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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 7473323" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>“That was satisfying.” Flint grins. “Thanks.”</p><p></p><p>“No problem,” Carl Hungus replies. “Those Bronze Tigers never even knew what hit them.”</p><p></p><p>The halfling smirks. Even though he hasn't recovered the fancy pipe the Tigers stole when they mugged him, his newfound companion Max seems happy to keep packing bowls of his own. The hempflower doesn't heal his wounds, but it allows him to more easily ignore them. </p><p></p><p>Besides, he has the power of music on his side, and that <em>can</em> heal all wounds, given time. </p><p></p><p>The five of them (Benthum included) stroll out of the city's gates, nodding to Max's soldier buddies as they pass, and head into the gorge again, waving at the dwarves guarding the main entrance to the megadungeon before heading into the small cave with the thoqqua hole that Dzedz's cousin showed them. </p><p></p><p>A major advantage of the hole is that there are no dwarves standing there, waiting to collect a toll when the party enters (or leaves) the dungeon. As long as nothing ever ambushes them inside the tunnel, the group reasons, it is a superior means of ingress into the dungeon. Our heroes (such as they are) crawl again through the long smooth tunnel and emerge into the apparantly natural chamber where it terminates. </p><p></p><p>That strange, distant gibbering echoes all around them. </p><p></p><p>“What the hell is that?” Flint exclaims. </p><p></p><p>“We don't know yet,” Dzedz says.</p><p></p><p>“Let's go find out,” Mad Max suggests, and unlimbers his maul.</p><p></p><p>The chamber they are in has one exit, which rapidly forks. The first they try leads to a natural passage; tufts of filthy, matted hair lie here and there on the cavern floor. They turn around and head the other way, entering another natural cave. The gibbering is louder. Suddenly Max, in the lead, comes to an abrupt halt. </p><p></p><p>“Watch out!” he cries. </p><p></p><p>Then the giant spider descends from above, landing next to Carl Hungus and sinking its fangs into the dragonborn's shoulder. Fortunately, his green heritage makes him resistant to the spider's venom, but he still cries out in pain as the fangs dig deep holes into him. </p><p></p><p>Dzedz blasts the thing with a <em>fire bolt,</em> while the group's new halfling companion draws a rapier and leaps to the fore, thrusting the tip into the spider's thorax. The creature draws back, and Flint stabs it in the head, just missing an eye. More arcane flames blast it, and the thing falls onto its back, charred legs curling up.</p><p></p><p>“Damn!” swears Mad Max. “I didn't even have a chance to react!”</p><p></p><p>“I didn't, either,” grumbles Hungus.*</p><p></p><p>“You okay?” Flint asks. Hungus nods- “It's just a scratch”- and the group continues exploring. </p><p></p><p>The passage they are following soon breaks into an area of strange, unnaturally smooth stone. Dzedz frowns; it is neither dwarf-work nor the craftsmanship of any other folk that he can identify. The passage leads them into a large square chamber, its walls painted with scenes of elemental forces at work, churning together in a chaotic mess. Four pillars support the ceiling, each painted with images of of one of the four classical elements. Interestingly, the floor is wet. </p><p></p><p>“Hmm,” says Dzedz.</p><p></p><p>Flint starts to move into the room, but Max grabs his arm to halt him. “Hang on a second. I don't trust this. Look, it's wet. This has to be a trap.”</p><p></p><p>The group turns and heads back the other way, past the corpse of the spider, returning to the natural passage. Flint raises a hand. “Listen,” he murmurs. The party halts, straining their ears. </p><p></p><p>“Sounds like water,” says Dzedz. </p><p></p><p>“I don't hear anything,” declares Hugus. Mad Max shrugs. </p><p></p><p>They move forward cautiously. The passage opens onto the shore of a rapidly-moving underground river. As they start to look around, a figure from the shadows springs forth with a loud roar. </p><p></p><p>The creature looks like a goblin, but it has an exceptionally large nose and ears, with a mottled, warty, rubbery-looking, green complexion. He's bigger than most goblins, too. </p><p></p><p>Though the party has no way of knowing it, this is Vicous Toby.</p><p></p><p>Vicous Toby attacks with claws and bite, delivering terrible wounds. Benthum goes down with a shriek, and both Mad Max and Carl Hungus suffer greivous wounds. The blows they deal in return rapidly heal before their eyes. </p><p></p><p>Though the party has no way of knowing this, either, Vicious Toby is half-troll. </p><p></p><p>But the party is capable of delivering terrific damage. Vicious Toby's regeneration can't keep up. Even though he nearly eviscerates Max and leaves Hungus barely standing, once Dzedz realizes that Toby can't regenerate while he's being burnt, the dwarven wizard unleashes a steady stream of <em>fire bolts</em> until, finally, the tenacious little half-goblin falls. </p><p></p><p>“Nice!” exclaims Mad Max. </p><p></p><p>“Speak for yourself,” groans Hungus, binding Benthum's wounds. “I'm hurting.” </p><p></p><p>Flint steps up and sings a spell, first on Benthum and then on Hungus. Even so, the entire party is shaken and bloodied from the battle. They collect what loot they can find and retreat to the thoqqua hole. </p><p></p><p>“Good thing we got a healer before we went down here,” remarks Dzedz. “But we'll have to be careful. It's dangerous down there.”</p><p></p><p>“And we still don't know what that gibbering is,” adds Flint.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>“It's a good year for griffons,” remarks Sarec, staring into the sky. Indeed, there are three griffons circling to the north, clearly watching prey- perhaps a wild garen or a goat that had strayed from its herd. </p><p></p><p>“Uh,” grunts his companion, Drolc. </p><p></p><p>Sarec is a human, and he wouldn't normally associate with someone with orcish blood, but Drolc has, over the years that they have known each other, shown himself to be of unusually good nature- no doubt due to the influence of his human half. Even so, Sarec would have long since left Drolc to his own devices, were it not for the fact that Drolc is just so stupid. He is dumber than many dogs that Sarec has known. In fact, he's dumber than some <em>doors</em> that Sarec has known. He drools on himself. He doesn't understand when people respond to him negatively. He barely comprehends money and the concept of paying for things. He has the mind of a slow four-year-old. Without someone to take care of him, the poor fellow would probably have died long ago. </p><p></p><p>But as time has gone by, his good nature has never wavered. Never has Drolc acted out of cruelty, as one would expect from someone with orcish blood. Never has he tried to force his attentions on a woman, or has he bullied his way into some shiny possession. Never has he stolen, not even a meal, not even when he was hungry indeed. Drol seems filled with an innate sense of right and wrong, almost as if his body were filled not with blood, but with liquid weal. </p><p></p><p>Sarec, on the other hand, is something of a savage. Disheveled, rarely well-bathed, often with twigs in his hair, the man has lived on the outskirts for his entire life, shunning the city much of the time. His unlikely friendship with Drolc has grown despite the differences between them. </p><p></p><p>One thing they share, though, is a need to support themselves. Thus, they find themselves on the way down to the Black Gorge, ready to pay their way into the megadungeon they have heard about. </p><p></p><p>And this is how they meet (and join) the rest of our heroes. </p><p></p><p>*These two both have very bad passive Perceptions and spend a fair amount of time being surprised.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 7473323, member: 1210"] “That was satisfying.” Flint grins. “Thanks.” “No problem,” Carl Hungus replies. “Those Bronze Tigers never even knew what hit them.” The halfling smirks. Even though he hasn't recovered the fancy pipe the Tigers stole when they mugged him, his newfound companion Max seems happy to keep packing bowls of his own. The hempflower doesn't heal his wounds, but it allows him to more easily ignore them. Besides, he has the power of music on his side, and that [i]can[/i] heal all wounds, given time. The five of them (Benthum included) stroll out of the city's gates, nodding to Max's soldier buddies as they pass, and head into the gorge again, waving at the dwarves guarding the main entrance to the megadungeon before heading into the small cave with the thoqqua hole that Dzedz's cousin showed them. A major advantage of the hole is that there are no dwarves standing there, waiting to collect a toll when the party enters (or leaves) the dungeon. As long as nothing ever ambushes them inside the tunnel, the group reasons, it is a superior means of ingress into the dungeon. Our heroes (such as they are) crawl again through the long smooth tunnel and emerge into the apparantly natural chamber where it terminates. That strange, distant gibbering echoes all around them. “What the hell is that?” Flint exclaims. “We don't know yet,” Dzedz says. “Let's go find out,” Mad Max suggests, and unlimbers his maul. The chamber they are in has one exit, which rapidly forks. The first they try leads to a natural passage; tufts of filthy, matted hair lie here and there on the cavern floor. They turn around and head the other way, entering another natural cave. The gibbering is louder. Suddenly Max, in the lead, comes to an abrupt halt. “Watch out!” he cries. Then the giant spider descends from above, landing next to Carl Hungus and sinking its fangs into the dragonborn's shoulder. Fortunately, his green heritage makes him resistant to the spider's venom, but he still cries out in pain as the fangs dig deep holes into him. Dzedz blasts the thing with a [i]fire bolt,[/i] while the group's new halfling companion draws a rapier and leaps to the fore, thrusting the tip into the spider's thorax. The creature draws back, and Flint stabs it in the head, just missing an eye. More arcane flames blast it, and the thing falls onto its back, charred legs curling up. “Damn!” swears Mad Max. “I didn't even have a chance to react!” “I didn't, either,” grumbles Hungus.* “You okay?” Flint asks. Hungus nods- “It's just a scratch”- and the group continues exploring. The passage they are following soon breaks into an area of strange, unnaturally smooth stone. Dzedz frowns; it is neither dwarf-work nor the craftsmanship of any other folk that he can identify. The passage leads them into a large square chamber, its walls painted with scenes of elemental forces at work, churning together in a chaotic mess. Four pillars support the ceiling, each painted with images of of one of the four classical elements. Interestingly, the floor is wet. “Hmm,” says Dzedz. Flint starts to move into the room, but Max grabs his arm to halt him. “Hang on a second. I don't trust this. Look, it's wet. This has to be a trap.” The group turns and heads back the other way, past the corpse of the spider, returning to the natural passage. Flint raises a hand. “Listen,” he murmurs. The party halts, straining their ears. “Sounds like water,” says Dzedz. “I don't hear anything,” declares Hugus. Mad Max shrugs. They move forward cautiously. The passage opens onto the shore of a rapidly-moving underground river. As they start to look around, a figure from the shadows springs forth with a loud roar. The creature looks like a goblin, but it has an exceptionally large nose and ears, with a mottled, warty, rubbery-looking, green complexion. He's bigger than most goblins, too. Though the party has no way of knowing it, this is Vicous Toby. Vicous Toby attacks with claws and bite, delivering terrible wounds. Benthum goes down with a shriek, and both Mad Max and Carl Hungus suffer greivous wounds. The blows they deal in return rapidly heal before their eyes. Though the party has no way of knowing this, either, Vicious Toby is half-troll. But the party is capable of delivering terrific damage. Vicious Toby's regeneration can't keep up. Even though he nearly eviscerates Max and leaves Hungus barely standing, once Dzedz realizes that Toby can't regenerate while he's being burnt, the dwarven wizard unleashes a steady stream of [i]fire bolts[/i] until, finally, the tenacious little half-goblin falls. “Nice!” exclaims Mad Max. “Speak for yourself,” groans Hungus, binding Benthum's wounds. “I'm hurting.” Flint steps up and sings a spell, first on Benthum and then on Hungus. Even so, the entire party is shaken and bloodied from the battle. They collect what loot they can find and retreat to the thoqqua hole. “Good thing we got a healer before we went down here,” remarks Dzedz. “But we'll have to be careful. It's dangerous down there.” “And we still don't know what that gibbering is,” adds Flint. *** “It's a good year for griffons,” remarks Sarec, staring into the sky. Indeed, there are three griffons circling to the north, clearly watching prey- perhaps a wild garen or a goat that had strayed from its herd. “Uh,” grunts his companion, Drolc. Sarec is a human, and he wouldn't normally associate with someone with orcish blood, but Drolc has, over the years that they have known each other, shown himself to be of unusually good nature- no doubt due to the influence of his human half. Even so, Sarec would have long since left Drolc to his own devices, were it not for the fact that Drolc is just so stupid. He is dumber than many dogs that Sarec has known. In fact, he's dumber than some [i]doors[/i] that Sarec has known. He drools on himself. He doesn't understand when people respond to him negatively. He barely comprehends money and the concept of paying for things. He has the mind of a slow four-year-old. Without someone to take care of him, the poor fellow would probably have died long ago. But as time has gone by, his good nature has never wavered. Never has Drolc acted out of cruelty, as one would expect from someone with orcish blood. Never has he tried to force his attentions on a woman, or has he bullied his way into some shiny possession. Never has he stolen, not even a meal, not even when he was hungry indeed. Drol seems filled with an innate sense of right and wrong, almost as if his body were filled not with blood, but with liquid weal. Sarec, on the other hand, is something of a savage. Disheveled, rarely well-bathed, often with twigs in his hair, the man has lived on the outskirts for his entire life, shunning the city much of the time. His unlikely friendship with Drolc has grown despite the differences between them. One thing they share, though, is a need to support themselves. Thus, they find themselves on the way down to the Black Gorge, ready to pay their way into the megadungeon they have heard about. And this is how they meet (and join) the rest of our heroes. *These two both have very bad passive Perceptions and spend a fair amount of time being surprised. [/QUOTE]
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