Norwick's envoys and the goblins of the West Rawlins
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_The goblin opened his eyes, blinking slowly to get his bearings. The creaking sound of the rope kept a steady tempo as his head started to clear and he realized the forest around him was upside down.
His breath quickened as the the relaxation that unconsciousness had brought left at the sight of the dwarf who was checking a red hot smithing tool inside a circle of glowing red coals.
The goblin struggled a bit, but quickly realized there was no escape from his situation. His grunts and movement, alerted the dwarf that his prey was awake._
"Yeh are goin teh tell me what me wants teh know. Now, what be 'slippy rocks'?"
_The dwarf pulled the gag off the goblin at this moment, and at the same time the greenskin fearing for his life, began to scream. This only elicited a chuckle from the dwarf.
The goblin began speaking quickly, but in his own tongue. The dwarf's eyes narrowed and he moved swiftly to the fire, removing the red hot metal. Showing the upside down goblin the red glowing tip he narrowed his eyes._
"Maybe dis will remind yeh how teh speak common…. Like me heard yeh speakin in deh forest!"
Walking behind the goblin, the dwarf picked up an icicle.
"Deh sheer heat of dis poker will kill all deh nerves in yeh skin… Yeh will hardly feel any pain.. But when yeh will try teh walk, deh uselessness of yeh legs will let yeh know deh damage was done... Now.. Slippy Rocks... Wut does it mean?"
With this last statement, the dwarf held the cold ice to the goblin's back while holding the red hot one against some deer meat lying on the ground behind the goblin. The sizzle of the burning pelt and meat, and the awful smell of burning hair permeated the goblin's senses. To the skin something ice cold feels the same as the red hot. But this was not information the goblin possessed.
"Ayyyeeeeeeee! Me no know! Me no know! NO FIRE!! NO FIRE!!! Me no know! Slippy Rocks! Wet Rocks! Snow Rocks! NO SURE! NO KNOWS!"
_This went on for a few minutes, the icicle being touched to his back when a question was asked. The goblin screaming in assumed pain at the thought of his being burned, the smell of the burning deer adding to his panic.
Having gleaned little information the dwarf was ready to keep tracking the rag tag party. The goblin had provided little as far as an answer, but it did make some sense as to what it could mean as far as a goblin map marker._
"Open yeh mouth…. WIDE!"
_The dwarf's glare made it clear this was not a request to refuse. The goblin slowly opened his mouth, stammering for his life as the dwarf eyed him. Then without warning the icicle was rammed in his mouth as the dwarf held aloft the red hot metal.
The dwarf quickly moved to the tree and in one swift motion cut the rope holding the goblin in the air._
"Help yehself to the deer meat. It be quite gud when cooked dis way. Sear deh juiced inside."
_With that the dwarf picked up his pack leaving the goblin feeling around his back for the burn marks that were not there. Relieved and exhausted the greenskin fainted into the snow.
The dwarf just shook his head and muttered as he turned from the site._
[D] "Mentally stronger than hins… Me will have teh make a note of that..."
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_The dwarf watches from a crouch in the distance as the scene plays out in front of him.
The female of his kind putting down the ales, the male yelling at her and gesturing. As they stop and look around speaking in hushed tones, he mutters and narrows his eyes at Belin. The same look that has crossed his face before he separated more than a few bodies from their souls. The look quickly changes to a furrowed brow as he peers at whatever his cousin slides under the ale bottles.
After watching them walk off, he motions with his staff to the small pile and issues the simple command "Fetch!".
Slow but obedient to his master, the undead minion makes his way over to the ale bottles and whatever is underneath.
As his summon carries out his charge, Foilir ponders the fact that his kin may know he is alive and in these parts. Would be a shame, as he was starting to feel comfortable in his cave, with an army of goblins at his beck and call.
The undead returns, handing him the ale bottles and whatever was underneath. The dwarf looks at it quizzically. He slides it inside the breastplate of his armor and looks at the two bottles of ale.
He marks the top of one and poisons it and recorks it. He makes a similar mark on the second and places them both into his light travel pack.
Motioning to his witless companion, the continue to follow the rag tag group.
As he walks he mutters to himself "Hooks, Crowns, Slippery Rocks.."_
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Aye, but dat crazy gnome been gone fromma these part for years.
Belin turns a blind eye to Dwin's fixing of the bottles. Although it is doubtful she missed it.
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_At hearing that, Dwin stops and looks around at the woods, with a look of sudden realization on his face. He stoops and adjusts the bottles quickly so that they are certain to stay upright. A quick eye might also see that he slipped something underneath one of them.
He then says loudly, so others can hear it:_
Bah! It must have been witchery or an eye-trick. I dont believe fer a second that he's in these parts!
Lets get movin!
He makes a final glance to the surrounding woods and heads off.
Hooks, crowns and slippy-rocks. I'm startin to think this to be a fools-tale!
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<d>I told you who I saw last time we came out here. she shrugs</d>
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Dwin eyes the dropped ale and stares at his wacky cousin.
[d]Da fark you droppin those for?
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Belin drops a couple Dolvak darks to the ground and then sets off after the speedy blond
Oy Ragger meh legs beh short dunnay forget dat!
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Rising to stretch out her long, muscular legs, Ragnhild nods agreement, a quick grin lighting up her otherwise grim features at Belin's nicknames for her and Tindra.
"Ja, ja, right place or vrong, this spot be much changed from vhat it vhas at time of map's making. We backtrack then, maybe make vay east like you suggest Dwin."
Once her mind is made up, Ragnhild seems reluctant to stay a moment longer, the customary restlessness returning as she rests the spear on her shoulder and sets off with long, quick strides.
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Tindra stops in her search for whatever is watching as Belin calls out to her. She looked frustrated, one could easily imagine her tail would be flicking back and forth if Tindra had been in her feline shape. 'Dammit,' she thought to herself, 'I lost it. Where the heck did that scent come from?'
With a quick sigh, Tindra turns to Belin, "Aye, we're getting nowhere here. Let's move on… carefully."
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Belin watches dwin her face carefully blank
Aye meh think movin beh un good idea. Whut yuh thinkin Tinder und yuh Ragger?
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_Taking care to stick to the shadows, the dark armored figure just watches the dwarf motion in an agitated fashion, looking around as if he was lost.
Holding onto a staff as he peers impassively at the group, he starts to wonder what they are looking for.
Suddenly a small shift in the wind brings the smell of the remains of the animal carcass from the bag hanging near his stomach up to his nose. A wide and strong sneer forms on the dwarf's face as he can start to tell how long they have been in the woods from the strength of the smell.
Then a thought from a long time ago. Dwin was not of clan "Map Reader" and was probably following ale stains throughout these woods.
No matter, the longer they stayed here, the more the chance they would run into something they would rather not have._
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After doing his best to look for cryptic landmarks, Dwin throws his hands in the air.
"We ain't in the right place, I don't think.
"Slippy rocks? Sounds like that might be wet rocks, eh? Maybe that stream that runs near the eastern rawlins, not far from them fruit trees, or what used to be trees near the greenskin caves?
"I'm uneasy in this place–i don't like the smell and I get the feelin we're overstayin our welcome. Let's make our way back and try to figure out whatecer-the-fark these symbols might be.
"Slippy rocks! Could it be ice?
Dwin mumbles as he gets ready to move.
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After murmuring her own prayers over the buried remains, Ragnhild crouches silently, leaning on her spear. She too cannot shake the sense of being watched, and the sense of unease from the others only adds to the tension in the air. She remains crouched for a while longer, perfectly still while listening for any sound revealing the presence of potential company.
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_Dwin stares at Belin for a second and makes a quick look of disgust when she belches (perhaps he's been hanging around longleggers too much).
Understanding her quick message, he looks over at Tindra and watches the half-breed's body language, also feeling that something is amiss.
The sense of smell in most creatures is one that carries the most memories, and Dwin could swear he caught a brief waft of something that reminds him of a different time and place. The name "Stinky" immediately came to his lips.
Shrugging it off as a coincidence or a trick of the greenskin-corpses, he continues to look around for landmarks._
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Belin pausing in their work for an ale, straightens her shoulders looking over her shoulder as if rolling them while she drinks her ale perhaps she feels the eyes watching her. She waves a hand at Dwin her other flicking bits of dirt from her fingers. <tc>heads up. look at cat lady.
belch Ah, that was a dolvak dark. she smacks her lips tossing the bottle away from the group Want one kin?</tc>
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_The dwarf stopped moving as he spied the lingering interest of the cat lady from Norwick.
Quietly he reprimanded himself for not remaining downwind of her. Pointing to a spot a safe distance between himself and the rag-tag group, the dwarf turned his head slightly to the right.
Obeying his command, the undead summon moved between himself and the group, his stench being used to mask the presence of the dwarf.
The dark cloak and armor of the dwarf covered in thick forge soot, a deep black covering that reflected no light.
Reaching down ever so slowly as his eyes fixed on the cat, he picked up some the rotting remains of a small goblin or other woodland creature and placed it in a small burlap bag which he slung around his neck.
That should throw the cat off. Until he could get downwind of them._
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Tindra cocked her head to the side with a raised eyebrow. The smell of sulfuric death had assaulted her senses for most the day. While she would certainly have preferred a woodsy scent, the new scent she picked up was like a breath of fresh air. Curiosity derailed her thoughts from the futile search for landmarks as she sniffed the air. She stood still, with just ears twitching, trying to pick up any sound.
It was an ashy and metallic smell, she concluded, like that of a smithy. And the hint of dwarven ale almost made her think maybe she just was upwind of Dwin and Belin. She figured just about any dwarf regularly carries the scent of a forge, but her two dwarven companions had been working for a while with helping Ragnhild lay her goblin tribe back to peace. The two should smell more of the grave than of the forge.
The half-elven sorceress pulled her cloak tight and began to move about quietly. Her eyes searched about while she sniffed the air and listened to the wind. Somebody was about and she wanted to know who and where.
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The bodies of the goblin shamans are quickly returned to the earth being little more than bones and sinew by now. As the party scans for landmarks they can't help realize that if there were any landmarks in the area they probably have been unrecognizably changed by now. The smell of a forge and dwarf comes quickly to Tindra's senses. It is quite evident it isn't from her party. Others get the sense of being watched.
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Ragnhild rests her hand on Tindra's shoulder briefly, giving it a light squeeze of sympathy before turning to Belin and nodding, the rage in her eyes suppressed now to focus on the task at hand. With great care, the skeletal remains are removed from the sharpened sticks and ceremoniously layed out on the ground while Belin works at consecrating the area.
//welcome into the plot Herrold, think this thread just turned from good to even better ^^
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_Sqee leaves the dwarf's cave and moves away from the entrance quickly. The sound of the shattering glass of the violently thrown ale bottle hitting the rock wall, telling how Sqee's message was received by the tunnel dweller.
The scarred, drunk dwarf sits at his chair and pulls another ale bottle from the case on the floor. He opens it and drinks half before he slams it on the table and folds his hands in front of him._
Help dem?! Me is 'eer to AVOID dem!
_His anger starts to rise again and he grips the bottle to throw it against the wall. Slowly his hand relaxes and he deliberately brings the ale bottle to be finished in one smooth motion. He places the empty into another case to his left.
His now free hand finds a set of branded runes, that very few dwarves who bear the clan name 'Dolvak' have on their body._
Nae. Can nae let im meet Moradin afore it when he want it to be.
_The dwarf slowly rises from his chair and walks over to a heavily armored chest with a ridiculously large lock. Opening it with a key hanging around his neck, he removes a fine cloak covering the contents.
Dark blood colored armor sits gleaming back at him as if it was fresh off the anvil. Plate by plate he removes it from the chest, placing it in its proper place on an armor stand nearby.
He removes all the articles of war from his chest, laying them out, taking a mental inventory of what he had placed in the chest long ago.
His ears perk at the at the unannounced visitor and he turns quickly placing a hand on the goblin messenger's neck.
His touch (negative energy) drains most of the life from the greenskin, but he let's go before the goblin becomes more fuel for his forge._
Ne'er sneak up on sumun who cen summon death! Now wut yeh want?
_The golbin gasps and holds his throat but manages to convey that Sqee would like an answer by tomorrow as to whether he will help the dwarf and his party on their quest.
The dwarf stops tying the war braids into his beard for a moment and thinks._
Tell him if he bring me deh ore he promised, we has an accord..
The dwarf then dismisses the gasping goblin as he continues to prepare his beard and tools of his trade.
[D] Fool of a goblin, would have done it for free. Or maybe he knew I could not leave Dwin to chance…
Dismissing the thought he continues to prepare himself for what might come, locking up his possessions in case a curious goblin dare go into his cave. Most feared the smell of death that emanated from it, but why leave it to chance?
[D] Just another Gear of War preparing to turn again. Someone's blood will serve as the oil that makes us turn easier….
His eye catches the glow of the Amn from the chest as he cleans his armor while recounting various songs of war..
(( By Salsadoom's invitation. Forum RP only. PC is under DM control ))
