Delic cautiously walks around the Hive Lord's body, the stentch of its gore spilled across the floor already attracting flies and sewer gnats. Using his sword on some of the larger molars, Delic begins carefully removing the creature's teeth and pocketing them.

After done with that, Delic uses his sword to cut open the creature's stomach in the hopes of finding something valuable. Or delicious.

Glock and Delic methodically dismantle the kruthik carcasses, in search of any valuable wares the big lizards may have inadvertently ingested. Unsurprisingly, not much can enter the highly-acidic guts of a kruthik and remain intact. A handful of metal objects have held together relatively well, however.

* An iron gauntlet, with the partially liquefied remains of the hand still inside.

* A holy symbol of Amaunator, with much of the gold plating badly eaten away.

* About 200 gold pieces, scattered through several different corpses and much of it wedged in the strangest parts of the anatomy. There's nothing quite like slicing open some beast's liver and having money pour out onto the floor.

Beyond these notables, Glock carefully packs away the handful of intact venom sacs he manages to pry out of the kruthik corpses, while Delic sets up an enterprise in creative dentistry. It's not immediately obvious what use these things might have, but surely somebody would be willing to pay for them if nothing else. Wizards loved this kind of vile crap. Now they just needed to find some newts to pull the eyes out of and they'd be in business.

"Holla holla"

Grab 40 dolla

Scope out the gauntlet, see if it's actually cool.

"Daelegoth Orndeir, I knew you well..."

Delic takes the Holy Symbol and leaves the rest to be split up amongst the group.

Also: Rest

SteelChest tips the gore-covered gauntlet over, spilling out the liquefied hand inside it. The bloody sluice hits the floor with a clink!, and the warforged bends over to see if he missed some other shiny prize.

A silver ring, far too small and delicate for his massive mechanical mitts, still encircles one of the finger bones. Curious, Glock picks up it for a closer examination.

The ring is in far better condition than any of the other goods excavated from the corpses, and for good reason — under close inspection, a faint yellow light can be seen to issue from the metal. It's seemingly been enchanted specifically to keep it from being damaged.

The gemstone in the band is no great shakes; green moonstone, common among the drow. Still, probably worth a good 100 gold pieces at a trustworthy pawnbroker's.

Although it's hard to make out underneath the coating of blood, a delicate inscription is etched into the inside of the band:

Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar; G.M.

Passing it around, Delic is the first to understand it. It's Elven:

I will follow you to death and beyond.

The gauntlet itself is just generic platemail.

Delic scoops up the damaged symbol of the sun god, though there had been no outward sign of his having much more religion than the ordinary superstitions of any man who spends his life looking evil in the face. That he had ever known the Sunlord Orndeir was questionable at best, but then Swagger had never been totally forthcoming about his past.

Garrmondo explores the rest of the ruined temple, but it quickly becomes obvious that the place had been looted thoroughly even before the kruthiks moved in. A few pouches of sanctified incense are still scattered by the pulpit, but anything of obvious value or interest is long gone.

Gheth picks up his 40 gold share, pocketing it for a down payment on a new tunic, or maybe a pack of gum. All shiny baubles taken care of, Gheth decides it's time to get back to business, and tries to get his bearings in their current cavern, and hoping his friends can aid him to pick a tunnel.

Perception check

Glock pockets the ring and makes a mental note to ask anyone who looks vaguely elvish about it back in town.

Everyone else seems to be checking things out, but the damn bear midget is doing NOTHING OF VALUE yet again, so he picks up the gauntlet and pitches it at the thing, hoping to dissuade it from covering itself in yet another foul smelling substance that makes adventuring with it just plain awkward.

"Well, it seems like nothing was here after all outside of this little shiny shiny. Too bad. Yeah. Town is just the next door to the left in the maze. Had the route printed out before, right? Yeah. This was just a mistake. Let's head back there now. There's something I want to check."

Lead the party back to town

Emerging out into the town, Glock proclaims to the rest of the assholes in his group that they should always trust his robo-common sense from here on out, and that he's king of the motherfucking mountain.

"See that, assholes? I'm king of the motherfucking mountain."

"My robo-common sense is telling me that it might be a good idea to keep a map if we go down there again. So let's take care of that."

Go to trading post, buy something to write on to keep a map, and buy writing implement.

If the party decides to try the maze again, keep track of it via this.

Also buy 4 healing potions from the vendor if he's got any.

Until the party has made up it's mind, though, the steel man leads them to the one spot on the town map he's curious about.

Pulling at the brim of his awesome hat, Glock hands the town map to the party.

"I am wondering why every room is either marked on the legend, or connected to a marked building except this one room. It seems curious that it is out of the way. I would like to go check it out. Which room do you think it is?"

Crossposting in page 6 so you don't have to look back at page 3

Gordok picks up his 40 gold and deposits them into Glock for safe keeping.

He then proceeds to touch everything in sight in hope of chance gold coins popping out of nowhere. They could be useful in a pinch.

Back in the Hall, Glock heads directly for the Grimmerzhul Trading Post in search of stationary and medicinal beverages. Sadly, the duergar in charge of the place aren't selling anything other than shiny rocks and an assortment of vile poisons and exotic liquors. This would be somewhat more acceptable if the poisons and liquors weren't all unlabeled and stocked on the same shelves.

Defeated, Glock returns to his previous ambition of examining the Room Of Mystery, somehow important enough to be worth placing on a map of the settlement yet left completely unidentified. Luckily, it's only a short walk from the trading post to the Road of Shadows.

Glock cautiously leads the party up the short corridor that ends at the mysterious door, watchful for anything. There must be a reason someone erased this room from the map legend. Somerthing sinister is afoot.

The door itself looks fairly ordinary, although the wood is at odds with the rest of the Hall's entirely stone construction. Glock puts his tin ear to the door; immediately, he makes out the sounds of a man groaning, as well as the growling of some large animal.

Setting caution to the wind, he takes a step back and kicks the door open — prepared to rescue whatever poor soul is being tormented within.

He is not prepared for what he sees.

http://www.saxypunch.com/miscimg/bearpowers.jpg

Instantly, Glock slams the door shut and hurries away at his top speed. Then he finds a heavy boulder, and slowly shoves it in front of the door so no one will ever open it again.

Then he drinks.

Heavily.

Delic stands up from sorting and collecting the Hive Lord's treasures. Clapping his hands to get the gunk off, he looks around the room and snorts disdainfully, "Creatures like this don't just appear for no reason, and its not like this is a brood chamber either. These things were protecting something..."

He gives a second furitive glance at the gemstone. That inscription isn't something the olden folks put on things commonly - it could be a curse just as much as it could be a blessing. Best to pawn it off as soon as they got to another town.

"Glock, why are you five seperate shades of white?"

Even though he has no stomach to speak of, the sheer quantity of alcohol Glock ingests threatens to short out his internal circuitry. Even a week spent standing under an industrial strength magnet wouldn't wipe his memory of this.

Quite literally traumatized for life, Glock develops Ursaphobia and several unknown mental disorders.

Going to the inn and renting a room seemed like the only thing he could do. Maybe he could sleep away the memories. Or have recurring nightmares. Either or.

Doing so, Glock curled up on his bed into the fetal position, rocking slowly back and forth, quietly chanting "it'll be all right Sally, it'll be all right" for several hours.

------------------

Waking later, Glock decided the best course of action was to get some shit DONE.

He gathered his comrades and plunged back into the maze, determined to find the bullshit they were here to find.

Dungeoneering Check

Following any clues he could, he hoped to stumble across SOMETHING. Anything, so that people who were watching him and his companions wander about weren't so bored to tears.

After several long hours of painful introspection, Glock decides the only way he'd forget about his painful experience was to find something even more reckless to do. Leaping back into his boots, he storms out the door of the inn and back into the labyrinth. Whistling sharply, he beckons the others to follow him.

After another two hours of aimless wandering, they find themselves on a winding and narrow path skirting the edge of a chasm. The path leads directly into the stone wall of a small fortress; a small portcullis blocks the way into the structure itself. Two stone bridges can be seen spanning the chasm, leading to two similar-looking fortresses, but it's not clear how to reach the bridges from this side.

http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/114640_CN_GL.jpg

Beyond the portcullis, several orcs can be seen moving back and forth — at least 3 individuals, maybe more. The room within is well-lit, making it obvious that the orcs are prepared for an attack — even with the portcullis to protect them, they all seem to be armed with both longspears and crossbows. If any of them have noticed the Horde, however, they make no sign.

Noticing the Orcs had not seen them yet, Glock shimmies just out of sight of the door, and motions for the rest of the party to do so as well.

Very, very quietly, so no one else could hear, Glock hums to himself and strums two notes on his guitar. "Time to lie, but nothing to buy. With the help of fate, let's open this gate."

Perform Glib Limerick

Taking his inspiration from a man he once met named Deny'kalys, he puts on his best large, gruff, and stupid voice, and yells to the orcs.

"ME GREENMAN CRUSHINGTON. ME BACK AFTER PATROL. ME HOPE YOU RAISE GATE. PLEASE RAISE GATE. GATE ENTRY CODE CRUSHINGTON BETA GAMMA SEVEN"

Bluff Check x2
Use Bluff 1, I guess

Trying to act suave, Gheth grunts and attempts his best bawdy orcish laugh to give the impression that their collective presence is that of an orcish patrol.

Aid Glock in bluff check

One of the orcs saunters up to the gate, eyeing Glock suspiciously.

"I not remember see you before. But you very loud and stupid, so you probably orc. In fact, if you claim to be orc you must be orc, since nobody who not an orc would claim to be orc. Orcs very distinctive, so pretend to be an orc when not would be dumb and obvious. Obviously clever orc like you not do that, though."

The orc chuckles.

"We not even have password! It take an orc to think of a password that isn't there, for sure."

Bluffed the hell out of those fuckers

The orcs open the portcullis — which, in the fashion of all good orcish construction, swings to the side rather than raising up.

Delic slaps his stomach and laughs as deeply as he can muster without shitting himself.

(He hopes he doesn't stink of Elven, considering his upbringing)

Playing this up to the nth degree, Glock decides to take this several steps further.

"ME NEED HELP. ME AND FRIENDS PART OF ORC SECRET SERVICE. VERY SECRET. WE TELL NO ONE. WE DRESSED LIKE THIS TO FOOL STUPID NON-GREEN MEN. THEY ARE EASY TO TRICK."

"WE SENT HERE TO LOOK FOR COW PEOPLE. WE TOLD THEY HAVE HURT SOME ORCSES. WE GOING TO GO TEACH THEM LESSON WITH OUR BASHING STICKS."

"PROBLEM. WE LOST. WHERE BE COW MEN? YOU KNOW?"

"Secret service?"

The orcs murmur amongst themselves for a moment.

"What you say is most stupid of idea. Orcs not do anything secret. Orcs is not ashamed of doing orcish deeds! Orc says: I is here, I have spear, get used to me! Orc is proud of way he is.

Yet, as we establish, you must be orc and you doing a secret thing. I feel sorry that a orc like you must feel a shame feeling about your orcishness. I hope one day you can be perform your services without feeling that you are bad or wrong. Maybe we cans help you by giving you clue of secret mission. You win and feel better about your natural way of life.

But sad story, I not see any cow mens. Wait, wait. There is a SKELETONS of cow men! They in skeletons room in big house across bridge. Also there is statue of cow men, and some cow man pictures, but no living cow mans.

Dwarf boss say cow men used to live here many forevers ago, and his dwarf friends find it when cow mans was all deads already. So if you think about it, maybe there was never no cow mans. Somebody just make fake cow man skeletons, like mermaid I see at festival. All dolphin that somebody sew arms onto. And then I find out truth! Need get marriage annulled! Worst day of life!"

For a long, awkward moment, the orcish door-guard seems to be holding back tears.

"Maybe dwarf boss Urwol know more about cow mans. But a tale of alarm for you, secret orc. Urwol sometime murder you even if you is orc! But maybe he give direction if he not murder you. It a bit of a toss-up."

Having imparted this wisdom, the orc scratches his head and smiles vacantly as his eyes begin to track an errant moth that had entered his field of view by happenstance.

"How dwarf boss treat you? Treat bad? Sometimes murder? No work benefits? That unfair. What your pay? We work for boss who give pension. Who give sick days. Who give two week vacation and holiday bonus."

"Why work for dwarf? No proud orc work for dwarf. Dwarf worse than orc. Why you stand for this?"

"This dumb. You much smarter than this. Do not work with Dwarf. Do not work until demands are met. Rise up with orc brothers. Show orc brothers you are proud orc. Show proud by being better than this. Be true orc!"

Words of Friendship

"Strike! Orcs strong by self, but orcs really really strong as friends!"

Diplomacy (?) check
19+13+5 = 37. Hopefully enough to make them strike.

"We talk to dwarf man for you. Tell him demands. Tell him you not stand for poor treatment. We tell him what proud orc needs, proud orc gets!"

Regardless of success:

Glock leads the party to the dwarf's big house.

Delic shoves Glock hard.

"STUPID ORC. Know nothing of Orcs. Beat flesh, eat meat raw, drink booze. Orc orc orc."

"Is true what you say, Secret Orc. We not stand any more for this shabby treatment. We has a dignity!"

The five orcs guarding the portcullis quickly work themselves into a raging frenzy, tearing apart the entry hall before rushing headlong into the fortress under Glock's urging. The orcs run screaming into a sweltering forge, with the Horde close behind them. Five grimy, soot-covered duergar are working grimly at their anvils, when the Revolutionary Guard marches in.

"DWARF MAN!" shouts the most talkative orc. "WE HAS A SEVERAL REASONABLE DEMANDS!"

He noisily clears his throat.

"Firstly, we demands a half-hour break for each 16-hour work day! Seconds, we demands snacks in the lobby! Thirdishly, we demands a comprehensive plan of medical treatment and prevention coverage! Fourwise, we demands a safety railing on the bridges!"

The eldest of the duergar wipes the sweat from his brow, and stares at the orcs for a long, long moment before burying his face in his hands and muttering to himself.

"Let's jes' go up to th' surface and get some slaves, I said. But nooo, why not hire cheap, local orcish labor? Save ourselves a trip, he said."

He glowers at the orcs, patting his red-hot forgehammer against his palm threateningly.

"Well now, let's negotiate on that, yeh? Here's my counter-offer. You feck off and get back t'work, and in return I won't have ye hanged on a noose of your own intestines. Frankly that's more than I owe ye."

Negotiations, as you might expect, break down rapidly, and Urwol and his cohorts resolve to engage in a bit of spirited union-busting.

We could actually play this one out, but there's no real need to. The orcs have a much better average damage-per-round than the duergar do, and that's not even factoring the Horde into matters. We can reasonably assume that the newly formed Orc Dungeon Workers Coalition wins this particular fight, minus a healing surge.

After a short and bloody scuffle, the duergar blacksmiths lay dying on the floor alongside two of the striking orcs. The orc spokesman seems a little troubled by this development.

"This problem always with middle management. Always they trying to be tough guys. I take this all the way to the top! I get justice!"

He claps Glock on the back.

"Friend secret orc, I not ask you to come with. Your mission of cow man is as important as my mission of quality working condition. But I do ask you! Keep eye out while you here. Stop scab moving in! Scab is enemy of every honest orc!

Shouting something loud and incoherent, the three surviving orcs charge out the door and across one of the bridges spanning the chasm. The Horde is left alone in the first stronghold with a pile of corpses. Urwol's dead as a doornail; any information about the location of cow-men is going to have to be assessed elsewhere.

Orc encounter successfully finessed: 875 XP (175 each)
Blacksmith battle: 900 XP (112 each, since it's split with the surviving orcs)

Delic does the Orc Dance Of Gormagga Kraal. (Staying in place, kneeling then standing quickly, pumping his shoulders up and down while grunting the word "Kraal" over and over)