Age of Giants- Live or Die Trying

[Farmerbink]

The newcomers and locals alike find their own ways to spend the rest of the day. While Brankahm introduces Urist to the local brew, Bushi and Paranomasia worry themselves mostly with avoiding undue antagonism. Perriket and Ojjamit eventually find their way to the same cavern as the others, guided by a pair of adolescent Gnomes sent by Mildred.

As the spits turn, the smell of roast deer overpowers all other scents. After several hours, the Gnomish and Halfling ambassadors begin cleaving grand slices of meat from them, rapidly spreading the meat among the gathered allies. It's a sudden surprise when Big Job stomps into the room, with no grand pomp, followed rapidly by a decidedly flustered-looking Gnome; the one you met this morning. "Mister Job! Yes, of course you can-" She sighs. "As you can see, your friends and family are safe! Well fed!"

At her heels, the rest of the emissaries follow, in somewhat more dignified fashion. Without breaking stride, they make out their families and friends, and rejoin their own clans, apparently bothered. In the next several minutes, it becomes clear that the Stepford-Hendersons are in dire straits. In their own ways, each patriarch shares details about their hosts' unpleasant discoveries. Many of the Stepford-Hendersons contacts and neighbors have gone dark in the last several months. Deeply reliant on those neighbors for food and information, the Gnomes have been functionally trapped in the relative safety of their woods.

Each of you, one by one, is eventually singled-out by your superiors and introduced to a surprisingly tall Gnome, dressed (even here) in chain mail with a long (for him) sword at his side. (Except Heldrum and Brankahm, who are asked to help by a few friends) "I'm Gadrict Abertnathy Stepford, and I'd like to thank you for volunteering for this." (Some of you are quite surprised by his use of 'volunteer').

"Hopefully this will prove largely uneventful, but we simply have to know more about what happened to the Craghammers. They've been a vital connection to the lands beyond the mountains, and more than a dozen smaller communities we would never be able to reach without safe passage. Simply put, the continued loss of allies we thought were safe has been more than a little troubling. The giants are on the move anew, or something else has proven threatening to the tunnel-dwellers in their stead. The Craghammers' hold is two days journey westward. My nephew Franklin will go with you- he knows the way."

Over the next few hours, the mood darkens somewhat. Though each of the family leaders is gifted a glass orb, just a bit larger than a Dwarf's fist- apparently the clan seers can communicate through them with relative ease- it's with no small amount of trepidation that they announce their imminent returns home. It seems the Stepford-Hendersons have called in a great many favors in the past few hours, not the least of which is you.

[DarkOne-Rob]

"Of course I will help, Lerwar," answers Brankahm to his friend. "The giants are as much a threat to me as to all of you Stepfords. I live here in Step Downsy Forynth too you know..." Looking to his much smaller friend over one of the gnome's brews. "This one is pretty good, you know? A bit hoppy for my tastes, but the fruity notes help a bit. You're getting better!"

As the little gnome blushes and smiles Brankahm looks around and notices that the pub has largely emptied for the evening. "Please excuse me, I should see who else is going..." he says as he rises and heads to the cavern where the guests have been camping. Looking around he realizes that the leadership don't seem happy. "Not much of a surprise," he grumbles as he looks for someone likely to do the actual work...

[Athaleon]

"I've never had the pleasure,"Urist rumbled, "but the Craghammers sound like a doughty clan and true. Any threat to them, from above or below, is a threat to us all. Let it never be said that I had refused aid to true Dwarfs in need. I am honored to represent my house in this matter." His little speech was stilted, with an air of over-rehearsal, but there was no mistaking the earnestness behind it.

[Palanan]

After the lovely grubs with garlic drizzle from Mildred’s kitchen, followed by the superbly roasted venison in the main cavern, Perriket and Ojjamit allow themselves to slip into a fine dozy stupor, the fatigue of recent days rising up all around them in a warm gray haze, the voices of the great cavern’s many occupants merging together like pebbles in a softly flowing river-bed.

They are jolted awake by the heavy thunk of Snethi’s axe-handles, which—once their muzzy heads clear—they take for an ugly joke, save that Beolfryth and Brathahul are standing near with a solemn mien.

Once they explain, grimly and plainly, what it is that needs doing, Perriket almost wishes it were one of Snethi’s ugly jokes—for even the ugliest, crudest pettiness from the worst dregs of Deephall seems better than what Perriket has been told he must do.

Alone, into unknown country, with unknown companions—while the rest of his delegation returns to the safety and comforting confines of Deephall. He had thought, naïvely, that he and Ojjamit might pass the time here in the Downs for a day or two while the cavespeakers negotiated whatever business they had—business that had no need of him; but now it seems there will be no returning.

Worse, Perriket can already see that Ojjamit, the sly weasel, is angling to impress Narajhet as they prepare for their perilous journey home. Privately he feels he would be the better match—a cunning scout, a touch of arcane talent, and much better whiskers—but without his presence on the homeward path, Narajhet might allow herself to settle for Ojjamit’s lesser qualities.

Knowing that he is the better scout, as proven by his selection for this task, does nothing to assuage any of his worries.

Volunteer, indeed. He hadn’t. But he keeps his teeth together as the gnome patters on, waiting until the gnome finishes before asking, “Whurk—” and chokes briefly on his own words. “Who else?” he manages. “Who else will I be traveling with?”

A deep scouting foray like this called for superlative fieldcraft. Perriket can’t imagine any of the gnomes possessing the subtle talents or deep skill required to navigate the deceptive ways of the surface world—much less any dwarf. Perhaps a halfling or two? They at least can be mute and light-footed when they wish, but Perriket can’t bring himself to imagine anyone else suited for this call.

.

[tonberryking]

Bushi sat cross legged on a chair that was gigantic to a goblin such as herself, her catlike eyes staring into the cooking fire. Her meditative state was interrupted only twice, first by her ruminations on whether she could ask for seconds and thirds of venison, and secondly why was Big Job all of a sudden stomping over towards her?

...Oh, wait.

They began a vibrant chittering argument in brief bursts of back and forth goblin that begins with Bushi immediately handing over whatever she had left on her plate to her superior. Several 'loan' words from orcish and dwarven were thrown in. ((Little known fact, but for the most part the Goblin Language did not initially have 'proper' pronouns, just catch-alls for "Big Me", "Little Me", and "Little You" with the biggest/most powerful or affluent goblin in the room getting the first one. Or fighting for it if there was someone else who considered themselves superior. Of course being introduced to other races and their attempts to learn the damn language immediately led to some more subjective pronouns being given to them for the sake of everyone else's sanity even if it made goblin speak even more pidgin than it already was. "To learn Goblin is to Master your Headaches" as the somewhat disrespectful idiom went...)) Most of them came from Bushi, even if eloquently speaking goblin is more unusual than ill mannered attempts.

It would seem, as the conversation came to a close, that Bushi had been volunteered to aide some endeavor or another. Big Job hated any forward and direct repaying favors owed. Even if that was generally how things worked in the world, you scratch my back I scratch yours, Bushi had gleaned from listening to her pompous windbag of a patriarch that he felt he had given enough things to ingratiate himself to the other races and communities a hundred already in his long life. People should be answering to him, or at least a favor from Big Job would have been like a favor from a mafioso boss in another life. Here, clearly, he had been shut down in his efforts to figure out what was in it for himself and the goblins.

He ended the conversation with a hard, flinty stare at Bushi with his left eye, so hard she swore it was going to pop out of its socket. Bushi didn't even sigh. She just purposely turned to face the gnome delegates and tried to make it seem like this was all her idea:

"I--Bushi-- Do not merely volunteer for this task. I insist on helping you, your nephew and the missing Craghammers. You only need say the word and Bushi shall immediately get to work!"

[Palanan]

As the shrill little creature declaims from across the crowded cavern, Perriket listens in sullen disbelief.

Despite a knack for languages, he has never troubled to learn the grating chatter of the goblin-kin; their speech, like the creatures themselves, shamelessly scrounges from wherever it can, a senseless clishmaclaver that mixes in fragments of Dwarven like gems scattered in gravel. He had done his best to ignore the crescendo of screeching between the two creatures, as they argued like overbearing crows over scraps of food; but once the smaller one begins its squeaking speech, Perriket’s snout can’t help but twist a little.

This is the same spindly-armed thing who had been clowning about earlier, doing somersaults and handstands, capering about in bloodstained rags with its paws strangely wrapped? This is one of his companions? Perriket would rather bolt a bowl of gutwrenchers than spend a minute topside with this one.

Enough waiting. Hearing the ragamuffin creature insisting on volunteering—and dwelling on its likelihood of drawing in every predator for fifty miles around—is enough to drive him to his feet, marching through the large communal cavern in search of someone, anyone, who can tell him who and where his real companions are.

.

[Triskavanski]

Paronomasia AC: 18 | HP: 16 | Current: 16 Fortitude: +2 | Reflex: +6| Will: +3 | Perception: +4 Active Effects: None. Conditions: None.

"OF COURSE!" the kobold shouts. "We shall go there, and commit atrocities to those who have wronged us and threaten stop the glorious world domination! The cloud heads will never see us coming as we attack their weakest of tendons and make them fall with the power of a snapping band! The Kobold did regain some of his bombasticness, but was running out of steam to keep up the persona of a loud supervillain for much longer. Even he was generally more of a sullen brooder than just a chiwawa that barked.

[Farmerbink]

Before long, there is a strange company gathered in one of the tents nearby. Even as you find your way there or are ushered inside, the whispers have begun in earnest, in all four of the languages (and fragments thereof) commonly spoken within the Downs. Looking around the small space, with varying degrees of curiosity and self-preservative concern, a trio of Dwarves have joined a Ratfolk, a Goblin, and a Kobold. Gadricht, for a moment, surveys the crew with an unreadable expression.

"I will freely admit no small amount of trepidation over this mission," he begins with a dour expression. "I have cousins amongst the Craghammers who would never have gone silent without... We won't dwell on the unknown for now. Their homestead is a three-day journey in the best of circumstances, and we would be foolish to assume those would apply. The only good news I have is that it was a desolate trek in the best of times; there was never any steading there to attract the giants' eyes, so it should be.... more boring than worrisome- at least for now."

As he catches a few unhappy glances towards one another, he clears his throat and raises a disapproving eyebrow. "Let this be the first and last comment of dissent. I trust my elders, who arranged this company with direct input from your elders. Any personal reservations need to be left outside- we will be relying on one another for our very survival once we reach the surface, for as long as we remain there. If you cannot commit to taking this very seriously, I suggest you speak with your elder about finding a replacement." He fixes each member with an expression, waiting for acknowledgement before moving on to the next.

He nods, satisfied, and suddenly smiles. "Now, it will not be said that the Stepford-Hendersons are anything but the most gracious of hosts. We will relax and enjoy the evening. We depart just before first light tomorrow, so don't have too much to drink."

As you exit the tent, you find that a handful of Gnomes and Dwarves (that Brankham and Heldrun recognize) have rolled a substantial number of kegs into the cavern. A few of the more free-spirited Gnomes appear several cups along already, though it's only just time for the evening meal. Lerwar pauses long enough to wave encouragingly at his friend before filling another mug and handing it to a Dwarf.

[Palanan]

Perriket listens with a sour droop to his whiskers. In his urgent drive to find someone competent in charge, he had been sent from one gnome to the next, and the next, until finally he was pointed towards this Gadricht character holding court in a tent with several other…individuals, at best—including, worst fears, the spindly, rag-wrapped goblin-creature.

And, worse yet, the deranged kobold who kept shouting madly at everyone and no one in particular.

Perriket chooses not to comment on Gadricht’s brief lecture regarding “dissent,” but he wonders privately about the unnamed “elders” sponsoring some of these others. Beolfryth and Brathahul, he has known all his life; but Perriket knows nothing about any of the others who had been summoned here, and his snout itches with doubts about their judgement. The screeching goblin is bad enough; but the kobold's presence suggests someone's "elders" have been smoking something.

Doubts, too, about the judgement of gnomes and dwarves tapping kegs the night before a journey, especially one of such evident importance.

“Look,” he says with quiet urgency before the small huddle separates, “if we’re going out there together, we need to be able to rely on each other. That means everyone quiet and alert with every step, because one breath out of place can get us all killed. And we can’t do that if we’re hung over.

“Now, does anyone know where we’re actually going? We need maps, we need sight lines and horizons, we need landmarks and whatever lore they have about this Craghammer place. We need to work out our route now, tonight, because that’s not something we can throw together while we’re taking a leak at dawn tomorrow.”

[tonberryking]

For her part, the rag-wrapped goblin seems almost sedate when she speaks in dwarven compared to her own language; Bushi goes on to nurse a singular mug of ale the entire night rather than give in to any temptation of alcohol (...that she doesn't even have; she prefers white wine, but try telling that to dwarves.) It almost seems a precocious image since while one mug would, one presumes, be criminally meager for even the soberest of dwarves, it's still fairly large for her to even carry, but she doesn't make a scene, to her credit.

At least she doesn't make a scene by being stone drunk. Her openness with the others may however cause her to fair worse:

"You may need to calm down a little," she offers to the ratfolk in plain, not very squeaky dwarven, "All of the ale isn't just for us." It's probably for my 'elder' she thinks but does not say, trying to ignore the fact that Big Job is off in a corner hamming it up with some of the gnomes, drinking more than his own share of alcohol. Probably most of hers as well.

"They'll give us maps and directions in the morning I imagine. Even if we're as sober as children, it would be fresher in our minds at dawn right before we leave than risk ...wassaword... per-tin-ent information being muddled in our sleep."

[DarkOne-Rob]

"I've never had the pleasure, but the Craghammers sound like a doughty clan and true. Any threat to them, from above or below, is a threat to us all. Let it never be said that I had refused aid to true Dwarfs in need. I am honored to represent my house in this matter."

Brankahm nods in agreement with his fellow dwarf as he walks into the cavern to hear...

"I--Bushi-- Do not merely volunteer for this task. I insist on helping you, your nephew and the missing Craghammers. You only need say the word and Bushi shall immediately get to work!"

With an expression of mild surprise - but not disappointment - the heavyset fighter nods as he remembers the grisly appearance Bushi had when they met. "She's the one who helped kill a giant with her bare hands...claws...I think...How very interesting that she was chosen." he says, his low basso voice rumbling audibly, even if his words aren't clear to anyone except those nearby.

"OF COURSE! We shall go there, and commit atrocities to those who have wronged us and threaten stop the glorious world domination! The cloud heads will never see us coming as we attack their weakest of tendons and make them fall with the power of a snapping band!

"My good companion - for I assume you are coming along - I don't think that 'atrocities' really apply in the direction of us to the giants and we are in no position currently to dominate anything. However, your recommended technique is not unfamiliar! Tripping enemies larger than you is a matter of leverage as much as cutting their heels, though. Perhaps we will get to see that in action soon!"

"Now, it will not be said that the Stepford-Hendersons are anything but the most gracious of hosts. We will relax and enjoy the evening. We depart just before first light tomorrow, so don't have too much to drink."

With a glance at Urist and the other dwarves Brankahm chuckles. "My mother mixed beer into my earliest bottles, friend gnome. I doubt Lerwar has enough brew here to get most of the stone-folk drunk...I think the last time I saw a dwarf in too deep on the drink may have been over a decade ago, and it took at least four days of continuous celebration! He was getting married, you see, and was a bit nervous...Well, you probably don't care, that's fine..." he finishes before one of the ratfolk speaks up, apparently very worried.

“Look, if we’re going out there together, we need to be able to rely on each other. That means everyone quiet and alert with every step, because one breath out of place can get us all killed. And we can’t do that if we’re hung over.

“Now, does anyone know where we’re actually going? We need maps, we need sight lines and horizons, we need landmarks and whatever lore they have about this Craghammer place. We need to work out our route now, tonight, because that’s not something we can throw together while we’re taking a leak at dawn tomorrow.”

"You may need to calm down a little, All of the ale isn't just for us. They'll give us maps and directions in the morning I imagine. Even if we're as sober as children, it would be fresher in our minds at dawn right before we leave than risk ...wassaword... per-tin-ent information being muddled in our sleep."

With a patient smile Brankahm nods and looks about the strange assembly of little-folk. "You're worried, friends, and I can respect that, but you needn't be. I'm sure we will have a guide or two from amongst the Stepford-Hendersons, right, Gadricht? The route is well known to them, even if it is a bit of a trek to get there..."

Brankahm leaves his (hopefully encouraging words) to make their impact and walks over to the bartender, Lerwar, and smiles at the little man's enthusiastic mug-pouring. After receiving his own mug he gets a second, smaller one, and brings it to Perriket. Placing it in the ratfolk's paws Brankahm raises his own mug and toasts, saying, "To our safe travels, the downfall of the giants, and future days in the sun!" before draining his mug in a single gulp. With a sigh of pleasure he nods back at his brewer-friend and quietly encourages, "He's got out the good stuff - best enjoy it while you can, everyone!"

[Palanan]

Perriket gives the rag-creature a sidelong look through narrowed eyes. “You’ve never actually done this before, have you? Never plotted an overland course.”

He glances up to Brankahm, but is no more impressed by talk of guides. “No one’s mentioned any guides to me. Even if there are, what happens if they’re killed the first morning? We’ll be lost, and then we’ll be dead.

“—Look, everyone. The hoo-mahns had a word, pikk-nikk, for something nice and easy, like a walk through a garden. This isn’t a pikk-nikk. If we don’t have a plan together tonight—and yes, some of us can plan things and remember them the next day—then it might be too late. We can’t afford to start out already behind—and gods, what would I want with this?!”

As soon as the mug settles into his paws Perriket has set it aside. “Unbelievable. I don’t know how you even survived the trip here.”

With an irritated look up at the over-optimistic dwarf, and a sour glance down at the raggedy whatever, Perriket makes a snap decision and quickly pads away, eeling his way through tents and merrymaking, muttering lost hoo-mahn imprecations as he seeks out his own folk, listening and scenting until he finds Beolfryth and Brathahul.

“Abbakai,” he ducks his head to both of them, “I need Ojjamit. No one in this—group—has any idea how to plan a journey like this. None of them have any idea how to scout or padpaw. I’m going to have to scout ahead for them, and I can’t do that alone. Somehow we have to get Ojjamit into the group. I’ll look out for him, I swear it, but I can’t do this without him.

“Also, these people are just bazzukawet*, they have no idea where we’re even going. I need maps to work out the best route, maps and horizons. And I need Ojjamit to help me plan it all.”


_______

* An informal Dwarven term meaning roughly “lackadaisical,” with an implication of vague dizzy-mindedness.

[DarkOne-Rob]

As Perriket leaves Brankahm looks sadly after the little ratfolk. "Well, he's wound very tight and not much interested in anyone else's ideas. Too bad, though that's more for us I guess..." he says as he shrugs and takes back the mug of beer from where it was discarded. Drinking it, this time in several pulls, he continues to look in the direction Perriket went sadly for several moments.

Then, turning to the remaining companions he says, "Well, he's not wrong about one thing. We will be relying upon each other out there and should take this seriously. I will take some time this evening to ensure we've a guide or two and review the trails myself - I've done a bit of this sort of work before, and can be a backup guide if needed. Then it will be off to bed to sleep well and be ready for the morning. Before that, we should all at least exchange names and commit to helping each other in this, aye?"

Hoping the others nod or show some other sign of agreement, Brankahm goes first. "A couple of you may know me, and I met others earlier, but I'm Brankahm Runechanter, last of my clan. I know a bit of lore and have some skill fighting the giants that have plagued us all. As we travel I will try and share anything I know with you if you like. And I will lay down my life to protect all of you, on my honor," he says, finishing seriously and looking about for reassurances from the other PCs.

---

After re-introductions are performed, Brankahm will go and speak with the gnome leadership to try and ensure they have both guides and maps. If possible he will even try to share what he receives with Perriket and the other ratfolk, as a gesture of goodwill in spite of the apparent hostility shown him and the others.

[Farmerbink]

With a patient smile Brankahm nods and looks about the strange assembly of little-folk. "You're worried, friends, and I can respect that, but you needn't be. I'm sure we will have a guide or two from amongst the Stepford-Hendersons, right, Gadricht? The route is well known to them, even if it is a bit of a trek to get there..."

Gadricht nods to Brankahm. "Indeed, patience, friend Perriket. As I said before, my nephew Franklin will be going with you. He's made the trip more than once before, and knows the way better than I, so I'll let him explain. If you must, I can-" Gadricht falls silent as Perriket slinks away.

"Well, he's wound very tight and not much interested in anyone else's ideas. Too bad, though that's more for us I guess...".

"Tighter than a duck's butt, that one..." he murmurs. "It should serve you well, actually. Better to take the ordeal too seriously than too flippantly." He makes another serious glance around the group. "You'll have to find a way to help him unwind though, or he'll snap. And at the wrong time, that's just as deadly as foolishness. As I said, I trust his elders have made the right decision, as well. They actually spoke very highly of him in the meet, I didn't think they'd let him join us..."

Spoiler: Perriket and Beolfryth

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The elder Dwarf looks up, surprised, as you scurry into the tent he's claimed. "So soon? You should be planning for tomorrow, little one."

“Abbakai,” he ducks his head to both of them, “I need Ojjamit. No one in this—group—has any idea how to plan a journey like this. None of them have any idea how to scout or padpaw. I’m going to have to scout ahead for them, and I can’t do that alone. Somehow we have to get Ojjamit into the group. I’ll look out for him, I swear it, but I can’t do this without him.

“Also, these people are just bazzukawet*, they have no idea where we’re even going. I need maps to work out the best route, maps and horizons. And I need Ojjamit to help me plan it all.”

With patience borne only of decades, he nods and listens. "Little one, have you yet met the one they call Franklin? He is heir to the second-in-command here, and will not be undertaking nor sent on such an errand lightly. In point of fact, he was with the caravan that returned only this morning, and was tasked with cleaning the site of the skirmish. Handred trusts Franklin, and we shall as well." He raises a bushy eyebrow, as if expecting some complaint. "Further, Ojjamit isn't ready for this. I know you care deeply for him, but he will be less help to you and more liability. When you return, perhaps he will have grown into the boots you left him."

A few moments later, a wiry young Gnome scurries into the tent. "Sorry I'm late, anakala. Mam had me setting things for the week. Half surprised she didn't make me do the whole life's worth, the way everyone's talking about the Crags." He rolls his eye, but with a hint of good-natured mischief. "These are the volunteers, I take it?" He stresses the word as if he knows full well that many of you aren't that, and perhaps empathizes. But if he's sour about the ordeal, he otherwise hides it well as he quickly introduces himself around the circle.

"Aye I'm Franklin Galtsworth Abernathy, first son to that fellow's brother, Galton. He's... well, he's had me surface-side most of my life, though this'll only be the second outing I'm leading. First was good enough, didn't meet any Giants- but I've seen a few of 'em felled, and know better than to pick a fight we aren't gonna win..." Though young, Franklin speaks from experience, and has a surprising candor about the danger of the undertaking. He gladly accepts a mug as Lerwar makes rounds, and sips gently at the foamy contents while he unrolls a simple map of the area and begins to describe their route.

Spoiler: OOC

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I'm perfectly happy to space things out such that Perriket has returned on his own, or was fetched, when Franklin arrived

[Palanan]

Dejected, tautly frustrated, and for the first time slightly afraid, Perriket drifts in a numb haze back through the boisterous crowd of tents, back to where he had left the others, and barely in time for the one called Franklin to appear.

Perriket listens with no particular enthusiasm. Only the second outing I’m leading is the phrase that echoes in Perriket’s mind. The slight gnome inspires no confidence in his leadership, and Perriket still finds it difficult to believe that even a modest-sized gnome could manage any true fieldcraft.

Abstaining from any further offers of alcohol, Perriket examines the map closely, listening to Franklin’s recitation of the route—and, when he can contain himself no longer, asks increasingly detailed questions about every cable’s-length of the way. Rock formations? Prior blazes? Distinctively shaped trees, perhaps those coppiced by the lost hoo-mahns, or stormbroken and regrown? Patches of ferns—henfeather, interrupted or hay-scented? Orchid flowers, distinctive vines? Pools and springs? Old wells, abandoned homesteads, ancient chapels?

And once Franklin has answered whatever he can, Perriket starts from the beginning again. Well-known birds, harts and hinds, coneys and wild goats? Chipmunk burrows, fox-traces, rabbit-holes? Scent-marks, claw-scores, predator scrapes and marking-trees? On and on, well into the night, Perriket presses Franklin for as much detail on as many fauna, flora and natural features as the gnome can bring to mind.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Brankahm smiles broadly as he sees Franklin approach, confident in the young gnome and his ability to guide them safely to their destination. He raises a mug at the young man's approach and passes along a full one to him as he begins speaking. The large dwarf listens closely and looks at the map with some enthusiasm...until it becomes clear that Perriket intends to grill Franklin over every inch of their route. With a sad shake of his head he makes his way over to the food line, gathers up three plates and two more mugs. He delivers two plates to the small scouts and one of the mugs to Franklin as he excuses himself to mingle with the others. "Even if I tried I wouldn't be able to remember everything to the detail Mister Perriket is demanding. I'll be your third-place guide and pray we won't need it," he says by way of farwell.

Once around the others again Brankahm deliberately avoids conversation about the morrow, instead trying to learn about the combat capabilities of the small company. "Well, I've already introduced myself - how about all of you? What skills do you bring with axe, bow, or spell?"

[Athaleon]

Urist sat and listened, trying to keep it all straight in his head. He wasn't a bad navigator by any stretch, and he could find the Pole Star better than a lodestone - with the right preparation. At length, he finally spoke up.

"Aye, I'll be the first tae admit I'm not one for sneakin' an' paddin' about, but I reckon I could find our direction rightly enough. Maps will surely help, but I suggest we commit 'em to memory rather than risk 'em being captured, not 'less we're sure we won't lead the manyfold-accursed Giants back here if the worst should happen."

"As for me skills, I can swing a hammer with the best of 'em. And I count myself lucky to possess a bit of the Blessed Talent, both to heal and to harm. Come to think of it, I may even be able to help us sneak a little - but only for short stints at a time.

[tonberryking]

Bushi lets out a silent sigh and resumes speaking Dwarven, in a dry tone with hands on her hips.

"Like I said before: I can hunt, I can hide, and...I slay things. Painfully. Big Job bartered me away to go on this mission for two of those reasons. No insult intended, but I'm also fairly confident I'm faster than any two of you put together. So I expect I'll be used as a scout and bait on occasion. And please do not take this as bragging, but: if I don't want to be seen, most of the time I will not be."

Part of her wants to say she's an aspiring artist, but Bushi now has the air of someone expecting to not be taken seriously, and she's not sure pulling out her sketchbook and showing them the lovely drawing she did of a ruined windmill would resolve that particular problem.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Brankahm nods happily at the two answers to his question, clearly pleased with their forthcoming-ness. "I'm sure you are fast, Bushi, and that will come in handy. Giants can cover ground at a frightening pace with their long strides, but your size and speed together will surely leave them struggling. Welcome," he says to the little goblin. Turning to his fellow dwarf he recognizes the idea of memorizing maps by saying, "It's an idea, memorizing the maps instead of bringing them. Good news is that most of the smaller giants are also dumber than their larger kin. They will have trouble using the maps due to their dimwittedness. The larger ones won't be able to use them due to the size of the maps, but if Franklin agrees we can try and memorize them."

Then, with an expectant look Brankahm looks to the others gathered around, hoping they will chime in and share about themselves before the end of the night...

[Farmerbink]

Franklin turns to Perriket patiently, and answers perhaps more of the little scout's questions than he might have expected. "Aye, well I can see why they chose you," he offers with an appreciative nod. "My eye's more keen on the passage of giants and their kin than chipmunks and the like, but there's more than bit o' overlap between where the little critters roam and giants don't, so I'm keen to follow their lead, often as not..." The two talk on long past the ability and interest of most to follow, though it ultimately becomes clear that Franklin has been chosen for equal parts scouting ability and diplomatic emissary, and Perriket is indeed the more expert of the two in this particular field.

Still, eventually night falls in earnest, and the more reasonable course shifts from planning to ensuring reasonable restfulness. Some fairly well into their cups, others having refrained throughout, quiet falls as the Gnomes of the Downs politely, but forcefully explain the oncoming curfew. The onset of near perfect darkness is a comfort to some, as all but the most necessary of torches are extinguished to mirror the nightfall above. Over a few hours, the quiet crackling of the cookfire embers slowly dwindle to silence, interrupted only by the occasional cough and intermittent snores of the gathered company.

---

It's unsurprisingly Franklin that rouses those of the 'volunteers' still sleeping, several hours later. "Rise 'n shine, gents. Best we be off sooner rather than later." Most of the various emissaries remain asleep as you gird yourselves and take your leave. Pointedly, Big Job and Beolfryth have also risen early. Perhaps against the odds, they're chatting more or less amicably over the embers they're actively stoking back into flame. Both make it a point to rise and approach to send you off with official acknowledgement.

Big Job pulls Bushi aside with a stern glare, and all can hear mutterings of "If you must die, kill many big-foots, first!"

Beolfryth keeps his peace, but offers Franklin a short nod of encouragement and Perriket a longer nod, both exhortation and a heavy load of expectation mingling in the glance.

Franklin guides you all through the winding tunnels, past other Gnomes and Dwarves beginning their own, blessedly more mundane, days. As you return to the strange chamber full of fungus (about which you were previously warned to not touch), you're met by a trio of Gnomish crones. "We hate to send you on this outing at all," the oldest of the three begins. "Our visions, however, have been clear. This is a matter of life and death, perhaps for the families left at home as well as yourselves. It is the least we can do to offer these as boons for your efforts." One of the others steps forward, offering a small pouch to Perriket.

"We lack the magic to keep you fed in perpetuity," she comments with a matronly smirk, "but these will surely help you on your way." Inside, Perriket finds a simple glass bead and a small, tarnished spoon.

Spoiler: The crones' boon

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The bead is a campfire bead.
The spoon is something much like a sustaining spoon. Most notably distinct, the crone explains, is that this spoon contains only enough magic for 3 days worth of food before it will expire.

Finally, you find yourselves approaching the surface. The dry air of the cave gives way to humidity and a loamy smell, just moments before you dimly make out the outline of the cave entrance by the dim light beyond. You step into the forest in pre-dawn twilight, filtered further by the thick canopy of leaves overhead. The soft ground beneath dampens your boots with dew and perhaps the remnants of an overnight mist. "Hope you're ready," Franklin murmurs, his voice swallowed up by the damp greenery all around. "It'll be a long day."

For better or worse, the young Gnome proves entirely correct. The first several minutes pass in near silence, stretching into an hour with maddening reluctance. Only the passage of your feet and gentle rustling of tree limbs in the breeze mark the passage of time. Finally, as dawn's first rays hit the canopy, the world explodes with a comparable cacophony of birdsong. The occasional sound of rodents and squirrels rustling through the underbrush joins a few minutes later. For a time, the simple beauty of the forest and the creatures that inhabit it make it hard to believe that life on the surface could be so perilous.

That illusion is shattered, just before midday. The thick woods have begun to thin, giving way to a broad expanse of open fields, almost as far as the eye can see. In the distance, foothills rise before the Crags (so named for the Dwarves that inhabited them) beyond. However, only a few hundred feet away, a broad swath of tall grass has been ravaged by the passage of unknowable hordes.

With no concern for hiding their tracks, you find your path must cross several dozen yards of ruined, rutted grass and muddy footprints- many fully as far across as Brankahm's shoulders. "Aye, won't do for them to just see our feet in the middle o' theirs," Franklin murmurs. With Perriket's help, he locates a large patch of ferns a few dozen paces back. "Grab some branches, and we'll walk on those to spread the load. Ain't perfect, but it's better'n nothin'."

Uneasily, you cross the road-turned no-man's-land, leaving prints indistinguishable from the flattened grasses pressed into the dirt by the giant's feet, and enter the spared fields beyond. Glancing southwards, three plumes of smoke mar the otherwise clear sky. Slowly, the sun passes overhead, as you tromp through the fields, leaving markedly less trail to follow than the giants did. Still a few hours before sunset, you approach a narrow ravine, desperately longing to work out knots and stretch tired limbs. The Crags seem to loom overhead, though you know well enough to judge their distance still another full day (or more, as the terrain grows less accommodating) distant. "This is the best place to camp for the night," Franklin begins, echoing conversations with Perriket from the night before. "We might be able to catch some fish in the stream, and we can use the banks to hide a fire-" he glances toward the sky- "Once the sunset offers to do the same for the smoke."

Spoiler: OOC

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The first day of overland travel passes without too much incident. How do you prepare for the first night on the surface?

[tonberryking]

Bushi just gives Big Job an "are you serious" look, refusing to keep up appearances about his attitudes (or feelings) regarding sending her on this mission. Having filled a waterskin from the Gnomes' source and eaten whatever she could grab for breakfast, she walks alongside the others, upright, for however long it takes for them to leave the caves. Following that she gradually walks faster, before dropping to all fours. Seems obvious now why she pads her arms as she takes off into the underbrush, occasionally returning to the trail with the others. All without a sound, though she does defer to Franklin's suggestions when they cross open land, even if privately, she wonders if she's too small to even leave a proper trail.

By the time they settle down for the evening she's back to walking upright, marching along but looking little worse the wear. Only dirtier. And once more when they stop she crawls off in the waning daylight to do a little scouting, and possibly securing resources, of her own.

Spoiler: OOC/rolls

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(1d20+18)[27] Stealth check as she sneaks around the general area, but not going too far away from the others,

(1d20+4)[9] Perception check to see if she notices anything living that could potentially threaten us even if it's not a giant, and

(1d20+4)[20] Survival to see if she can find food, from fishing or even catching something/finding berries.

[Athaleon]

"I'll busy meself lookin' for a good place to hunker down for the night," Urist proposed while other, stealthier companions kept an eye out for foes and forage.

Spoiler

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Survival? Perception? Either way it's (1d20+9)[11]

[DarkOne-Rob]

Brankahm has no trouble sleeping or waking on time, the light beer seeming to hardly impact the big dwarf. He's up and stretching, going through various martial forms and stances as he mutters various quotes and dwarven lore to himself, waking both body and mind. After a light breakfast and one last ale "For the road..." he settles into a steady and mostly-quiet pace. He can't keep up with Bushi and doesn't appear concerned about that at all, but steadily keeps up the trek. At the giant-path-crossing he takes a moment to inspect the footprints, intent on learning from them what he can, before following the rest across to the safety of cover again.

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Survival (1d20+6)[18]. Please add an additional +2 if this counts as "tracking" giants.
Knowledge (Local) (1d20+6)[11]. Please add an additional +2 if this counts as "vs. traditional enemies of the dwarves."

As they prepare to make camp Brankahm approaches their guide and gestures to Bushi as she ranges afield. "I'd like to help forage, if we can afford the time. Do you think it's safe? I'm not the best here, but I've some training and can help," he offers in a low rumble. "If that's not a good idea, I'll begin preparing a campfire..."

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Survival (1d20+6)[26] to help make camp and gather food supplies.

Finally, as it appears that it is time to settle down and set a watch Brankahm volunteers himself. "I'll take the least desirable watch - usually people dislike the mid-watch most. I can see in the dark and should be able to wake everyone if needed without giving our location away."

Spoiler: OoC

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This offer is both as a peace offering to anyone (still) upset at this venture and because Brankahm has no spells to prepare and Darkvision 60 ft.

[Farmerbink]

This part of the ravine is marked by deep, narrow rivulets that seem to reach into the land like spindly fingers, making navigating the gorge tricky, but no doubt safer simply for line of sight. At the very least, the higher vantage points of the most notable threat is less valuable against figures below the horizon. A steady stream of frigid, nearly crystal clear water reflects the dwindling sunlight blindingly as you go about setting up your camp. Before long, the sun dips beneath the Crags to the west, and your world rapidly begins darkening.

Bushi and Brankahm spread out, each using their own means to find foodstuffs, as the beginning of early-fall chill begins to set over the land. Urist seeks out a good, flat area to lay the bedrolls, while Brankahm returns with a veritable horde of berries and root tubers. Bushi manages to extract a few fish from the river, though they're smaller than she'd like. Still, fresh meat is a rare delicacy, and sharing them will go a long way to keep spirits high. Shivering slightly, she delivers them to a circle of mostly flat stones that will serve as a good fire pit in a few more minutes. Only a few moments later, Heldrun the cleric grunts loudly, and gestures with his beard towards the river.

On the near side, a series of ripples betrays the existence of... something, and as you watch, a log seems to detach from where it was lodged several meters upstream. Heldrun rises, reaching for his grand pole arm, and you realize of course logs don't do that. You're being watched, by at least one large crocodile, perhaps 40 feet away...

[Triskavanski]

Paronomasia AC: 18 | HP: 16 | Current: 16 Fortitude: +2 | Reflex: +6| Will: +3 | Perception: +4 Active Effects: None. Conditions: None.

Paranomasia spent most of the previous night getting ready for the trip at hand while the others ate and drank. He didn't take part in much of the merriment and revelry, however food and drink he did get, he stored away, focusing more on the foods that would last longer even after spending the night in little bags and pockets. The next morning he wore a mask over his face, along with a heavy cloak around his shoulders with the hood up. The character he was playing was now more of a lone brooder who stood menacingly around, at least menacingly for a kobold.

He took note of the night before, the ratfolk had a good head on his shoulders, able to pick apart even the most basic plan for its flaws. But that level of meticulousness could be a great downfall if they were to get caught too much in the details and fail to see the larger picture. The goblin would be good bait, and more importantly was volunteering for such work.

For the moment, Paranomasia decided to move his position to the role of a vizer, once the rest of the group decided who was going to be leader of the motley crew, he would be there to whisper into the ear of the king. At least for the time being.

At the camp, he busied himself providing cleanings to the rest of the group via prestidigitation, mending minor damage to his and others gear, and flavoring food. Anyone leaving the group would have message cast upon them as best as he could do, so that the group could remain in contact even when when apart.

"Engaging combatant creature. Should we?" He asks moving a little closer, not drawing his stonebow yet.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Spoiler: Brankahm's Status, Round 1(?)

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Brankahm Runechanter
Male Lawful Good Dwarf Fighter (w/ 2 Archetypes), VMC Bard, Level 2, Init 2, HP 29/29, Speed 20 ft
AC 16, Touch 12, Flat-footed 14, CMD 17, Fort 5, Ref 3, Will 2, CMB +5, Base Attack Bonus 2
MW Heavy Flail +6 (1d10+4, 19-20/x2)
MW Chain Shirt (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
Condition None

"Can't let it eat any of our fish, and with enough spices we can eat it too!" rumbles Brankahm as he readies his large heavy flail for deadly combat.

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Initiative: (1d20+2)[10].
Draw MW Heavy Flail and move to the front of the party so that he's between the crocodile and the others. If he's already there, ready an attack on the crocodile: Heavy Flail (1d20+6)[14] to hit, (1d20+6)[10] (19-20/x2), (1d10+4)[7] bludgeoning damage, (1d10+4)[11] critical strike damage

[Athaleon]

"If 'e comes over here I'll have a surprise for 'im. Otherwise a show of force might make 'im think better o' it!"

Urist brandished his shield but left his hammer on his belt for now. Instead, he rummaged in one of his pouches for a pinch of colored sand and held it ready to toss.

[Palanan]

“Are you all insane?” Perriket hisses. “The last thing we need is thrashing and splashing and shouting. We cannot draw attention to ourselves.

“Simplest thing is just to move off and let it be. We’ll find a new campsite. It’s not worth the risk of drawing a giant’s notice, so leave it be!”

[tonberryking]

Perriket has, perhaps surprisingly, someone who agrees with him.

"He's right," Bushi says very quietly, even though she is calmly pulling out her bow and holds it with a choice arrow in her off-hand. No sense not being prepared.

"We need to get to higher ground and break a new camp; I'm not powerful enough to slay that thing quietly and a fight could alert unknown giants right to us."

[Palanan]

Perriket glances at Bushi with a brief modicum of almost-respect. “Someone else with sense, thank the deeplords.

“We need to be going—now. Quietly.”