Post by waysoftheearth on Aug 14, 2012 5:52:44 GMT -6
Here is the setting for our little adventure. If you want to work your PC background into this somehow, so much the better...
The Grey Hart are a motley crew of a hundred or so mercenary fighters and their hangers on. The company is notionally in the employ of the Marquis de Boors, though their morally "agile" leader -- Sir Trevor Sanguine -- is ever open to opportunity. Alas that no such prospect has arisen recently!
The Grey Hart have been assigned to reconnoitering the muddy moorlands between Vessalt and Damaque for much of the waning campaign season without much to show for it. Most of the men (and other sorts) are tired of mud and cold feet, and disgruntled with the lack of purpose, homely comforts, and especially loot! The best of the grub is long gone, winter is coming, and the rumours say the outriders have already begun deserting. Then again, rumour always has it the outriders are deserting...
So it is that when our grizzled party of misfits come across an uncharted ruin hidden in a misty bog scarcely a day out from the Hart's encampment, they take it upon themselves to investigate. Should they happen to unearth fabulous treasures... well, there'd be no particularly good reason to share it with the Grey Hart would there?
Post by waysoftheearth on Aug 16, 2012 4:53:41 GMT -6
The mismatched crew of fighting men, fickle elves and wizards, and an unfairly attractive dwarfish harlot approach the moss covered, crumbling ruin with not more than two hours of daylight remaining -- autumn is growing old and the evenings are coming on cooler and faster.
The company know they are expected back in camp by tomorrow evening, and will be officially missed if they don't show by sundown the following day. That gives them this night to make their exploration, and perhaps the following day at the outside, if they don't want their absence to be noticed.
The ruin itself hunkers in the mud between two sedgy shoulders of a hillock and is shrouded in clinging mist. It seems to have been a thick walled fortification once, ages ago, but now it is all tumble down and overgrown. The most interesting feature is a partially collapsed entry into the side of the hillock, wherein a mossy stair wide enough for only one abreast descends into the cool, wet dark below...
Gentlemen, let us declare a marching order and get this delve underway!
Vangelis is well-armored with a shield and probably can't strike easily from the second rank, so will join the first rank if no fighter will do so or if there is room given the size of the entrance, otherwise will move to the second rank, preferably not blocking Tirandir if he wants to throw spells over Mab's head.
He will hang his mace from his belt and light a torch and carry it in his right hand, his shield in his left.
Gaspard takes in a deep breath of crisp, autumn air and grimaces. "Smells like arse," he says, casting an askew glance at the dog, Spaz. He twirls his empty sling lazily in his left hand as he takes position at the rear of the group; the weapon has far more utilty overland than it does underground.
Last Edit: Aug 16, 2012 8:48:43 GMT -6 by verhaden
"My safety is assured, Firas faerie," Gaspard drawls in accented elvish, "though I can make no claims to yours." He stoops down to the ground to assess a smooth rock in the mud, as the others gather themselves.
Dishmab the Dwarf shifts her weight inside her baggy chain hauberk and hoists her morningstar to her her left shoulder. (Like all the women of her family, she's left-handed.) Her short-hafted iron morningstar is of the old-school "spiked mace" design, rather than the "ball and chain" hybrid the humans seem to favor these days.
Last Edit: Aug 16, 2012 17:55:30 GMT -6 by mushgnome
Post by Sean Michael Kelly (SMKSensei) on Aug 16, 2012 17:53:47 GMT -6
Jaras with torch lit, endeavors to lift it high enough to not roast his elven foster-kin in front of him. His allegiance to the fair folk that raised him, and the promise of a better life when all of this is over courses through his veins. A normal sized dagger grasped firmly in his right hand like others would hold a short sword. He's ready.... and already hungry.
Dram takes rear guard, practiced eyes shifting constantly to all rearward flanks. Skulking about his master's feet, Spaz moves in and out of the shadows, ghost-like.
ETA: pretty standard tactics will be employed. Hurled daggers if there is time, but with preference weighted toward sword-n-board fighting. So, if it's chancy there will be time to hurl dagger (or another one) he will draw his sword and "bring the pain."
Spaz is trained to attack the legs of a creature engaged in melee versus Dram, slowing it and preventing its retreat.
Standing Orders: Dram will attempt to reacquire any hurled daggers after combat.
Last Edit: Aug 16, 2012 19:51:01 GMT -6 by dubeers