Norwick's envoys and the goblins of the West Rawlins
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((the blood and burn marks look old, very old. More likely from a fight then a trap))
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_Dwin halts as he crosses and sees the signs of previous battle. he pays close attention to the blast marks looking for clues… are they from projectiles from above? Are they from traps hidden on the surface itself?
When he sees the goblin's face under water he speaks quietly in Dwarven, pretending to wave his trap-finder over some blast marks and blood puddles..._
[d]"Cousin, do exactly as I say.
"Turn around and whisper to Rag that we have company under-water. Let her know that this could be a trap, or it could be some farker just watchin' us. I dont want to brain on o her cousins unless she deems it acceptable.
"Either way, I can make him fish food, or we can make haste across the bridge and see what awaits us… What do you want to do?"
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As the party crosses the walkway checking for traps they notice a number of things. First the wind seems to be getting pretty strong at this point from the cave mouth ahead and carries the sound of the clanking metal quite clearly now. Second, a quite a bit of dried blood seems to be on the pathway as well as various burn marks. Third, on the right side of the path in the water a goblin face leers from the water perhaps a foot under the surface.
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Dwin pulls an impossibly long glowing staff from his satchel and waves it in front of him like a retired Floridian might a metal detector at the beach, while crossing the bridge sure-footedly and slowly.
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"Vell, I vhas going to juss leg it across so fast anni traps just gape in amazement, but OK, kan go slow-poke safe style then."
Ragnhild grins wide, probably joking, though her legs twitch restlessly enough for the mad dash method to have been quite preferable an option in her mind.
"Is not Grahk's style to put traps and such, but desperate times maybe bring such methods. You two go firrst then, but I vill not be far behind, in case trouble."
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Dwin grunts at the words of his cousin and tightens the strap of his helm. He pauses with a slight nod "allowing" Rag the privilege of going first over the bridge.
Mind the gob-traps, lass… A narrow area like this would be hard for any trapper to pass up. Me and Belin are happy to go first and search if ya want.
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Oy lassy yer da un leadin us down 'ere. Meh hopin they got sum ales.
Belin grunts pulling her axe to her hand and shield to her arm
only un way tuh find out what beh unhead. Aye?
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Ragnhild waits in tense, expectant silence for a while, before turning to the others, speaking in a low, steady voice:
"This is it huh.. last stand of Bloody Tooth tribe. They have not gone down vithout long, hard, clever battel, and I am proud to see it. I admit, some secret part of me had vished and hoped to find Grahk alive somehow, but is juss like him to keep fajting and cursing even in death. Such a stubborn one, father is."
A note of fondness creeping into her voice at the last comment, soon turning back to hard resolve as her eyes turn to the rock bridge ahead.
"Onli one vay forwards, it seem.. I do not know vhat to expect on other side of tunnel, ghost seemed not to recognize me, but -something- is making that noise for sure. Vhat say you, time to find out vhat?"
She grins to the others, a dangerous gleam of excitement in her eyes.
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((no response from said ghost))
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Ragnhild stares up at the apparition, her face pale and her eyes wide with shock. For a moment she stands frozen before looking to the others with a strange, wild excitement burning in her wolf-like blue eyes. Standing tall and proud, facing the cave entrance where the ghost just stood, Ragnhild slams the blunt, metal-shod end of her spear into the stony ground with a bang, the goblin charm around it dancing and twirling wildly with the shock of the impact. In a strong and clear voice that reverberates in the cavern, she replies:
"I am Ragnhild, daughter of Grahk of Bloody Tooth tribe, and I vill not flee! I khum to seek my legaci, for avenge my tribe!"
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_Inside the cave entrance the extent of what happened can be visibly seen. The edges of the cave mouth are chipped and gouged by lightning and acid. Everywhere seems blackened by flame, the dirt on the ground crackles as if stepping on broken glass. Skeletal remains of goblins are apparent , a number seemingly cleaved in two, sometimes three. The remains seem to have been long picked over as they yield no valuables or anything useful. The cave tunnels are pitch black and slope steeply down. A breeze blows softly from somewhere down below carrying the sounds of clanking metal up.
As the party progresses down they come across numerous signs of conflict. Old blood splatters and pools of dried blood blood litter the tunnels though surprisingly few bodies. Periodic marks on the walls seem much higher then a goblin could manage, or even a tall human for that matter.
One thing does seem to strike the party as odd. It seems the defenders were using unorthodox combat methods for Rawlinswood goblins by using corners and tight sections of the tunnels to fight the attackers and pull back seemingly trying to bleed their opponents.
After traveling down several miles of tunnels (most going down) and expecting a number of various side caves the clanging seems to be drawing closer.
The tunnel suddenly opens up to a 30 ft cave with the floor mostly filled with water. A path of stones seemed to be piled into a rock bridge across the cave to an entrance to the other side. As the party enters the cave a figure appears (to people that can see past your light source) in a cave entrance 20 ft above the entrance across the cave. The figure looks roughly goblin sized dressed in mail armor wielding and axe. The face of the goblin and all uncovered flesh is a stark white and comes off as ice cold to darkvision.
'I Grahk ghost! Flee before Grahk chop heads off! Curse on those that kill Grahk tribe!'
The figure then disappears back into the cave to be replaced by the sound of even more banging metal._
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((…nudges for plot advancement... cue the cave set and bat squeaks!))
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_The armored dwarf peers at the preparations the group makes before they enter and ponders for a moment.
He looks at his 'squire' holding a pan in a defensive stance as his knees as his eyes jump left and right at every natural noise of the woods. It appears he may 'water his feet' any moment from sheer fright.
Raising a brow, the dwarf comes up with a plan._
'Riiiiiight. Dis is what we is goin teh do. Frumma what me lookin at, dey is enterin summa sort of tunnel. Now, since yeh nay appear to be able teh defend an ale from a hinnish baby, yeh job is teh stay behind me anna squeal like a Legionaire if yeh see somthing scary.
Which in yeh case might include, rats, bats er wee spiders.
Our undead friend eer will be walkin first as he rarely complains about deh pain a trap, acid, er arrow may bring.
Me goes next anna yeh stay close. Nae more den an arm's length.
Now afore we go in, we is goin teh hide dat pak yeh carryin anna move a bit lighter.
Just thins we might be needin, anna maybe un weapon fer yeh.'
_The dwarf tries to take the pan from the goblin, but the small hands of the greenskin have a deathgrip on the handle. The dwarf tugs once more and starts to chuckle.
He thinks for a moment and digs into the pack for a cast iron (+1 vs Fey) pan the dwarf uses to fry bacon and deer meet. Being heavier and more solid than the lighter 'pot', he shows it to the goblin._
'May as well use dis "master werk" pan.. Careful now..Its a two hander.'
_With a hearty laugh the dwarf takes away the goblin's current weaponry and holds out its replacement. The goblin takes it urgently, already feeling safer armed with his two handed frying pan.
Chuckling to himself as he peers at the goblin, the dwarf begins to tighten straps and pull out some ancient, dark plate, swapping the light armor he is wearing for full plate. Gutteral muttering in time with pouring of ale over various parts of the armor precedes the dwarf donning various parts of his armor.
After adorning himself with the appropriate rings, boots, belt and a charm, the dwarf peers back at the group preparing to enter the cave.
As a final thought, a masterwork dagger is hidden inside the back of his tower shield.
He kneels for a moment surveying the party prepare. He chuckles at Dwin's boots. Actually, more amazement of having survived all these years under all that weight and all those miles.
He says a final prayer to his mistress, and motions to the goblin to prepare. Not needing an invitation, the greenskin has been vesting himself with the scraps from the dwarf's pack. An interesting shimmering cloak, some pieces of leather armor, some gloves.
Smaller packs ready, the two are ready to follow the party into the caves._
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Dwin grunts and pulls out an impossibly long staff from a bag. The staff glows at the end with a dull reddish color. ((its the trap-finding/diffusing staff from teh GC))
Gobs and their farkin traps… best let me and me cousin go first and make sure we aint about to get spiked, gassed, burnt, shocked, or all o the above...
The group heads in.... ((right?))
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_Ragnhild touches her hands to the golden bracers circling her forearms, murmuring a small prayer in solemn preparation. Looking up, her eyes are alert and filled with determination. She nods to Dwin and prepares to enter when the blackened marks around the cave's entrance seem to make her think twice, and with a swift motion, she activates the elemental protections hidden in the sturdy cloak draped over her broad shoulders.
She stoops low to fit inside the low cave opening, spear held out before her. Dwin's comment causes a temporary grin on her otherwise grim face, and without looking back, she calls back over her shoulder:_
"Elven tea parti? Vouldn't that fall into the categori of a fate vorse than a fate vorse than death, Dwin? I no think we're quite that bad off.. yet!
Thinking now that I introduce myself loud and clear soon.. if someone living make that noise, they bound to hear us soon annivay, we be not exactly most stealthi group, huh."
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_After suiting up, Dwin pulls some straps on his boots which seem to have some effects on him, namely covering him in a dark bark-like substance.
Watching his comrades similarly prepare, he bows to Raghnild who declared her desire to enter first._
I'm right behind ya, lassy, lets see who's makin' all that racket.
Keep yer eyes peeled and yer noses and ears open, folks… I'm gettin the feelin that we arent walkin into anything resemblin an elven-tea-party here. That'd probably make me more nervous anyway...
Dwin follows Rag into the cave and makes sure the rest of the party stays close as well.
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_Farther back the dwarf and his 'squire' make their way through the wasteland.
The dwarf looks intently at the remains and takes note of the complete lack of sound making as little of his own as he can. He step are deliberate as they find the dirt instead of disturbing any rocks or remains.
For all the conservation of sound the dwarf is making, his squire compensates for. He trembles and rambles through a few goblin prayers as he passes each set of remains. He turns away from each set and leans as far away from them as possible to avoid the 'hundred years bad JuJu' that they may pass on to him.
Suddenly the dwarf holds up a hand, motioning to the squeamish goblin to stop. The goblin facing the other way, backs right into the hand and emits a small childish like yelp._
'BAD JU JU!"
_But the sound of his screams are quickly muffled as a strong smithy's hand closes around his throat. The hand turns him easily so the goblin can see the dwarf motion to be quiet with a finger. Slowly the vise like grip releases, allowing air to enter and sound to escape the green form.
The dwarf tilts his head to the side, the looks around a bit confused. Using a pinkie he clears an ear and listens again._
[D] Wind chimes?
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Dwin turns quickly to his cousin.
Iron? I think ya need to stop pickin yer nose… yer ability to smell Dumathoin's gifts is falterin.
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((not mining or smithing, just like steel on steel but not fighting like))
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Belin grunts, pulling her battle axe from her hip and adding her shield to her arm. She sniffs the air much like Tindra does.
That smell like iron tuh meh kin. Or meh nose playin tricks?
