DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE12: The Fork

GM

There was dappled shadow in the undergrowth where Bearkiller crouched, only three-feet tall and born in the wild, he blended in like an animal. The summer sun was rising briskly as it always did at that time of year and the valley was bathed in warmth, though the day was barely an hour old.

The halfling pushed the branches of a mulberry bush aside. The fruit was blackened by frost from the night attack, another sign of the dragon's presence at the Titan's Elbow.

A view over the River Scintilla was revealed, where it flowed through the karst archway under the mountain.

It was dark under the archway with a semicircle of white daylight on the far side. The silhouetted ceiling bristled with thousands of stalagtites.

Bearkiller pointed, though what he pointed out was obvious. About ten or so feet up the inside wall of archway, a cleft seemed to bleed. It was thick, orange coagulant, streaked with black. It leaked down the wall, staining it, and pooled amongst the boulders underneath where it trickled indutibly into the river. The pools were foul, brimmed with an orangy-brown slush, the black fluid separating out around the edges. It was possibly some leachate, brought out of the rocks by the dragon's orange blood.

"It come from entrance to mine. We follow blood through mine, lead us straight to dragon's blind side." Bearkiller said, glancing over his shoulder.

You were gathered behind him. Equipped and ready.

The halfling had been right, advising against attempting this route by night. The rocks underneath the concealed mine entrance looked slippery and falling into one of the pools could not be beneficial to ones health.

There were certainly legends of heroes bathing in dragon's blood while some god cast a spell of invincibility on them. There were plenty more of heroes being bathed in the stuff and dying horribly.

Fresh from the wound, the white wyrm's blood had been hot enough to scald a man to death. Cooled and congealed, it probably had more poisonous qualities.

You had reached a fork in your journey. It was this way, or scale the peak. There Bearkiller described was a gaping pothole, opening into a large cavern where the dragon laired. He said they'd need rope to climb down into the cavern and wasn't enamoured with the idea, considering the dragon would probably be sat at the bottom with its jaws wide open.

Last night the party agreed that Bearkiller's secret way seemed like the better idea. Did it still?

<Weston>

He still felt that the best plan involved him going in from the top to distract the dragon from the 'sneak' attack from behind. He again voiced that opinion. "If it is going to focus on me, better it is just me than all of you as well." It made sense to him.

Sergeant Almador

Last night he'd felt energised, tired, yes, but in a good way, and with his companion's encouragement, was finally reassured that he'd made a good account of himself.

When he woke up, however, he found he could barely move. He'd never ever felt so stiff, every fibre aching as if he'd aged 10 years.

Crouching in the undergrowth behind the halfling was exquisite torture, so he was keen to be either standing up straight and moving, or lying down.

The Sergeant scalded himself. The cleric, Nestaron was even now being tormented by the dragon, likely mutilated if it carried out its threats from last night. And here he was, complaining about achy legs. What an old cretin!

He listened to Weston's suggestion and shook his head angrily.

"I tell you now, Weston, I shall not agree to that plan! For that is not a plan, it is suicide for you! And how would we co-ordinate our attack? Us being underground, you being above?

"No, if there's one thing I've learned from a career drilling guards, it's co-ordination. As I see it, we all go one way or the other."

D

"While I am usually one for solo escapades. Fighting an ancient dragon isn't one of those times. Especially when it's very blood is pulling some foul ancient alchemy from the very ground. I agree with the good sergeant. We work together where we can support each other. Note I am not advocating just jumping in where the creature can use its frozen breath upon all of easily. But, a corrdinated attack to destroy this ancient foe for once and all."

To him sneaky was always best and he didn't need to say that to reiterate it.

Seyja


Stretching to loosen her muscles, Seyja listened to the others talk as her eyes moved from the crevice imbued with the ancient wyrm's evil essence to the peak far above.

Her instinct was not to sneak about... she was one to attack straight ahead, to charge her enemy head on, but to descend from the peak direct into the dragon's lair seemed, at best, foolish.

"I say we should stay together unless you can guarantee us, Weston, that our split attack could be timed perfectly."

She scowled at the blood stained crevice and shook her head.

"I hate the idea of going there," she said, pointing her greataxe at the black and gold stained passageway."

"But that is the way I will go."

Tindarien

"We have to give ourselves the best chance we can. Going this way.. and together.. seems to offer that."

He may die today. He would prefer it otherwise but he is still committed to doing everything he can to save Nestaron and to cure the blight that affects this area.

<Weston>

"The problem is that, since the dragon seems to be able to sense the ring, so it will know where I am ...", he paused as a thought occurred to him. "Is there some way to 'mask' the ring?"

Zoltan

He too does not like the idea of climbing down a rope into a cave where a dragon waits for them. While charging straight ahead has it's dangers as well, perhaps there is a way to be stealthy and still approach from a safer direction?

D

"Masking or hiding it in some way. Do we have a functional idea at what kind of a range he can sense it? Line of sight maybe?"

Zoltan

"You know, Weston", he says. "There might be a way to do what you are suggesting without the risks everyone is worried about.

He looks at the halfling. "Presuming the pothole you mention is too small for the dragon to fit into?"

He looks back to Weston. "In any case, you could tie the Ring to a rope and dangle it at the top of the hole to attract the dragon's attention. As long as the hole is too small for it to fit into and reach the ring, that might distract it while we all try to sneak in thru the river entrance. You could retrieve the ring after we deal with the dragon." He purposefully uses the word after rather than if.

<Weston>

"I have no idea what sort of range ... except that 'it' seemed to know that it was with us when 'it' confronted us. So it would seem =some= distance."

Bearkiller

The halfling wasn't as inconvenienced as the tall folk, hiding in the bushes, but he was eager to confront the Beast and he sensed He Who Sicks Balls was too.

Still, Bearkiller considered Zoltan's suggestion.

"Pothole is dragon's way in and out of lair. Big hole, long drop." He said.

The ring was perplexing. He didn't understand what it was, but then neither did anyone else, except perhaps the dragon. Maybe that was instructive? If they didn't know how acutely the dragon could sense the Aurenaur, it was futile thinking of counter-measures.

Regardless, they could assume the dragon knew the party was coming and would be taking steps to outwit its adversary, just as the party were.

The dragon wouldn't be expecting a fire bomb, it wouldn't be expecting Bearkiller, more importantly, it wouldn't expect them to have found the secret entrance if the dragon itself even knew about it.

"We could leave ring in cave from time beyond time. But if ring so important, maybe wiser if bowman keep it close?" The halfing queried, then he looked at Jex and his eyes went wide.

"Stop that!! Sorry, Jexric Bodejacker. My dire wolf like you, lick your face. Bad behaviour around new friends!"

Jex

"Hey!"

Ar first he was startled when the wolf approached but then he smiled at the animal and started to hum a tune to it's face. The notes that danced through the air were stretched out to sound like howls, not unlike the kind one would hear from any canine. If music could calm the savage beast....

Ooooooh my puppy
Ooooooh my friend.
Weeeeee travel together
Toooooo the bitter end.

He let the wolf smell the back of his hand, offering it as a sign of friendship.
The bard was ready to move on but wished that he had more in his arsenal than a tune and his blade. It would take a small army to take down the legendary beast.

Tindarien

He raises one eyebrow as he watches Jex sing a strange little song and act out a mime on his own. Strange.. but maybe he is trying to placate the halfling in his belief in the invisible direwolf that probably exists only in his imagination.

He smothers a smile. No harm in it certainly.

GM

So uncanny a performer was Jex, that an audience might be convinced the bard really was being slavered on by a dire wolf. But as yet, He Who Sicks Balls was still very much an invisible, intangible dire wolf. Was it a spirit totem? Or a metaphor? Or merely a work of imagination? Bearkiller believed regardless, and was greatly amused by Jex's play.

Talking to the air, he told the dire wolf to behave himself then prepared to lead the party onwards. Every moment wasted was another moment of captivity for Nestaron.

Your goal was clear: Slay the dragon.

Slaying the dragon would stop it poisoning of the River Scintilla with its blood, and whatever was leaching from the rocks. It would allow you to return the haunted helm of Gorulon Gorehound and lift the curse. Finally, you could then rescue Nestaron.

You knew the Beast wanted Weston's ring, the Aurenaur, and could perhaps sense it. Apart from hiding it or throwing it in the river, there wasn't much else you could do. Send Weston back to town with it? Would that tip the scales in your favour or the dragon's?

Last night the dragon said the ring was crafted by elven necromancers from the tip of the White's horn after its defeat by the Wizard King. If this was true, it was safe to say that the ring should be kept safe.

Sergeant Almador was a father and grandfather. He'd become fond of Weston, who resembled the kind of man he wished his own eldest son had grown into. Someone he understood. Almador wasn't going to let Weston dangle himself in front of the monster as a distraction, and sounded more resolute on that point than he had at any time since they'd set out on the quest.

(If it was any consolation, the dragon would probably hear or smell you coming anyway. It was a dragon after all.)

Thus it seemed they would all be taking the secret passage through the abandoned mine.

First they had to get there.

***

The stench. It was as shocking and unexpected as it was repulsive. The rocks between the mine's entrance and the river created pools for congealed orange dragon's blood, surrounded by bands of black leachate. It stank like the bilge of a fishing boat, bad enough to make you wretch.

Immediately underneath the entrance, a lumpy white scum had formed over the effluent, that seemed to break up and remerge of its own volition. Who knew what oozes might grow in such a toxic stew?

You would have to navigate these slippery rocks, then climb about ten feet up an overhang on the inside of the karst. Technically, it was the most difficult obstacle you'd encountered on the journey so far, but the pay-off would potentially be blind-siding the dragon.

[This is a hazard encounter, the same as a dungeon trap or an avalanche. Each player describes what resources their character uses to tackle the obstacle. This might be equipment or it might be an inner resource, but either way it should be linked with one of the PC's Backgrounds and one of their main attributes. This one's unrestricted, so it could use Str, Dex, Con, Int, Wis, or Cha. It's up to the player to convince and most importantly entertain, the rest of the group. Unlike previous skill checks which fail forwards, failing this skill check will result in an immediate consequence, the hazard makes an 'attack'. Damage and special effects can result.]

Seyja Banic


Using her greataxe almost like a walking staff, the barbarian woman took a position up front, close behind the Halfling, and made her way carefully through the slippery passageway which was revealed once they'd made their way through the crevice entranceway. She was an agile woman, tough and very strong, and her experience as a young woman raised in the mountains (Mountain Woman +4) helped her keep her balance and avoid stumbling and falling in the dangerous passageway.

The stench, though, was distracting, almost nauseating in its intensity, but she did her best to ignore its effect, push it aside and away, so that it would not interfere with her dual mission.

She was determined to kill the dragon and save the cleric, Nestaron.

[OOC: Who is carrying the fire bomb? Seyja or Weston?]

[[ doesn't matter to me. Do you have a preference Ex? ]]

D

He moved with sure footed grace. As the ascent became more vertical he shifted to using his hands and feet.

That was more difficult than he had imagined. Stick his hands on slippery disgusting rocks was disconcerting while trying to retch.

As much as he preferred to go in and out by any means other than a door. He was at home climbing as a professional theif. (Theif +5)

When it came time for the last dash of this hazardous climb. He used his skill, grace, and innate ability to string up secured lines so that the the less skilled companions had something to assist them.

[OOC: No preference on my end, Mike. You want to leave it up to our illustrious GM?]

[[ I am ok with Weston having it ... but he would have let Seyja carry it if she thought it was better with her <g> ]]

<Weston>

He had done a bit of climbing when he was caravaning days ... getting to higher ground to scout out the way ahead, that sort of thing. But nothing quite this challenging. Still, he knew how to go about it ... try to maintain 3 points of contact, only moving one hand or foot at a time, make sure of your grip or your foot hold before going for the next one.

It was slow going. But most of that slowness was because the consequences of falling into that ... stuff worried him more than any possible injury from the fall.

Tindarien

He studies the way ahead watching how the others tackle it, learning from their progress. He has many skills that help him in this situation, his natural dexterity and elven grace, his lightness of foot, his intelligence in picking a good route but mainly he has done it before. His recent background is as a relic hunter, gaining knowledge of possible out of the way places, dungeons, caves, crypts and then exploring them to find those treasures. Access is always difficult. If it was easy then others would have been there ahead of him.

This time though his motivation is stronger too. His friend Nestaron is ahead somewhere, hopefully alive still, and that is a treasure definitely worth finding!

Jex

The bard never took obstacles lightly but to those who observed him the tasks looked effortless. That was a talent all it's own, to make the difficult look easy. Such was the role that the Drakkenhall Court Jester played as he navigated the putrid and slippery passageway. To the others it must have looked like he was having fun, leaping from stone to stone, twirling with dancelike movements across the noxious slime that flowed below.

What others didn't realize was that each time he put a foot down on stone his toes tested the landing for slipperiness and that he had several contingent moves to make if, indeed the footing was wrong. To them these lifesaving adjustments would look as if they were planned steps in an elaborately choreographed ballet. With each grasp into a potential handhold his fingers tested the strength of the wall to hold his weight but he depended on the holds he had succeeded in grasping to be his fallback options.

He moved through the caverns gracefully. This is where a lifetime of practicing his agility would pay off.

[Ghosted for Zeim]

Zoltan

He'd go last, or last but one (if the last person wanted to be pulled up by rope).

Footing under the arch was treacherous and the gut-wrenching stink put him in a dark mood. He kept his mouth shut and sipped in breath only when needed.

After fixing a route with his eyes, he watched the others ascend. He didn't doubt his climbing skill, honed from tracking many a monster through the wilds on behalf of the Order of Averness. Wearing plate armour, he decided he would attack the short but difficult climb with brute strength. As little hanging about as possible. Literally.

Sergeant Almador

Well, that was it then! They were stymied. They weren't giant spiders, there was no way to reach the entrance to the mine.

Not for the first time, he inwardly questioned the sanity of the halfling they were following. The little man obviously meant well though, and had led them to safety last night.

Sergeant Almador wasn't giving up though. He'd given his word to Tindarien. He said he would not leave any of the party behind, and Nestaron was still out there.

Almador was about to diplomatically thank Bearkiller and ask how long it would take them to reach the other entrance on the summit, when he noticed the rest of the party preparing to... climb?

As always, these intrepid heroes were about to redefine the man-at-arms' notion of what was and was not possible. He could only really watch.

Bearkiller

He would go first, then He Who Sicks Balls. The mohawked halfling was especially undeterred since he'd made the short climb once already, the day before when he'd scouted it out.

Bearkiller simply assumed the rest of the party could and would follow.

GM

It was cool and shadowy under the massive half-moon karst, its air misty from the river running through it. Footing would have been treacherous without the pools of effluent, dribbled down from the dragon's lair, through the insides of the mountain.

The smell was unnatural, revolting and unescapable if you were going to climb up into the mine. At least you could see the entrance clearly now, a cleft in the rocks that had been widened in the far, distant past by tools. It led into darkness but light reflected off of the chisel marks on the walls further in, suggesting a navigable passageway.

Standing underneath it, you saw the problem in greater detail. Once upon a time, maybe the mine's entrance was closer to ground level, but now it was over 10 feet above the ground. You would have to climb the inside of the archway to reach it. Climb upside-down.

After a rapid exchange of ideas, you decided to lash your packs into one bundle, along with any medium-sized or larger weapons. This bundle would be tied to the end of the climbing rope, so after you were all secure in the mine, together you could haul up the bundle. Thus you would climb unencumbered. Your armour was flexible and its weight well distributed, and whatever daggers, knives or other small blades you carried, could be tucked away.

Since he'd scouted the mine on the previous day, the halfling was first to ascend, making it look easy with his three and a half stone of weight. His head stuck out from above the ledge and he commanded his (possibly non-existent) dire wolf to jump up into the entrance. This it apparently did with the ease you'd expect of an imaginary creature, leaving Seyja and the rest of the party to follow.

If you had a top and bottom anchor, you could have made the rope tight enough to create a diagonal rope-climb. You had plentiful bottom anchors, boulders, but none inside the mine entrance. Once Seyja and D were aloft, they could wedge themselves in the entrance and act as top anchor.

The others would wait their turn, keeping their balance on the slippery rocks below.

Seyja climbed first, showing the formidable strength of a born and bred rock climber that also allowed her to wield the greataxe. For her, breathing was the worst part, sucking in lungfuls of the retched stink. Bearkiller's weathered face greeted her after she'd swung up into the mine entrance.

"You climb like rock monkey." He said with a nod, as if it were a perfectly normal sort of thing for a man to say to a woman.

The dark elf came next, the rope tied around his waste, trailing back to the bundle of equipment. He'd mantled over enough eaves and parapets to have mastered the principles, but the grips, climbing amongst stalagtites, were a new challenge for him. D was slower than Seyja, relying on his flexibility to attain the maximum reach on each manoeuvre.

D was within arm's reach of the entrance and those waiting on the ground were visualising their ascent when suddenly there was a crack, the sound of splitting rock. Seya and Bearkiller's heads appeared above the ledge, looking concerned.

Again came the sound, this time accompanied by a sprinkling of grit. Seyja threw out an arm for D but too late, a fat cluster of stalagtites broke from the ceiling, perhaps dislodged by the ascents. It fell, snagging the rope trailed by D. Him and Seyja were snatched from the mine entrance by its weight and plunged into the effluent pool.

The falling rock scattered the rest of the party. Sergeant Almador yanked Weston backwards, avoiding being crushed but causing both men to slip feet first into the poison.

Somehow Jex and Tindarien retained their footing, dodging around the rock as it crashed into the boulders below it. The falling rock exploded into chunks, the largest splashing into the same pool as D and Seyja, still snagged on the rope.

D struggled but felt tethered. He was submerged in congealed dragon's blood and leachate. Holding his nerve, he kept his eyes and mouth closed and felt for one of his blades. Maybe the rope was pinned under the rock. If enough of the rock had landed in the pool, he'd be pinned with it.

Seyja was sloshing through the waste deep effluent, drenched and her eyes squeezed shut. She was covered in the lumpy white scum that grew on the surface of the pool, and where it slid against her skin it yellowed and blistered with frostbite. Only Zoltan had seen where the rock and D had landed, and was already wading towards the site, calling Seyja to him.

Weston and Sergeant Almador had only sank in up to their knees, but could feel the same deadly cold. Jex and Tindarien soon had them out and were dumping water over their legs to wash off the white pudding. When the water hit the substance, it froze into large blobs of ice and was easily plucked off.

Meanwhile, D was suddenly freed and dragged to his feet. Between them, Zoltan and Seyja had cut the rope and grabbed the dark elf under the arms, and together, the three pushed through the effluent and freezing scum, living to tell the tale.

***

An hour later you had all ascended and were hunched over in the mine.

You'd taken half an hour to venture a stone's throw upstream and wash. Cold burns from the white pudding were treated and wrapped, and D was still feeling a little woozy.

But at least there'd been enough rope coiled around your bundle of equipment that it hadn't been dragged into the pool. On the second attempt the climb went according to each and everyone's plan, and Sergeant Almador was hauled up last with the equipment.

Bearkiller led, with the party using dusty old mining lamps they'd found stacked near the entrance. You saw abundant evidence that the mine was a joint dwarven-gnomish enterprise, hastily abandoned over a hundred years ago by the looks of it. The lamps, helmets, tools, the signage and rusted footlockers. Almador was as local as you could get, but knew nothing of the place, not even rumours or folk tales.

Although every surface was blanketed in thick dust, you could imagine the miners hard at work, until one fateful day they broke into a cavern above and awoke the Beast....

You followed the trickle of dragon's blood upwards, emerging into a large shaft. There were steps and ledges carved into the walls, forming one long and precarious pathway, winding around the shaft from bottom to top. The floor of the shaft was littered with the wreckage of collapsed scaffolding and derelict lifting devices.

Tindarien could conjure magical dancing lights, that spiralled crazily up into the darkness. By their light you saw glistering, metallic veins in the walls of the shaft and for a moment you thought you'd wandered into a gold mine.

The piles of ore told you otherwise. Dusting off a hunk and holding it up to the light, there was that same glint of gold again, but striking it against steel produced a shower of sparks. It was so-called Alchemist's Gold, pyrite.

Mysterious felt drapes hung around the walls from the floor up to around twice head height. Peeking behind them, rubbing the walls with their fingers, Jex and Tindarien identified a stratum of oil shale, innately flammable rock, suggesting the felt was to deter fires.

There were no signs of life, not even rats or bats and the mine had a sepulchral atmosphere. If the Beast was one of the Primeval white dragons, it could have some ability with death magic, so you were wary for any signs of the undead.

Facing undead on the narrow pathway as you climbed up the shaft would be hard. At least for this climb you'd be on foot.

And then there was the very structure of this cave and mine system. An opening at the top, under which was a cavern, the dragon's lair. An opening at the bottom, and between the two, a mine shaft laden with pyrite and oil shale. It either didn't bear thinking about, or did.

D HP: 24/28; Rec: 4/8; AC 14, PD 15, MD 11; Init +9, Weakened
J HP: 20/32; Rec: 2/8; AC 14, PD 12, MD 11; Init +4*2
S HP: 34/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 15, PD 15, MD 11; Init +3*2
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 11, PD 12, MD 14; Init +3
W HP: 38/44; Rec: 4/9; AC 16, PD 14, MD 11; Init +3*2
Z HP: 32/40; Rec: 5/8; AC 21, PD 13, MD 14; Init +2
Al HP: 21/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6

Seyja


This was not working out as well as Seyja had expected or hoped and, after washing off the nastiness and having her wounds tended to, she - unusually tired - rested a moment.

"Let me carry the fire bomb, Weston," she said. "It (meaning the dragon) can sense you so, while it concentrates on you, mayhap I can get close enough to get in a good shot at it."

<Weston>

It had seemed like it was an easy enough climb, especially as he watched the halfling scamper up. He watched the others as they climbed, seeing how their route choices had worked out ... and suddenly the unexpected ... a section of the rock face gave way ... possibly from the corrosive nature of the foul smelling dragon blood? He might have been standing there when the rock came down, surprised into inactivity ... but Almador gave him a yank and they both ended up in that foul soup ... but alive at least.

Once he was out of that evil brew and had managed to rinse off the corrosive mixture, he gave Almador a big grin, "Seems like we are even now." He scanned the =new= route up. "Do we think it is safe to try again?"

And then they were finally inside. And relaxing ... at least a little bit ... there was still a dragon to contend with. Seyja's request got him thinking and he nodded. "Makes sense", he said as he handed her their 'ace in the hole'.

A part of his mind was imagining the working mine. He had never been in one before and it =was= interesting. But that interest was tempered by the thought that they would soon be facing the dragon once again. That mad him shiver a bit. The lack of 'animal life' did not seem so surprising ... considering a dragon live in here and was spewing it's poisonous blood everywhere. But it did make for an eerie sort of quietness.

Zoltan

It had taken longer than he'd liked, and they'd not fared well, in the climb. Luckily none had been badly injured in the several falls that had occurred.

Once they'd reached the top, he ponders the wisdom of their Firebomb plan, what with the very rock all around them ready to burn at a moments notice.

Looking over the group, and considering the fact that Nestaron is not with them, he says to Jex and Seyja, the two most injured, "Stay near me during the fight. I can heal you, but I must touch you to do so."

Jex

His dexterity had come in handy as they navigated the noxious sludge but now they had reached the dragon den and the danger was real.

Zoltan's suggestion to stay close was a good one but that got the bard to think about what he said.

"Maybe you should heal us up now so that we can last a bit longer."

Seyja


She frowned at Zoltan and grudgingly nodded her agreement.

"I will stay close to you if I can... as long as I can but, when I get involved in fighting, enraged, sometimes I forget things like that."

Zoltan

He pauses in consideration, then nods. Moving over to Seyja and then Jex he bows his head meditatively and places his hands upon their chests.

Healing energy flows into both of his companions.

"I cannot do this again today, so try not to die."

[OOC - Each of Jex and Seyja receive a recovery with a +6 bonus to the roll, however instead of using one of their own recoveries it instead uses one of Zoltan's recoveries. Also, as Zoltan has the Strong Recovery Feat, they should get the advantage of rolling two dice and choosing the higher one. Neal - Any chance he could have done this last night? He can only do it 2x/day so if he did it last night he'd be able to do it again mid-battle if needed.]

[[ OOC: +1 on Zeim's question. I'm sure he would have ]]

Seyja


She smiled, placed her hand on Zoltan's shoulder and said, "Thank you, Zoltan, my friend."

Her smile widened slightly.

"I cannot promise not to die today, but I have never died before."

D

He sputtered as he was pulled up from the horrid effluent mixture. He had intended to stay out of that entirely. He had been pretty confident that he would have, till he found himself trying to drown in the stuff. Part of his mind wondered what power was trying to take him down now. Certainly he had made an enemy of the Three, in particular The Blue.

Swearing at the cold hot feelings as he was cleared of the stuff that became ice and the resulting blisters underneath. "Well that was not fun," he quipped and sat down trying to gather his wits.

The poison had leached into him even though he had kept it out of his mouth. He felt weak and woozy.

Once up in the cave he eyed the walls wondering if they could use the highly flammable nature to work on the frost dragon. He said as much to his companions. "Don't suppose there is anyway to draw him in here, and set him along with the walls alight?"

He wasn't feeling terribly up for the fight, but he heard the barbarian woman's comment. "Well I can tell you I have died and it is no picnic. I think it was much worse than when I have been alive. So I too will do my best to avoid it."

<Weston>

"I am more committed to killing this evil beast. If my life can make that happen, I will give it willingly", he said, then added, "but not, I hope, easily."

Jex

He closed his eyes as Zoltan laid his hand on his chest and felt the healing power flow into him.

"Thank you my friend. I pray we endure. There is a tale which I must tell and a song to sing. Perhaps you'll invite me to present it in your church. It is the most valuable thing I would have to offer in payment for this healing."

[ooc: I have two heals available if I am in physical melee and I roll a nat 11 or better. It lets you use a recovery die plus 1d4 per point on the escalation die.]

Tindarien

Everything had been going well until rock started to fall. He had leaped to another rock and narrowly avoided being caught up in it. Looking below he could see several of the group in trouble and already others moving to help. Nimbly he leapt down and assisted Jex to help Weston and the Sergeant out of the toxic pool.

It could have been worse, though D does seem to be suffering some ill effects.

Fortunately the second climb went well and they ended in a shaft which he lit so the others could see. Very flammable area this and one they would need to keep their fire bomb from unless they could guarantee hurting the dragon more than themselves.

He can hear the others preparing and planning and it again reminded how well this team have operated. They will need all of their skills and cooperative working in the fight ahead.. and likely some luck too!

Sergeant Almador

The mine shaft gave him the opportunity to straighten his back (with a grunt), which put more distance between his nose and his boots.

Sergeant Almador had swilled them out as best he could, but they still whiffed of the dragon's foulness. The boots were going on the fire as soon as he got home!

He was glad to have saved Weston and clapped the younger man on the back afterwards. Honestly, Almador didn't feel like he'd repaid any debt. Maybe if his 'save' hadn't resulted in them both up to there knees in poisonous effluent?

At least the second attempt had gone according to plan though, and the Sergeant had gotten a lift with the bundle of equipment.

Having watched the others scale the inside of the arch, he realised he couldn't have made the climb even when he was nineteen, let alone now he was approaching sixty.

In comparison, the path winding up through the mine shaft looked easy as pie, especially for a Rosencliff man. There wasn't a street in town that didn't have a steep incline.

"This is a strange place. Gnomes and dwarves working together, eh? I have never heard of such a thing in these parts. Whatever they were digging for, they did not ship it through Rosencliff.

"I suppose they must have loaded it on mules. They could have taken it west to the road, or south, out of the valley to the coast. There are many hidden coves on that shore, I have heard it said."

He shook his head, thinking of the extra effort they must have gone to... when they had river passage directly to a harbour on their doorstep.

It was a secret mine, a secret someone was very determined to keep.

The man-at-arms aired his thoughts with his companions while he took a swig of small beer to quench his thirst.

Bearkiller

The halfling didn't spend any time investigating the mine. As with the painted cave they stayed in last night, Bearkiller either had no interest in history or he just didn't understand the significance of such things.

He told his imaginary dire wolf not to touch anything and walked some way up the path winding around the shaft's walls. Until he was at least head height with the rest of the party.

After staring at the Sergeant, he spoke.

"Maybe you stay here. You are fat and old. Slow us down."

<Weston>

He turned to Almador. "The fact that they were working together here implies that there was something special, something important there. I can't help but think that it was something besides ore or what ever."

He shot Bearkiller 'a look' when he insulted Almador. "Actually, it might =not= be such a bad idea Sergeant, to have someone willing to take on the dangerous job of protecting our way out. You would be here, on your own and we will be counting on you to make sure that our way out is protected. But it =is= an important job."

Sergeant Almador

The greying man-at-arms was gobsmacked at Bearkiller's suggestion and wasn't entirely sure how to respond. It was probably meant more how Weston phrased it, but the tribesman lacked the tact. Sergeant Almador objected, regardless.

"There is naught to protect down here but dust and dirt! My place is alongside you all, who are trying to save my town, my home."

The Sergeant of the Guard felt a sudden pang of intense fear -- shame almost -- that the party were going to insist he stay behind, 'rearguard'.

He'd joined this quest with grave misgivings, worried that he would just be extra baggage and in the end, it had been his sense of duty that had convinced him. He still doubted his ability, yes, but he no longer doubted his contribution. Even 'chopped liver' could distract the enemy, draw its attention, take a blow that might have been aimed at someone else.

The problem was, he couldn't refute what Bearkiller had said. He was older than everyone else, and he was carrying a few more pounds too.

"Please, if I was slow this morning it was... just me limbering up. But I am limber now, sirs, mark my words, I am ready and will give my all." He said, looking face to face for some approval.

Seyja


Smiling at the older man, she reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Regardless of what you contribute in the future, what you have done for us so far has make you a worthy partner and a boon companion."

<Weston>

"Well, first off, no one here doubts your commitment, my friend. But to be honest, you =are= the only one here with family waiting on you, you =do= realize that, right? And this whole effort is to protect that ... the town and the families. It might be different if we were standing in town ready to repel attackers. But this =is= a bit different. I know that =I= would not want to face your family and tell them that you would not be returning. But in the end, it is your choice. You =are= free to do what you think is best", he finished giving Bearkiller another 'look'.

D

"I am happy to have you along in either role. You have been a worthwhile addition to our little party. As far as risk vs reward, it has been said. I would offer that dying and living should both be by choice. Neither is easy, depending upon what is involved." He shrugged clearly leaving up to the man to choose.

Tindarien

"You have earned your place amongst us."

The choice is the Sergeant's, as it is with all of them. He looks at the way ahead. Not too hard by the look of it. Soon they will seal their fate, one way or another.

[Ghosted for Zeim]

Zoltan

He held his own counsel. Whatever was said could sway Almador's decision. Maybe that was what the man-at-arms wanted, but some things a person had to decide for themselves.

So Zoltan kept his eyes on the shadows and spared plenty of attention for the darkness over their heads.

Sergeant Almador

He listened, and he saw their point. He didn't want to see it, because it was like a doorway to doubt, and doorway he might escape through, the easy way out. No-one could blame him. He'd be doing it for his family. He'd shown his mettle, going further would be reckless. These adventurers didn't really need his aid.

All the arguments he'd had with himself before setting out on the quest flooded back and he chewed his lip.

That sense of foreboding clawed at him. Was he repeating the same mistake as his grandfather? Did he undertake this quest out of pride?

Sergeant Almador couldn't deny that he was faced with a fateful decision, but things had changed since the day he'd met the party in the Baronessa's great hall.

He knew them better. So he knew that Nestaron had a wife and children too. The half-elf had spoken of them yesterday.

The Sergeant was sure of one thing. His life wasn't worth more than these fellows'. He had his place in the world, and it was an important one as far as he was concerned. But as much as he feared death, as much as he feared not seeing his family again, he could elevate himself above these people who were willing to sacrifice just as much and for less reason.

He nodded gratefully to the party. Their words made him want to be a better man, so he said to Bearkiller.

"If it's all the same to you, sir, I will stand by you in your hour of need, whether you have need of me or not."

Bearkiller

He was toying with his bear claw necklace, and shrugged at the Sergeant's answer. The old man wasn't his responsibility.

"Get colder further up. I think, must be dragon's lair. We go." He said, scampering up the winding path and expecting the rest to follow.

D

The decision made the dark elf nodded and slipped silently after the halfling. A couple of steps in he slowed, recovered hus balance and continued on just as quietly.

<Weston>

"A brave decision Almador. I hope it was not a fatal one", he said as he clasped the Sergeant on the back. "Shall we go", he asked the group.

Tindarien

Time to go.

He stays at the bottom letting those who intend to fight in melee go first, giving them the possibility of the element of surprise. He will then follow on in his turn.

Zoltan

He nods at Almador's decision. "Glad to have you. You proved yourself before, no need to justify yourself to anyone."

Turning he follows Bearkiller and the others up and deeper into the cave.

Sergeant Almador

An astounded expression came over his face when Weston spoke.

"My father-in-law said that exact same thing to me before my wedding!" Almador muttered apprehensively, then, thinking about it, looked more cheerful.

"Well, must be a good omen, my marriage worked out just fine!" He said with a positive smile for each of the heroes.

<Weston>

"Well we are lucky to have you with us, Almador", he said clasping the sergeant on the back. "And I hope this works out as well as your marriage", he added with a wink. "Shall we go slay the beast", he asked with a nod deeper into the caves.

Seyja


"Yes," Seyja said, nodding her agreement.

"We all talk too much. It is time to do something."

GM

Up and up and round and round you went, in single file along the rough pathway cut into the rock walls of the mine shaft.

In some places the path narrowed to barely half a foot where the edge had crumbled. In others, it had fallen away completely, leaving short but nerve-wracking jumps.

Sergeant Almador had made his choice, choosing to fall in with the rest of the party and together face the dragon peril.

But one thing that might have increasingly lingered in your thoughts, was your own commitment to the party.

You were not formed or sanctioned by any officialdom, you were hardly even fellows. For the most part, you were nearly as strange to each other as you were to the Sergeant. If anything, it was the cramped confines of The Issitia's passenger quarters that had forged your bond of fellowship. How tennuous was it? How loyal were you to each other?

And in bluntest terms, how fond of each other were you? If the Beast could be slain, and the haunted helm could be laid to rest, if the river and town could be saved, what then? Was there aught else that held your party together? Or were you still merely passengers on the same journey?

***

Bearkiller hadn't lied, after you'd scaled the mine shaft hundreds more feet than you could guess at, the temperature dropped quickly, creating shivering air currents around the walls and causing your breath to mist in front of you. Above and below were darkness. You were huddled on the narrow path, lit by the glow of the candlewick lamps, an island of warm light floating in a void.

In the midst of the file, Tindarien was leaning into the wall, probably to keep out of the cold draught, when suddenly there was an explosion of rubble and dust next to him. Choking, the high elf's foot slipped off the ledge, his arm shooting out for a grip, finding none his fingers groped air.

To one side of Tindarien, a humanoid skeleton dropped onto Seyja in a murky cloud of debris, its bony arms clamouring for a hold on her neck. With only patchy light to see by, she backed into Jexric.

Tindarien fell, but then a calloussed hand clamped around his own. Weston grunted, trying to haul up the sorcerer, while Zoltan was hauling on the back of Weston's collar to prevent him from being dragged to his doom. Veins stood out on both their foreheads.

In the chaos, one of the mining lamps was dropped, plummetting down into the shaft, lighting the walls as it went. It showed that the shaft was stepped at irregular intervals, following an ultimately diagonal course. Tindarien swung. His ferret familiar was no matyr, scurrying up its master's outstretched arm, Weston's and Zoltan's, before springing boldly onto a shocked but seemingly safe Sergeant Almador.

At the front of the file, D had been following the halfling, who was pointing out a steepening of the path and irregular rough-hewn steps. Possible that they were nearing the top of the shiaft, but the ambush behind him drew his attention backwards.

Seyja


Recovering her balance, Seyja hoped she hadn't hurt Jexric, but did not have time to turn to check on the bard's condition. She started to swing her greataxe, but quarters were too tight, so she reached up with one hand to pry the bony hands from her throat even as she lunged toward the skeleton, trying to crush the monstrosity against the wall.

"Off me, you foul thing!"

<Weston>

It was a nerve wracking climb in more ways than one. Sure there was a bit of concern where the bits of the path they followed had deteriorated a bit. He was happy to help and encourage Almadore at those challenges since he knew that the man was not as 'comfortable' climbing as the rest of the group was. But it was also a bit unnerving as they moved ... waiting for some indication that the wyrm was there ... ready to attack ... but not happening. There was also time to think.

They may have started out as strangers, but they had become more than friends since they started ... at least as far as =he= was concerned. But what about when this was over ... if any of them managed to survive? When they had 'finished' their quest, then what? He knew that he had a duty to report back, but what would the others do? Did they have their own duties?

All of those idle thoughts were washed away in the cold that was suddenly all around them. That signified the presence of their foe. But how close? Had it detected his ring? Was it waiting to 'pounce' on them?

Then it started. He wasn't even conscious of the thought ... his hand shot out instinctively and grabbed at the outstretched hand that was rushing past ... and as he struggled to keep his footing in the sudden increase of off balancing weight, he felt the pull from behind. He retained his grip and bracing his legs as best he could, hauled ...

D

His steps were slower than normal as he made every effort to keep his balance in his woozy condition.

He had been watching forward taking in the information Bearkiller was offering, when the sounds started behind him. From his position he looked. If he could see a clear target he launched one of his deadly black blades.

Zoltan

Following along the winding path, he is considering how he came to be here, with this group. He's always been a loner, and even working with Weston was a stretch for him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, things changed. He notes Tindarien start to fall and reactions take over. Reaching across he grabs for the first thing he can get his fingers around, which happens to be Weston's collar, and he grunts as the mans' weight pulls at his arm. With Weston's help the downward plunge is halted, and he begins to pull back upwards.

[Update: Zeim, quickly fixed a typo for you, replaced "Tindarien's collar" with "Weston's collar" to prevent confusion. -nemarsde]

Jex
He's right behind Seyja when the skeleton attacked her. His sword was already in hand and once he saw a safe opening, he slammed it down on the bony assailant.

Tindarien

He is not thinking or analysing now. Everything is reaction and survival. Instinctively he knows that the quicker he can get back on the ledge, the less likely the others are to drop him. He uses his acrobatic skill to swing his legs up so that he can relieve the weight and gain a safe purchase. He is still not sure exactly what happened but that will have to wait a moment or two.

GM

Using his legs as a pendulum, Tindarien was able to swing his other arm up and grab Weston's wrist without breaking the other man's grip. Then it was raw, vein-popping strength from both agents of the Order of Averness, that heaved the high elf up onto the ledge once more.

Ahead of them, Seyja was slamming the skeleton against the wall, Jexric unsheathing his scimitar.

There was the sound of a splintering ribcage, and as the barbarian pulled back for another go, Jex smashed his pommel down on the skeleton's skull. The steady-handed light of D's lamp illuminated the dusty scene, and it was suddenly apparent that their was nothing animated about the skeleton. It was held together by ragged robes and mouldering leather straps, giving its bones weight and connectivity like a marionette. There was no balefire in its empty eye sockets, no dark magic at work.

It had fallen out of a narrow crevice in the wall, that had been sealed by rockfall. Someone's boot had probably scuffed a rock at the base as they passed, loosened it, and then Tindarien's hand had brought the pile tumbling down.

Coughing and dusting yourselves down, you reassembled.

The remains were in an even worse state now, after their battering, but it was quickly evident that they were dwarven.

Its apparel was so old, most of it had disintegrated and was lost, but there was one dusty item still encircling the neck. An ornate torc, thick twisted electrum, terminating in dragon heads that faced each other when worn.

Blowing it, the dust seemed to slide off of the torc, showing the metal's fine lustre as if it had been recently polished. After some conferring amongst the party, you agreed it was likely a Dragonhead Torc that could magically bolster one's natural powers. An unexpected but valuable find.

The crevice led nowhere, alas. For some reason, the dwarf had taken shelter there, perhaps hiding and been trapped by the rockfall. Buried alive.

[Dragonhead Torc. +1 to saves when you have 10 hp or fewer. When you use this torc, you gain another use of your racial power in the battle. Quirk: Sometimes unwittingly speaks in a language that sounds like it could be an ancient dead language of their race, if anyone else could understand it.

This magic item is only really useful for non-humans, since humans' racial power improves initiative. Obviously, the save bonus benefits lower hp characters more.]

Seyja


Her violent reaction to the skeleton's attack almost embarrassed her once she realized it was just a skeleton and not undead.

"Uh... scared me there for a moment," she admitted.

<Weston>

He wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry. On the one hand, the 'chain of events' was ... if presented in the right way at a tavern ... would have elicited some chuckles and perhaps a drink. But the 'accident' =had= almost sent Tindarien to his death. =That= had been a near thing.

The discussion about the necklace was interesting. It got him wondering about the dwarf. Was his possession of it at all like his ownership of the ring? Did he know what he had, how to use it? Or was the dwarf as clueless about his gift as he was about his?

But they were here for a reason, they had a mission.

"Ummm ... now what? Should we continue on?"

Zoltan

He breathes a sigh of relief when it becomes apparent they are not being attacked, although the noise they just made likely didn't do them any good.

He too looks at the Torc, and after a short discussion among them provides their best guess as to what it might be, he looks at D. "This might be best for you to have", he says.

(OOC - I looked at all the Racial Powers and it seems to me the two best non-human ones for the party to allow to be used twice would be Zoltan's or D's. Zoltan has a few more hps than D does so I think D is the best choice. Also his Racial power, used twice in a melee against the dragon, would be awesome.)

D

He offers hallow laugh when he realizes that is just an accident and not an undead attack. No one was harmed.

As a matter of course he eyes the torc. Shiny things are inherently useful for coin if nothing else, except when cursed of course.

As the discussion turns towards who should wear it, he is surprised by Zoltan's suggestion. Yet he nods willing if the others are of the same mind. His dark eyes twinkle at the way he can turn a blade to cause additional harm.

Sergeant Almador

He was shaking, gripping the wall with a pained expression. He hadn't had time to react to the events on the path and had his own crisis.

"This is right embarrassing! I-I think something jumped on me, has invaded my breaches. I beg the gods it is only a rat!"

He didn't want to know what kind of unnatural vermin infested such dark, woebegone tunnels, but they were likely inclined to evil and starving hungry.

Bearkiller

He was behind D, watching the scene intently. He'd hoped for some sign of Red Ed, but no, these remains were older in years than his ability to count.

Bearkiller chuckled at Seyja's remark.

"Then we try to get dragon scare you too. Should be short fight."

The halfling rubbed his hands together to keep his fingers warm. He didn't like standing in the cold draughts, but it meant they were getting closer, much closer to their goal.

In answer to Weston, he said, "Save a bone for He Who Sicks Balls. But this not time or place for rest. We go on."

Tindarien

"Thank you"

The words are simple but heartfelt, directed both to Weston and Zoltan. He recovers his breath and then leans in to look at the item.

"I too would benefit from the item. However I will abide by the group's decision at this time."

<Weston>

With a shrug, he picks up one of the leg bones for the wolf. Even if it was imaginary, it might give Bearkiller that they were taking him seriously.

Seyja


The barbarian warrior woman grinned down at Bearkiller, but there was little humor in the expression.

"I plan on the wyrm dying quickly... and painfully."

Jex
"You have nothing to be ashamed of Seyja. All that you and I proved is that our reflexes are fast and that nothing will stand in our way this day - dead, alive or anything in between."

He glances at the torc and see's that D is eyeballing it. "I think it goes well with your eyes. Take it and let's move on," he says to the drow before resuming his song.

D

"I am willing to wear it. But if you," he looks to Tindarien, "would rather wear it. That is fine by me." If he is chosen he slips it on.

[OOC I am open. What does the group want two Cruel damage chances or ?]

[Stick with D for now. Zeim's right in that two stacking Cruel effects would be very useful against a high hp monster.]

[OOC OK. Easy about it, just thought Tindarien wouls say something as his main thing is Relic Hunter +5, it gives him that extra teleport out of damger to cast more spells and he has the lowest HPs of the group. We can move on but he might argue the point after the dragon is dead.. assuming it dies & he survives which is a stretch ]

Tindarien

"Keep it for now."

He says graciously with a smile.

"But I might want to discuss it later.."

D

The pale dark elf nodded and put on the torc.

[It's a pretty cool magic item actually. It would give Tindarien a huge mobility boost in battle, which is key for a sorcerer. But yeah, as long as someone's wearing it, that's the important thing. As you say, the PCs can always decide on ownership later.]

GM

Bearkiller led with a mining lamp held high (for a halfling), and one hand resting on the antler handle of his sheath knife. Sergeant Almador followed behind the party, smacking at his crotch where it seemed some furry rodent-like, possibly mustalid creature had invaded his underwear. If the elf sorcerer wondered where his familiar was, he made no show of it, but there were some things an arcanist was better off not knowing.

Again your party had leapt to each other's aid. Weston had caught Tindarien, Zoltan had caught Weston. Jex had rushed to defend Seyja. Selfless actions. Was it camaraderie? Duty? Maybe just good morals?

Was it the skeins of fate, and were they then woven with every footstep, or did your footsteps inextricably follow them, like a mine cart on a track?

A teller of your tale might be tempted to say, you started that day faced with a choice, a fork in the road. Did you tackle the dragon's lair from above or below?

But a person, walking in your shoes, about to confront an ancient white wyrm, far surpassing a hundred feet in length? They might tell it different. Regardless of how old, decrepit, of how maimed it appeared to be, it was a dragon, not a carrion crawler, not undead or goblins. A dragon, and it might seem as though you were always destined for this fight. Had it been waiting for you a day? Weeks? All your life? Or perhaps for every age since the first? After all, hadn't the fork in this road led to the same place?

Maybe you had realised the truth.

There is no fork

There was a hollow moan in the darkness around you as you rose into what felt like a larger cavern. It was the same air currents, rushing like a whirlpool as they were drawn into the shaft. There were droplets of icy cold water carried on the wind.

Your caged light reflected off of a massive ice formation overhead, dripping, fang-like icicles hanging everywhere. The rough-hewn stone steps led you into an ice cave, every rocky surface glazed and gleaming, and often so overgrown that they looked white, like they were tunneled through a glacier. You stepped warily around the disgusting trickle of dragon's blood.

Bearkiller hesitated on the landing, shivering. Had he lost his nerve? He hissed over his shoulder to the rest of the party, pointing to the floor.

Once more light was directed across the landing, you saw a palm-sized stone tablet on the floor, engraved with a dwarven cartouche, the ice had encased it and a curious seam led away from either side to the wall.

Bearkiller wrinkled his nose.

"He Who Sicks Balls smell trap."

And now I remember why Zoltan didn't want to use his Lay on Hands on Jex earlier. Zoltan can use it to heal as a bonus action during melee. It made more sense while we were resting for Jex to use his own Recovery than for Zoltan to use the Lay on Hands since for a pc to normally use a Recovery during combat takes up his action.

Nep - Let me know if Jex is willing to have used one of his own recoveries last night in order to let Zoltan have one back to use to heal during melee.

Seyja was a different thing as she has no Recoveries left.

[If you think about it, even though you can use Lay on Hands as a quick action, you still have to be alongside the recipient to use it. So the main benefit is that it uses one of Zoltan's recoveries, not Jex's. The net result in this case, is more even spread of recoveries across the party, which is no bad thing. It's either Jex 1:3 Zoltan, or Jex 2:2 Zoltan. Probably much of a muchness.]

True, but the main difference is if Jex dies during the combat he can't use a recovery on himself. Zoltan could heal him, presuming he still had his LoH left.

[Also true. I'll leave it with you. ]

D

The dark elf looked where Bearkiller was looking. He knelt partially to make a smaller profile but mostly to help him be stable. He was still woozy from nearly drowning in the horrid muck earlier. He knew from past experience that the bust of energy that came with danger would clear his grogginess out. But for now he just had to be careful.

He looked at the tablet with its runic forms and wondered if in any of his lives he had ever read that language. For now though his mind was coming up blank.

Tindarien

He follows the others heading for the cave, paying just a little more attention to the path under his feet and the wall to his side.

His thoughts though are mainly focused on Nestaron and he hopes that his friend is still alive and not in too bad a state.

As they approach their destination, he hears the low moan and figures that may indeed be his friend. Once he reaches the area, he will let the sound guide him.

[Gypsy, the moaning is the wind in the cave. Though a good idea to listen out for Nestaron.]

GM

The dark elf might have felt the eyes of his companions on him.

Hooded cloak, leather armour, clearly he was a trap expert. Zoltan wore a hood, but plate armour? It obviously exempted him.

But if real, their expectations were not misplaced, D would have to admit.

Especially since the cartouche started to resonate with him, a memory, like a feather carried on the wind. Could he pluck it from the air?

Searching left and right, he would find similar tablets in the walls. Force Foe Grinder. The tablets formed a trianglular lattice of magic force. The victim would step through it, breaking the latticework. This caused the panes of force held at each point to clash together in midair... Well, it was like being hit by three spinning sawmill blades simultaneously. It made a terrible screeching, grinding noise, not that it would bother the victim.

The dwarves developed the trap about a thousand years ago to kill drow invaders, who at the time had immense innate magical talent but practically no formalised magical training.

The question was, what was this drow going to do about it? Could D remember how to disarm it? Did he even know?

D

The flicker of recognition was present on his visage, though none of his companions could see that as he was looking away from them.

He shifted carefully staying out of the lines of the trap. He spoke softly "Dwarven trap. The design is quite old maybe a millenia. The three stones focus force magic to grind and cut apart the unfortunate victim that sets it off."

He slipped a dark blade under the stone and worked the earth loose. The stone didn't have an easy disarm yet disrupting the angle of force would help.

"A small piece of the history for this particular design is that it was designed to combat drowning incursions. It was effective. Let us see just how effective."

The line disrupted he triggered the trap in a safe manner, the plan for the planes of force to stop each other and render it safe.

[OOC 22 for disarm
Pandemonium rolled d20+9 and got 22]

<Weston>

He was =quite= happy to let D work on the trap. But he was also aware that the presence of traps might also mean the presence of foes willing to take advantage when folks were working to get past the trap. He had his weapon at the ready in case that was also the situation here.