Dur’dan smiles at the grey skins one last time, and roars “IRONBEARD!” and charges the first grey skin blowing will power.
“Yes, kitz watch my back while I shoot those bastards down.”
Arrow will begin firing his arrows once he the dwarf yell.
If/when Arrow runs out of arrows he and Kittix will head down to fight.
John will draw his sword and charge to his friend’s assistance, staying to the flank of the enemy and attacking one of the other dwarves. “Let’s show these crude imitations of our dwarven friend what surface folk are REALLY good for!” Then he’ll add something in Dwarven.
Hob, Jikhal and Karikhan are moving alongside the building to circle around the group when they hear the eruption of battle and each break into a run. The half-elf looses an arrow as soon the battle begins, his projectile flitting down through the air and burying itself between the plates of armor on the middle-aged duergar’s chest and sending the warrior back a step, blood drizzling from the wound and down his torso, his arms flailing as he attempts to keep his balance. The younger duergar immediately shrink back from the charging Ironbeard, arms up defensively as they look for the source of the arrow fire. The deep dwarf with the crossbow gets the half-elf in his sights and responds in kind, the quarrel exploding in a shower of wood splinters on the underside of the balcony.
The eldest duergar’s battleaxe is in his hand in an instant and he launches himself through his own group, swirling aside Oshro in a flash, moving at a speed astonishing for his considerable age and girth. He sweeps his weapon in a semicircle over his head with a roar, screaming “OSHORRO!” as he drives the wickedly-curved edge of the axe into the junior Ironbeard’s neck. The killing blow carves through Oshro’s breastplate, rending it and the chest within it in half, the lifeless wearer immediately crumpling beneath the weight of the weapon like a doll.
Dur’dan screams in anguish, his axe swinging up like a pendulum, cleaving the wounded duergar’s face in two from the chin up, a thick ribbon of blood misting the air above the combatants. Brenley and Fredrickson both draw their weapons and make towards the duergar, the last remaining of which arms himself and likewise charges in.
Hob, Khan and Jikhal circle around the corner to witness the carnage, the center of the flat stone ground of the courtyard slick with blood. The color drains from Hob’s face at the sight of it, though Khan and Jikhal are more desensitized. The halfling scrambles as fast as his short legs will take him around the battle so as to attack from behind, giving the killing machines at the battle’s center a very wide berth.
Jikhal hurls the last javeline at the crossbowman, the weapon sailing too high and clattering on the ground a few yards behind him. Arrow fires another arrow into the melee, this time aiming at the quarreler, his shot ringing off the duergar’s leather pauldron.
The ancient duergar continues his rampage, weapon effortlessly wrenched free from the Ironbeard carcass and hurled around its wielder’s body towards John, who somehow, almost impossibly, manages to actually parry the blow and direct it to the ground where it bounces from the stone with a CLANG. Dur’dan is on his fellow longbeard in a moment but the deep dwarf matches his attack with a flawless counter-stroke, nearly ripping the Ironbeard’s weapon from his grip.
Khan sprints at the swirling duergar, immediately recognizing him as by far the greatest threat. He leaps over Oshro’s body and drives the spear home under the heavy shoulder plate of the ancient dwarf where it bunches with the chain beneath, prompting an “Oof!” but causing little actual damage. Jonathan is right beside him, bringing his longsword down with both hands where it clangs loudly off the duergar’s armored bicep. Finally John dives in, shouting in Dwarven as he ducks beneath a swinging axe and drives his sword up and into the duergar’s belly, blood immediately splashing at his feet as if cut free from a waterskin. His white-bearded adversary howls with pain and stumbles back, the sword slipping free from his wound.
The younger, leaner grey dwarf hacks at Khan with his short sword but his swings are too wild, undisciplined, and are turned aside with the blunt end of the shaman’s spear. His crossbow-wielding companion tosses his weapon aside and draws his sword, just in time for the halfling’s face to appear alongside his own as Hob leaps to his back, plunging his weapon into the duergar’s back as the pair falls together to the ground.
Jikhal takes his club in hand and moves towards the melee. Arrow notches the last of his ammunition and fires at the only unengaged duergar remaining, his arrow cutting open the target’s forearm before snapping in half on the ground. He turns to Kittix and nods, the lizardfolk immediately racing down the steps to join the fight.
The ancient duergar groans, his lifesblood pooling at his feet, swaying and stumbling back as his enemies gather around him. “OSHORRO!” He swipes at the air with his axe in an attempt to keep them at bay. “OSHORRO!” He spins, sweeping the weapon along behind him and catches the human knight, Brenley’s leg taken off cleanly. Jonathan screams and collapses, both hands immediately going to his stump.
Dur’dan’s screaming hasn’t let up and he leaps over Brenley and onto the duergar, burying his axe into the deep dwarf’s chest, Khan’s spear soon joining it. The two drive the duergar onto his back, pushing their weapons deeper, both roaring.
John races to put himself between Jonathan and the final standing duergar. The deep-dwarf lunges but the human turns the attack and pierces his throat with his sword. Jikhal races to give aid to Hob, leaping atop the pair as they tumble through the blood, slamming the duergar’s head repeatedly with his club. Eventually it goes still like the others, leaving Hob trapped beneath its substantial weight. Jikhal, for his part, rushes to Jon and takes a knee beside the panicked, screaming noble, unsure of what to do to render aid.
Karikhan doesn’t bother to pull his weapon free from the gray dwarf, but simply drops it and rushes to Jonathan. To Jikhal, he shouts in Shelic
I will close his wound, but you must do the rest. We need him alive! Nothing is more important!
Karikhan will cast groundfuse in an attempt to close Jonathan’s bleeding amputation injury.
As he reaches Jonathan, Karikhan growls in the Voice which even Jikhal can not understand the language of. In the span of less than a second, Khan has gathered the dirt and dust from the ground nearby and closes his hand over Jonathan’s bleeding amputation, his voice briefly rising to a single-syllable shout.
Dur’dan stumbles around for a second grunting with an occasional gasp for air. He then walks over and takes the old grey dwarfs axe and puts it in his belt spitting at the corpse. He then turns his attention to the wounded noble. He will do whatever he can to help.
Jonathan Brenley screams in pain and thrashes in his agony as Khan attempts to seal the wound. Jikhal wordlessly lowers himself over the young noble, pinning him to the ground to keep him still. The shaman packs mud and dust onto the stump, his chanting growing louder with every moment.
Kittix appears at the doorway of the nearest building, skidding to a halt in the blood before toppling over to all fours as he loses his balance. “What are you doing to him?!” His narrow, serpetine eyes open wide as Karikhan performs his ritual.
The mud and dirt seems to lose color and within a moment has caked over and hardened, sealing the stump. Jonathan shudders and loses consciousness, his body still. Jikhal is at a loss and merely stares at Karikhan for a moment. What little first aid he knows is near useless in such a situation. Soon the entire group (save Arrow, Kittix and, of course, Hob) is gathered around the young noble. Jikhal hesitates but finally puts his ear by Jon’s face. He jabbers away quickly in his native tongue to Karikhan, unsure what else he could possibly do.
Karikhan breathes a sigh of relief, nodding in understanding as Jikhal speaks.
To the rest of the group, Khan says, “We turn back now. Although he still lives, Death stalks this one. My people are much closer than Platinum Falls, and he needs a skilled healer to prevent festering. There will be no rest for us, for his sake.”
After Karikhan speaks to the group, he begins a new chant, and starts clawing through the stone and dirt around him with his bare hands.
Karikhan will cast *groundforge *to build a stretcher with a grip at each corner, which 2-4 people can use to carry Jonathan on.
Dur’dan, after a while realizes there is nothing that he himself can do for the wounded noble. he turns his attention to his fallen nephew. He walks over slowly and drops to a knee.
“Kahn, can you do me a favor and make me a stretcher? Otherwise you leave without me. I will not leave my kin to rot here.”
Khan nods with understanding. “What is your people’s way of honoring the dead? Shall we bury him in the Great Sands above, where his spirit can bless this place? After all, he is the first of your people to fall here in many ages. It seems a fitting end for a warrior.”
John is greatly saddened by his charge’s wounding. “We’ll get you to safety, my friend. And then we will reurn here and slay every last one of the grey-skinned bastards. Honor demands it.” His earlier willingness to negotiations evaporates as he remembers his last master’s death. “No. It won’t happen again.” He whispers.
Before the battle, Hob replies: “Ain’t nothing quieter than a hin,” he says with a less than courageous voice.
After the battle, Hob stays mostly quiet until after the panic and initial discussions for how to deal with the wounded die down. (He would hate to be rude). The only sound he lets out is a soft “Nnngggh,” as he pushes hard against the dwarf. It doesn’t budge. After some time, he speaks out from under the massive (relatively) dwarf: “Hey,” he says, followed by “Nnnnggh. Nggggrrrrgghmmph,” as he grunts and struggles futilely to move the dwarf off himself. He asks again a little louder, “Hey, a little help?”
Karikhan easily creates a pair of thin, yet sturdy, stone-and-dirt stretchers. They are quite heavy for their size but working together any pair of non-halfling party members should be able to carry a loaded stretcher.
Dur’dan lifts the axe and is immediately struck by how little it weighs. Holding it up to the light he can more clearly make out its shimmer: It is mithril. Solid mithril, from blade to haft. Both sides of the head have been etched with the clan design of its former owner. Prompted by this, the Ironbeard investigates the other corpses. The middle-aged duergar’s claymore is mithril, the same as the axe. The junior deep dwarves’ weapons are simple steel, however.
Dur’dan picks up the claymore and offers it to Kahn.
“You can do some serious damage with that club. Try using this if you wish. It will suit you handsomely. If you don’t use it in battle at least take it as a symbol of gratitude. Or take it back to your people and show them what we have found.”
Dur’dan will go pick up one end of Oshro’s stretcher. He does not expect anyone to help and won’t ask. It’s his burden. He won’t declline if it is offered. If not he will drag Oshro to his final resting place.
I now realize my error in reading. Kahn doesn’t use the club. My bad. Ignore the nonsense with the club lol. But Dur’dan is still offering him the claymore to do with what he pleases.
Karikhan accepts the offering, with a slight but respectful bow of his head. He catches Jikhal’s eye, and nods toward the stretcher holding Oshro’s body, indicating that Jikhal should help Dur’dan carry his nephew’s body.
To John, Khan says, “You and I will carry sir Brenley. We must move quickly, if he shall live.”
Khan walks toward the body Hob is trapped under. He lifts the body and moves it aside to release the halfling. “Your courage inspires,” Karikhan says to the hinfolk as he extends his hand to help him to his feet.
After helping Hob, Khan recovers his javelin and spear, and prepares to retrace the party’s steps back to the entrance.
Still stuck under the dwarf, Hob overhears the conversation regarding the axe. He cranes his head to get a glance and says: “Aye, it’s a fine axe indeed. Now please, for the love of all things mithril and shiny, somebody get this lummox off of me!”
After being helped and complimented by Karikhan, Hob is a mixture of embarrassed and flattered. He brushes himself off dramatically and sheepishly replies: “Well…yes, thank you.” Embiggened by his victory and attempting to appear brave, Hob brandishes his gold sword and swings it around a bit. “Haha!” he says loudly. “Guess I still have some moves in me after all.”
After a few seconds of this, the somber moob dawns even on the oblivious Hin, who sheathes his sword and clears his throat loudly, even more embarrassed than before.
John will, of course, carry his charge. He’ll take the back end of the stretcher, so he can keep an eye on him as they walk. If Jon needs anything, he’ll be ready.
The party solemnly prepares to leave, sheathing their weapons and slinging their shields. The half-elf is able to recover a single undamaged arrow, yanked free from the duergar’s chest while his lizardfolk companion sniffs among the carnage, finding a thin gold chain wrapped 'round the neck of the dead elder. He weighs it in his clawed hands before gulping it down as is his tendency.
Dur’dan places his nephew’s shield and axe upon his chest, securing it with the straps of the young dwarf’s armor. Jikhal helps Dur’dan load Oshro’s corpse onto the stretcher, tearing the cloak from the nearly-headless deep dwarf and placing it as a shroud over the dead Ironbeard. The Shelic gives the halfling a look before hefting up his end of the stretcher, nodding. “You fought well, little one.”
John and Karikhan put Brenley onto a stretcher and likewise secure his sword and shield. Everything else settled, the pair lifts the noble and leads the group back through the city, Arrow, Hob and Kittix guiding the litters around undisturbed dead. At one point Brenley wakes for a few moments, his unfocused eyes blinking up at Fredrickson’s face above him. “Father…?” Is all he can groan before losing consciousness once more.
Eventually the party has made it back to the dark chamber of the broken bridge, Hob carrying a torch to lead the way. The chasm is as daunting as ever. It is Arrow who, leaning over the edge to peer into the darkness, spots a tiny ledge about ten yards down: A goblin corpse is there, an arrow still in its back. It must have grabbed a hold of the wall as it fell and somehow dragged its way to that little niche, still a good thirty feet from the top (and on the wrong side of the chasm, to boot). Seeing as it appears to be dead, it was all for nothing. Jikhal’s words are spoken quietly: “Even rats have the will to live.” He is too exhausted to muster any menace or disgust in his voice.
“Now what?” Kittix kicks a loose stone down the remaining length of the bridge where it tumbles over the edge and into the endless void.