Aw, I wasted the action point. :(

"Well gen, gag's a wrap! Good gob, everygoby!"

The surviving Duergars turned tail and retreated towards their so-called barracks. Cal felt gratified that they took his advice, but the mention of artillery disturbed him a little.

Still, it's looting time - money-grubbing Cal's most favorite event of all! Battles are a tedium, but the rewards are sometimes worth it. First things first though - he attends to his injuries.

Spend 1 healing surge.

His jaw set tightly back into his skull, the changeling skips over to the provisions he dropped while masquerading as Delic. At the very least, he could upgrade his humble longsword into something more useful in combat.

Cal methodically gathers up the spoils into one pile, and, including "Delic's" currency in the calculation, takes a sixth of the gold.

Take Delic's Amulet of Health, Potion of Healing, and Lifedrinker's Bastard Sword. Take 1/6 of GP spoils.

He'd take that shiny symbol of excellence, were he really dedicated to the god "Delic" worshipped. Still, more religious members of G-Unit might be able to make better use of it.

He was most intrigued with the beard quill darts used by the duergars earlier, and pauses to examine their suitability as a projectile weapon. Stopping by Rundarr's corpse, he unceremoniously kicks it around and plucks the arrow sticking from the eye socket. Waste not want not, that's what Ma Cal always used to say, though sometimes his Ma's his Pa and his Pa's his uncle. It's complicated.

Evaluate suitability of Beard Quills and 16 Kruthik teeth for use as improvised arrows. Retrieve arrow embedded in Rundarr's skull.

Glock somberly walks towards the door wreckage and checks to see if Murray is alright, buried under all that crap.

Retrieve Murray if he's still in one piece.

Gordok gathers up his and Glock's share of the winnings and deposits them in a slot on his robot buddy labeled "Awesome Meter". Looks like we'll be good for the next two hours. :rock:

The halfling eyes the changeling suspiciously. He is not sure if want.

From the corner of his eye, the changeling sees the halfling staring at him. Cal's not sure what's going on in the druid's head, though his gut tells him that there's equal parts fascination and ... longing?

An uncomfortably hot blush spreads through his face as he busily returns to studying the aerodynamic capabilities of dwarven facial hairs.

Wrenching his jaw back into place, Cal goes about making an inventory of all the crap in his pack that he doesn't recognize. Some of it's probably worth keeping, if only to drag to a merchant. That armor's staying on the floor, though. He can barely lift it.

Most of the beard quills Cal can find are lodged in either Garrmondo's shield or the walls, what with the duergar having died altogether too quickly to grow new ones. Cal knew enough about natural toxins to realize that the quills were more or less inert, having deposited their poisons already. Still, if a live duergar could be captured and his intact quills harvested — but that's thinking too far ahead.

These kruthik teeth, though! Kruthik mouths were one of the filthiest, most germ-laden orifices in the natural world. Strap these to an arrow and you could conceivably infect someone with any number of toxins. If Cal had any straps, that is. Or some glue, maybe. Paste? A very small clamp?

Beyond the obvious biological plunder, there's also the question of Rundarr's magical boots. But who has the courage to risk the terror of a duergar's unshod feet? Not Cal, oh no. His mother/father/third cousin/indeterminate didn't raise no dummies.

Glock frowns a remorseful frown, digging the battered shape of Murray out of the rubble that remains of the western doors. Murray's very much the worse for wear, bent so badly that his usefulness as a door bar is over. He is, however, bent at precisely 90 degrees... so now Glock has a protractor. Lemons, lemonade.

For his part, Garrmondo seems drunk on his own success. Or maybe his waterskin is a little suspect. It seems best to just give him some room.

Cal's examination of the beard quills left him quite disappointed. It seems there was no further utility to be derived from quills already fired by the duergar. A pity; that poison would have been quite useful.

Still, he's not about to give up on biological warfare. Those poisons have got to be produced by some sort of poison sac. And by gum, if Cal can't use no poisoned beard quill, he might as well dip his arrows in dwarven viscera and see if they can pick up some venom.

With longsword, cut open Rundarr's torso and poke arrowheads into organs that might look like venom glands.

The kruthik teeth Delic salvaged were quite serviceable as toxin vectors, if only Cal can attach this somehow to an arrow shaft! He dismisses out of hand the prospect of using rope for the job.

But looking around, he brightens up. This room looks very much like a dining room, and where there are dining rooms, there are kitchens. And where there are kitchens, there are any amount of utensils and tools that can be used to extract gelatinous bioadhesives from dwarven skin, bones, and tendons!

Whacking off Rundarr's feet at the ankles (in case some brave soul would fancy a pair of stinky shoes), Cal sets about slowly dragging the mutilated corpse into a kitchen where he could boil the duergar champion to extract some glue.

Take Delic's flask, whack off Rundarr's feet with longsword and discard both. Drag body to kitchen, to extract glue by boiling Rundarr.

"Don't (huff!) mind me! (wheeze!) I'm holding a (gasp) weenie roast of this fellow. (puff!) You're welcome to join me (honk!) if you like!"

Gheth has sampled foods from across the continents, including a positively scrumptious variety of jam from the spice docks in Amhearst. The preserver's name was Toe, if he recalled correctly.

He has no qualms about inspecting the boots for usefulness or delicious treats, come what may.

Healing surge to full
Inspect/loot boots
Rest if party does, otherwise jog on
I mean, how long does it take to render a whole dwarf, anyway?

Still unsure to trust this new guy, while Gordok appreciates the gore and thriftiness he remains suspicious. His shaman who had taught him everything about becoming one with animal spirits had warned him of changelings. Something about 'em was never quite right.

Well acquainted with the table Gordok decides a short rest on top would be nice. His shaman had nothing but good things to say about tables. Maybe he'd dream of Grimace.

healing surge to full hp
take rest unless party wishes to move on

Two calls for a rest, no real call to hurry on. Guess we might as well call a rest considering Zerg is going to boil a man's corpse. That seems like it might take a while. Kind of silly though. I remind you all that an extended rest takes a full 6 ingame hours, during which your adversaries do not just stand around looking at their watches.

Cal pokes Rundarr's guts with arrowheads, but to no apparent effect. The duergar doesn't appear to have any unusual organs in his trunk. Cal lops off Rundarr's feet, leaving the boots for inspection by the cleric, and drags the corpse off to the kitchen via the south door. The kitchen slaves are beset with a mixture of delight at the death of their cruel master — and abject horror as Cal explains his intentions.

Begging off, the kitchen thralls gather up the weapons from the dead duergar and head off in the direction of the Seven-Pillared Hall. The rest of G-Unit takes a rest, leaving Cal to take the first watch as he will be busy with his chemistry regardless.

After quite some time spent butchering Rundarr's carcass and ripping out his various tendons, Cal realizes he has no lime with which to extract the collagen nor any lye to treat Rundarr's hide with. These are probably small matters which Cal should have considred before getting elbow-deep in dwarf guts. How awkward.

Gheth examines the neatly detached feet of the duergar captain only to find nothing remarkable about the boots whatsoever. Whatever magic kept him in place must have derived from the ornate greaves he'd been wearing. Gheth hurriedly rescues the leg armor from Cal's distressingly enthusiastic experimentation with the butcher knives.

http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...vengreaves.png

The duergar has been stewing for two hours or so when Cal realized that he lacked the necessary ingredients at hand to extract glue from the creature's hide and tendons.

How embarrassing!

How mortifying!

How amateurish!

Whatever would Unc Cal say when he sees him now?

No matter, what anybody doesn't know won't hurt. Cal feels certain that none of his compatriots are apt to sing about his fumbled exploits from the rooftops. But to let off steam, Cal is content to ruin a perfectly good piece of cookware by letting Rundarr continue to simmer in his own juices.

Utterly defeated in his attempt to extract any useful biological material, Cal plunges his longsword into the duergar's torso and plucks out his boiled black heart. It would make an excellent trophy, yes it will. He won't be needing his trusty longsword at any rate, what with his alter-ego having owned a much better one.

Carve out Rundarr's heart, squeeze into flask, and stash in pack. Remove longsword from inventory.

The rest seem to be resting from their recent exertions. For some reason, the cherubic face of the little halfling seems to stir up some long forgotten memory, though the sensation was quick to fade.

As the enemy is demoralized and is unlikely to attack, Cal takes the opportunity to scout the surrounding areas and hunt for any potential valuables. Still, he is careful not to explore past the northern door (S5), though he can't help taking a little peek.

Examine all surrounding rooms, and peek a little past S5. Request for map refresh.

Shifting into low power mode, Glock sits in a chair and keeps his eye on the surroundings, but stays close enough to his weak, puny biological companions to wake them, should he feel the need.

His curiosity getting the better of his sense, Cal goes on all tiptoe as he gingerly peers around the corner of the... (cramped bedroom?) room north of the dining hall, with all the stealth he can muster.

His heart pounding with excitement, Cal pauses for a minute to detect for any nearby hostile presence.

Stealth Check: 3 + 12 = 15
Active Perception Check: 2 + 19 = 21
What terrible rolls :(

The stench emanating from his dissection exercise probably negates his attempts to be sneaky.

If Cal detects no enemies, explore the black patches in the map

http://upload.jetsam.org/images//d&dexplore.jpg

Am I doing this right? Do I roll for active perception and add the result to passive perception?

Cal pokes around the rest of the rooms in the fortress; the duergar have all apparently fled the structure. The large room to the north seems to be some kind of trophy room, full of questionable examples of taxidermy. The head of a massive reptile is mounted on the east wall, and a humanoid creature with strange tentacles sprouting from its face stands frozen in the southwest corner. In the southeast corner, what looks like a broken statue of an elven woman lays abandoned in a heap of rubble. Dominating the center of the room is the massive form of an 8-legged lizard. A large four-fingered stone hand is wrapped around the dead beast's neck. All the trophies are heavily weathered and dusty — they've been here a long, long time. Massive barred doors lead north.

In the southeast corner of the fort sits another bunkroom. On a table in the middle of the room sits a small leatherbound book, moderately charred as though it had been rescued from the fireplace more than once.

You never need to add your passive checks to anything; that's what makes them passive. They're for DM use to determine if you notice something passively (ie, not actively looking for it).

Cal's exploration uncovers no sign of hostiles, and plenty of gruesome curiosities. The animal skinning seems to have been expertly done, the way the stuffed figures withstood the test of time. He ponders the significance of the depicted choking of the eight-legged lizard, but puts it out of mind.

After all, there might be some meager keepsakes the human thralls left behind. Cowards more like it, without the right to call themselves cooks; the way they shirk from skinning and butchery duties filled Cal with much disappointment.

Making his way into their sleeping quarters adjacent to the kitchen, Cal rummages through the room looking for something of value.

Examine and take Book.
Search premises for discarded thrall clothing. Take female clothing if available, for later use as disguise props.

Certain that the fort contained no further hostiles, Cal exits via the southeast bridge, and puts his ear against the door of the eastern fortress. While the orcish insurrection might have cleared the area of hostiles, who knows what foolhardy duergar might have re-entered since then?

Stop and listen for signs of enemy activity. If no enemy is detected, enter and examine pond at the center of the fort. If there are hostiles, draw longbow and peek inside door.

Cal takes a look at the burned book, but while most of the pages are still intact the text itself is in an elaborate script that looks like no language Cal has even seen. Figuring he might track down a translator later, Cal tucks the book in his pack.

Sure enough, one of the kitchen wenches abandoned some of her clothing in her haste to escape. It's just a simple knee-length peasant's smock, but as disguises went Cal wasn't in a position to be picky.

Trekking back through the southeast tunnel, Cal carefully examines the well sunk into the forge room. He might think that there is something to it... But in fact it is just an ordinary well. Cal sees his face upon the clear water. How dirty!

Cal freshens up a bit with well water, washing off the more odious bits of duergar viscera that clung still from his earlier dissection.

Feeling cleaner than he has been for days, he heads for the door to the northwest of the forge, presses his ears against it, and listens carefully for enemy activity. Once the cautious changeling is sure of safety, he summons up enough courage to take a quick peek at the room beyond, before finally returning to his fellows.

Carefully look outside northwest door. Return to dining hall and rejoin companions.

"Oh, nothing to write home about," Cal breathlessly answered the courageous-looking human. Such physique! Such constitution! Such manly vigor that the changeling could only dream about, especially after his close brush with crossbow death.

"I did find this book in the kitchen, but it seems to be filled with nothing but rubbish. Perhaps you can understand the contents. I was never one for formal education. Theory? Sure, that sounds good but rarely does reality conform with tidy theoretical constructs."

Cal takes out the book and hands it over, figuring the rest would be able to decipher its contents better than he could. He unsuccessfully tries to shake a nagging feeling that he's the stupidest of the bunch.

"I suppose I ought to bring you up to speed. Starting with the strange transformation you saw. I was a mercenary, and took on more than what I could handle. I was been hit by a nasty spell that somehow blew a hole through my memories. Why the wizard did that, instead of killing me outright, I don't know.

Delic Swagger is not a figment of my imagination. He found me wandering incoherently, and helped to treat the magical damage. As long as I was imprinted on a stable personality - his - the curse could be kept at bay. As you saw, it was not foolproof. Now that I've reverted to form, my memories of life as Delic has faded.

I've no recollection why we're in this underground fortress. I don't know what we're supposed to do, and... and..."

The changeling pauses as he stifles a lump in his throat.

"Anyway, we need to talk. Wake the others. I have something to report."

I guess I'm delaying a bit here. I'm actually waiting for any relevant updates on Cal's exploration before he gives his report. I'm also fishing for some story beats I can incorporate into future role play, based on whatever (mis)information is given - Cal's good at bluffing, but he's also good at getting bluffed. With that said, I think I have a plan on dealing with those so-called artillery. Curses.

While Garrmondo wakes up the more sleep-deprived, Cal nips back into the kitchen. Sounds of splashing were followed by a scritching noise, and Cal momentarily emerges with a piece of parchment dripping with some sort of reddish goo. He presents this to the team.

http://upload.jetsam.org/images//D&DMapSketch02.jpg
"Shall we start?"

Cal pokes his head out the northwest door in the east fortress, getting a glimpse at the two bridges (one from this fortress, one from the second) leading to a third stronghold, largest by far, on the opposite side of a bottomless ravine. Before he has more than a second or two to get his bearings, crossbow bolts begin to thump into the door. Cal doesn't see where the bolts are coming from, but discretion being the better part of valor decides to simply shut the heavy doors and quick-step it back to his allies via the tunnel.

Reporting his meager findings to Garrmondo, Cal hands over the mysterious book. While Garrmondo did possess a slightly greater command of languages (due to a long, unpleasant stint guarding a fire elemental which had somehow managed to get itself arrested back home), he couldn't make heads or tails of the writing either. While the script itself looked a lot like the singed notes Old Burnsides used to pass him, nothing actually seemed to add up to any words he could recognize.

Shouldering his pack, Garrmondo gently wakes the others with the tip of his boot. The dwarves were only going to get more entrenched as time went by.

After a nice nap the halfling awakes to find the changeling has returned. And with something!

"Ooh scribbles!"

Gordok has a look at the book.

"Far as I can tell, there are three fortresses in this so-called 'Horned Hold'. All three are connected to one another through a bridge; otherwise it is likely a fatal drop through a chasm.

"It appears that we've cleared out the southern forts, but the northern fort is much larger than the ones we are currently inside."

Cal now points towards the right arrow.

"There is a bridge leading to the northern fort from this door. I tried to explore the area but it was guarded by artillery. I heard six crossbow bolts, all coming from a trajectory I did not detect, strike the door."

The changeling points towards the left arrow, and clears his throat.

"There is a door in the room north of here. I have not explored beyond this door, but I am sure it leads to a bridge that goes straight to the fort. If I am not mistaken, this is the escape route of the three duergars from our last encounter. This area is likely under heavy guard as well.

"So then, it is unacceptable to simply storm the fort as we are, and hope that our armor will protect us. We must devise a way to go from here to there with minimal injuries."

Gesturing the table the halfling was sleeping on, Cal said, "For the three of us without shields, we can use this as a mobile projectile shield. Furthermore, we can try for a distraction or a diversion to maximize success. I see the human has improvised explosives, and I seem to vaguely recall the halfling magically setting off a display of light. Perhaps either of the two can blind the guards."

"But, I think we need to ascertain where the guards are firing from. We should then assault the bridge farthest from their location - make it awkward to aim. How to do that without getting riddled with bolts, I have scarcely any idea.

"That is, of course, we choose to continue our duergar-cide. I must admit I've no idea why we're here or what we're supposed to do. Is there some sort of hidden treasure here?"

"My good friend Doorman would not abandon us in our time of need, there is no way we shall turn our back on him now. I would like to see this through, and make sure he gets the daily short breaks for which he is entitled."