd recognize it.
A deep gurgling came from somewhere within it's amorphous bulk... it was hungry.
awww... so cute.
map:
I could've sworn I've read about this before...
It looked similar to the drawings of the Yarua in one of her textbooks...or was that the Erua? Christine was never the best student regarding beasts...
Either way, it'd probably be best to stay quiet and out of the way; maybe it'd go away?
It's not fear; it's self-preservation!
Christine and Tyr are now within range of its tentacles
eew
That seemed to happen a lot with them, she pondered.
Closing her eyes, Christine mumbled a quick prayer to Rokin before squeezing the trigger.
Damage (1d10+1=7)
Oh no she's not going to do that no just -
Crack! The gunshot eradicated the silence, and the smell of spent gunpowder filled the air. Time slowed down as he watched the red-hot lead ball propel itself from the barrel of the gun and make a sickening 'plock' as it impacted in the aberration's skin. He felt his veins expand under his skin, adrenaline rushing in. His heartbeats quickened to the pace of an ark-piston.
Reality whooshed back into focus as the Otyugh looked bewildered and then gave what could only be described as a keening yell that could curdle milk.
Tyr raised his sword and shield. Why didn't Tom the Miller or Jeff the Stonemason ever find themselves between a bloodthirsty beast and its next meal?
Oh, that's right, Tyr thought sardonically, I'm not the protectorate of a girl whose broadly defined goal is 'heal the world'. Haha.
He didn't realize he had laughed out loud. Well, at least he knew how to use his blade.
The elf deftly sidestepped the aberration and proved his skill; his sword left a narrow cut in the beast's skin. It did nothing except make the thing more angry.
He watched the halfling and wolf pad off. "Where are you going!?" Tyr shouted. Cowardly littlefolk. Now I know why I was so uneasy. Never trust a halfling with your gold, much less your life, as the saying goes.
Tyr making an Otyugh bleed (1d20+9=27, 1d8+2=4)
The wet 'n slimy tentacle wrapping around her finally persuaded her differently.
Oh, ick, that's disgusting.
She squirmed out of the thing's grip, a little panicked.
"Wah! I'm sorry! Please don't eat me!"
Going to pull another pistol. Move action to draw the weapon, and grapple check in place of an attack roll to escape, if I'm reading this right.
"I'm sorry!"
I say that a lot...
Damage (with PBS) (1d10+1=7)
But she was running out of ammunition, and this...thing...hadn't fallen over yet...
Why wouldn't it run away?
She pulled out one of her cheaper pistols out and aimed, but wasn't expecting a second strike from the creature; shrieking, Christine spun out of the way just in time, firing when she was safe. She may have been a bit dizzy, but her aim was still true; however, aside from a loud noise and a minor wound it didn't seem to have much of an effect. Still, the beast would have to either drop or run eventually...
Boomstick damage (1d10+1=2)
AC against AoO (1d20+5=18)
The thing's tentacles whipped around, attempting to get the paladin in its visegrip, but the elf was agile and so far managed to avoid its grip. However, it seemed to be costing him offensively; he just couldn't pierce anything vital.
She drew once more and aimed, pulling the trigger.
*click*
...
*click* *click*
...
"Oh, shoot. Tyr, I'm out of bullets..." she whined, backing just out of the thing's reach. Fumbling through her belongings, she looked for her powder horn and bullet bag.
tentacle AC (1d20+5=15)
"Oh... shoot... Tyr... I'm... out... of... bullets."
Tyr felt his heart skip a beat. Time rushed back into focus and as he opened his mouth to protest that no, certainly not, that's unacceptable he was slapped in the face with a tentacle. Thankfully it was only the backside of the slimy appendage, but it dazed him and threw his sword-thrust wide.
Shaking her head, she raised her pistol once more and took aim as the monstrosity swung a tentacle at her; but her step back had put it just out of reach. Firing with her freshly reloaded pistol, the thing shuddered; it looked like some real damage had finally been done. Poor thing...
I wish I had a one-liner here...
pistol damage (1d10+1=11)
Otyugh-man is now at 0 HP!
He looked briefly apologetic towards Christine before turning a hard eye toward the Halfling, who was loping around some distance down the tunnel.
"You know, I thought we could have placed our trust in you. Looks like I was mistaken."
But she couldn't give up that easily!
Starting to reload her pistols, she shook her head, smiling to Tyr. "Don't worry about it, Tyr! I'm sure she was just scouting ahead or something...I mean, she wouldn't just leave us here without a reason!..."
At least, she tried to convince herself of that. The two of them hadn't had much luck with companions in the past, and she thought their luck had changed since Whiteshore, but it was hard to say sometimes.
"Either way, with or without trust, we need to find a way out of here. I'm dirty, bloody, and tired. You got the book we needed, and as far as I'm concerned it won't be too soon 'til we're back in Hogton. We can get that shirt appraised and check potential buyers. What's next on your list, Christine? I know this can't be the only book. You said there were about twenty or thirty in the whole collection."
Twenty or thirty instances of going into a library probably filled with angry things with teeth, followed by a hole in the floor to which there would be bigger angry things with bigger teeth, followed then by angry people with weapons and then, and that would be the cherry on the Winterwelcome fruitcake, a very large angry thing with very large teeth.
Tyr's outward expression betrayed nothing.
"Well, I was hoping there would be more of a hint in this one...there's the reference to the Blue Veldt, but I dunno what that's about, and aside from that, not a whole lot."
Her eyes paused on one particular title, skipping past The River God's Servants and The Tabbinster Bloodline.
"We could always try this one, Names of Old, but I have no idea where we'd start looking."
Mumbling to herself for a short moment, she snapped to attention, looking at Tyr and fumbling through her things. "Oh...oh! I should probably do something about that..." Wandering over with wand in hand, she tapped him lightly, channeling some more healing energy from the flimsy baton.
He didn't usually talk about the elfin rituals that much, it made him rather uncomfortable. He changed the subject by kneeling near what was left of the elves he put into the water with arrows. The paladin was checking for identification, mostly.