Farmerbink
Sometimes, it's hard to tell night from day.  Without the benefit of sunlight, and it's inexorable marking of the passage of time, it's easy for life to become one grand span of drudgery- a never-ceasing struggle for survival.

Of course, the Dwarves manage better than most, having spent millennia cultivating their subterranean empires.  Even so, as the world above fell, the Dwarves' reliance on surface-based trade of both goods and information was exposed.  Without human caravans to bring news and grains, the Dwarves have had to rely once more on the fungus, livestock, and strange stunted plants that manage to grow where the sun never shines.   
 Spoiler: The darkness below 
 
 


It's been harder still for most other races.  Even the Goblins and Kobolds generally at home underground spent hundreds of years relying on raiding and surface-based agriculture for their subsistence.  Meanwhile, most communities of Gnomes and Halflings lacked deep enough caves to avoid the maniacal onslaught of the oversized oppressors.  Most of them were destroyed, alongside the strictly surface-level settlements of their Human and Elven neighbors.  Some select few communities have been spared, and in the decades that passed have begun to navigate the new normal.

One such community has managed to retain ties to their neighbors, in spite of the ever-present dangers of overland travel.  Aided in large part by a trio of twin crones, capable of reading signs and portents most overlook entirely, messages arrive by messenger pigeon, a handful of particularly tenacious explorers, and the occasional mystic, unexplained writing on the wall of common areas and living spaces, but messages arrive. 
 Spoiler: Scrying 
 
 


In the world after the fall, the vast majority of survivors clearly understand that you live together, or you die alone.  When the Stepford-Hendersons call, there is reason.  It is infrequently a pleasant reason, but it's always important.  And those who value their lives and the community that enables it will answer.

 

The journey to Step Downsy Forynth was hard.  Everything is hard now, though, so it didn't seem much worse than any other venture.

It's with no small trepidation that the Dwarves of Deephall take to the surface, accompanied by a small entourage of whiskerfolk.  Squinting eyes turn uneasily skyward as the blazing orb commands attention.  Even now, scant minutes before the sun sets behind the mountains you call home, its brilliance is overpowering.  The vast openness of space sets even the most intrepid of Dwarves on edge.  Keenly aware of how quickly the beasts with 10-foot legs can cover even such great distances, the scouts scatter, peering diligently to the horizon.

Dozens of miles away,  Paranomasia and his kin plod sullenly through the darkness.  It's not as uneasy as overland travel (yet), but there are still plenty of threats that go bump in the dark.  After swarming an ugly aboleth (blessedly trying to navigate outside water itself) the day before, the Kobolds travel cautiously even only a day's march from the "safe" territories of home.

The Goldgathers blessedly travel primarily below ground as well.  Only the last half-day requires overland march from the vast network of tunnels their home partially occupies.  As they approach the Stepford-Hendersons' home, you stumble upon a troublesome scene: a narrow tendril of smoke in the distance streams through the forested canopy where your neighbor's home lies.  Cautiously, expecting danger, your approach slows to an aggressive creeping.  Several moments later you espy a pair of carts on fire.  Small enough to traverse the narrow underground passages, you recognize both the vehicles and their drivers as the family you sought.  Nearby, a pair of giants lies slain, half surrounded by Gnomish and Halfling casualties.  As the survivors lick their wounds, you see them ransacking the Giants for valuables.

From the other side of the wreckage, the biggest Goblin you've ever seen strides boldly into the open.  " Big Job handle third ugly, " he calls in a halting, troubled Gnomish.  A smaller, injured Goblin hobbles forward at his heels, glancing around in agitation.  " Allofum? " he chirps, almost unrecognizable.  With noteworthy relief, it quickly becomes apparent that 3 Giants was enough for them to range, and yet the Gnomes and their allies have killed all of them- this time.

One of the Gnomes steps forward, wearing armor and a few specific jewels and adornments.  " This worries me.  They're much too close to our hovels for my comfort. "  Scowling, he peers into what distance he can through the huge old-growth trunks.  " We knew this day would come eventually, " he spits, with surprising savagery.  Turning to Snorri and the other Dwarves, his features soften.  " Well met once more, Snorri Goldgather.  Would that you and yours had arrived perhaps half an hour sooner, but alas it was surely not your intent to miss the excitement.  If your men can carry more, we would be in your debt to return our goods and carts to the Downs. "

Perhaps half a hour later, a motley assortment begins their descent, some more haggard than others, but all fatigued as even the Dwarves bow their heads below the frames of the Gnome-sized portals.  By the end of the day, the Deephall Dwarves and Kobolds have also arrived.
   For many it's a return to the unlikely community, for some their first venture.  For all, it's a few moments reprieve, before death comes pounding on the door once more.
BelGareth
Heldrum awoke with a roaring headache, as was usual. He squinted, and patted down the immediate area with his hands, finally finding his spectacles, he placed them on his bulbous nose and frowned. The water clock had stopped working sometime while he was sleeping.

For Giant's sake! He thought to himself, as he heaved his bulk up from his straw cot, his back aching, he took a moment to let his body realize it didn't need to hurt so bad, and then attempted to stand, which took several attempts.

Scowling, he worked the coffee pot onto the fire, and began lighting it, using the bellows to tend to the flames while he began looking at the 3-time damned water clock that the crook Crazen sold him, he knew it wasn't in fully functional condition, but he had thought he had fixed it. Placing his hands upon it, he said a small prayer to the All-Father and tried to fix whatever small component he couldn't see....again.

After a little while, the little water clock began working again. Now he would have to find the actual time and adjust it.

Sighing, he clothed himself in his working garb while the water boiled, waiting patiently for his caff to truly start the day.

Once he heard the telltale whistle, he jumped up with a start, having slightly dozed off again waiting for the water to boil. Huffing to himself, he poured out a cup from the carafe and stepped outside his little hobble, it sat right next to his forge and workshop, which sat cold and dark at the moment. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed again. Where was that little rat who was supposed to be apprenticing? The forges should have been red hot by now! Probably of looking for adventure, his father seemed to just shrug every time he asked where the little scamp had gone off to. Gnomes will be gnomes I guess. He sighed to himself.

Taking a long swig of his caff, he moved into the forge and began prepping the forge, bellows, and looking at the items he had on the docket for the day. It wasn't long before he had worked up a sweat, but his sister would tell you, it wasn't that hard for him to do so, he was out of shape, not like when he was younger! A sad smile crept over his face as he recalled his dear sister, it was a bitter sweet memory, and one that was disrupted by the clatter of new arrivals. They all seemed to be weary, and smelling of fire. Which of itself wasn't a surprise, most visitors to the Stepford-Hendersons were exactly that, but these all looked recent, and there were a lot of visitors.

He stepped out of his workshop in his apron, his undershirt already wet with sweat from his early morning-afternoon exertions.

Looking at the closest visitor, he asks   "Ye ken what happened?"  
Palanan
“—I’d’a shown ‘em,” Snethi insists yet again with a satisfied smirk, hands on his twin axes, eyeing the giants’ corpses as the Deephall dwaves pass by.  “I’d’a shown ‘em if we’d been here.  Just a little earlier an’ I’d’a shown Biggo-Gobbo there just how we do it.”  He throws a sneer across his arm, down to where the whiskerfolk are padding along nearby.  “Shakkin’ scouts took us the wrong way, or we’d’a been here earlier.  I  told  ‘em—”

“Enough,” Beolfryth says quietly, at last, and the one word suffices.  In a more dignified quiet, the Deephall dwarves and their whiskerfolk companions follow their hosts through the elegantly carved wooden frames leading into Step Downsy Forynth—comfortably sized for the whiskerfolk, but constricting for the dwarves.

Yet none complain, knowing that even a small measure of safety is better than the hazard of the open sky.  They allow themselves to be led through the cobbled passages, beneath the multicolored beads and puffsprays of light that tint the stones all manner of strange shades, creating oddly multiplied shadows around the newcomers as they follow their hosts deeper into the curving under-streets.

For Perriket, the many-hued shadows are distracting, disorienting, and he trips more than once over his own paws, misjudging the cobble-steps designed for different legs and making an effort to ignore the smirk slipped his way by Snethi.  Deep instinct warns him to keep alert in strange tunnels, to keep his whiskers flicking and his nose on point, layers and layers of scent rising in a noisy jumble all around him—strange spices and earthy roots, the damp tang of deep stone and the distant, sour fug of domestic beasts, all the while his nerves jangling and warning him to be wary.

But fatigue rises even higher than the wash of intricate new odors—a spine-aching weariness born of long days and interrupted nights in open country, unending stress at the prospect of ambush, discovery, unexpected calamity.  Even as his nose struggles to make sense of the olfactory cacophony, the rest of Perriket’s body is moving through a numb and thickening haze of pure exhaustion, mingled with a quietly gnawing emptiness in the region of his belly.
DarkOne-Rob
"  Ha! Hng! Nnnyah!  " grunts Brankahm Runechanter as he loudly spins and lashes out with his three-sectioned staff as he flows through martial forms in the open cavern just off the main chamber of Step Downsy Forynth. Moving with familiar power but very un-dwarf-like speed, the lightly armored man strikes at the empty air demonstrating confidence and potentially lethal force. Tumbling away and rolling back to his feet he strikes again at very near the same spot several more times before mimicking a disarm-motion and suddenly stopping, his breath steady and even. "  Not that I'd want to disarm a troll or ogre,  " he says into the darkness with a self-deprecating chuckle. "  Would rather trip them with my flail...let's get to that, then,  " he says to himself as he turns and collects a different weapon and repeats many of the motions again.

From the main hall he hears some commotion and finds a stopping place, carefully returning his gear to their holders and wiping his brow - the only place where any sweat can be seen - and walking across the cave to the Commons. There he looks around and sees...a caravan? No, too small - it's probably that delegation from the surface. "  Ah, to comfortably see the sun again...  " he sighs, deep resonate voice carrying unintentionally and disturbing several dwarven elders nearby.

With a shrug he approaches the gathering, arriving just after the blacksmith asks,   "Ye ken what happened?"   Nodding, Brankahm steps up beside the other dwarf and nods, curious enough but not so rude as to repeat the question in a dialect the new arrivals might understand.
tonberryking
Big Job spat something out from between his teeth gracelessly and ambled into his palanquin, which elicited a collective groan from his porters. Still, they dutifully hefted the poles of the 'vehicle' and tromped off into Step Downsy Forynth without a second word.  Most of the goblins who were coming to the conclave were, in fact, currently carrying their leader, but there were still a couple handfuls of sterner looking toughs and lean, large fingered archers who left on their own, silent as shadows.

And then there was one.

Slowing from a scamper out from the woods, for she was able to run on all fours, a long armed goblin girl skidded to a halt a few yards away from the departing crowd and stood upright.  Quad runnin' was suitable for the wilds, or if you needed to haul it away from danger, but she was now a guest. And guests typically are frowned upon for running all pell mell and getting their hands filthy. But then as she stood she revealed that she was plenty filthy already; her dwarven leathers and sailcloth clothes underneath, all of which were dyed dark, still were stained with blood and viscera of a giant.  As if just noticing this, she ponderously stared at her mitts and her clothes before looking around.

There was a pragmatic, yet polite way to deal with this.

She tromps up to Brankham and the Blacksmith, though she stays outside the former's reach, having seen his display.  To the blacksmith she politely implores, trying not to run her gore stained hands through her blond mane out of habit.

  "We helped kill a few giants who got some gnomes up the way."   apparently, she did so with  her bare hands;  even if she speaks rather fluent dwarven, she talks with a slightly childish tone and a hoarse yet light voice.    "May I trouble you, good smith, for a bucket of water and a rag?"   her large, leonine eyes blink once or twice, and then asynchronously.
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
  "Fools!  these cretins have for far too long INTRUDED upon the land! Even as we flee, hide, COWER down here continue they do above the land ravaging it! There used to be Tall-men and Tree-men, but now there is only giant! And they are not satisfied with the above world.. They dig and work there way down to us, to eat our soft meats and boil our bones for their bread. Fe fi fo fum, I say we make their world undone!  They will RUE the day they attempted to take over the world that RIGHTFULLY should be MINE!"   Shouts out the Kobold. Of course it wasn't the first time he had given similar speeches, and wouldn't be the last.

The Kobold had made a bit of a name for himself for being something of a megalomanic, yet his words are often more of puff pieces. Spying the injured goblin.He pads up rather quickly and suddenly.  "No no no! THIS won't do! I demand that you keep your goblin blood ON THE INSIDE WHERE IT BELONGS!"  he reaches out a gloved hand casting a cure light wounds to remove the injury the best he can.  "Now where we before... distractions where imposed upon us..." 
 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 

 (1d8+2)[ 9 ]  cure light wounds for the injured goblin
 
Athaleon
 "Well met once more, Snorri Goldgather. Would that you and yours had arrived perhaps half an hour sooner, but alas it was surely not your intent to miss the excitement." 

Urist, with effort, kept his face frozen in what he thought was a neutral expression. His uncle had warned him not to see slights where none existed, but after all that had happened over the decades, it was a difficult mindset to get out of—even if he had been glad for the rare opportunity to be under the sky, something most Dwarfs didn't appreciate even after life on the surface had become far more dangerous. Then again, he didn't relish the idea of keeping company with goblins and kobolds at this gathering. How had it come to this?


 "This worries me. They're much too close to our hovels for my comfort." 

  "Close indeed. I hope this doesnae mean they've learned of our meeting, or that more will come looking once these were missed. Aye, we ought to get everything back underground, quicker the better."  
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm considers the newcomers thoroughly with one raised eyebrow at the kobolds. Turning to the arriving ratfolk first the dwarf nods his head in greeting. "  Welcome,  ysoki  - do you hail from the surface or deeper below? Have you traveled far to get here?  "

He nods in appreciation of the little goblin's bloodied hands as he rumbles, "  Impressive little one - messy, but effective. Did you hamstring the giant first, bring it to the earth and then tear it open? Or did you use some other tactic?  " He looks genuinely interested in Bushi's methods and smiles warmly to encourage her to tell him about it. "  Heldrum may have water for you. There is also a pool we use for bathing in a nearby cavern - I can show you to it, but it is a bit cold...  "

The dwarf seems less interested - or impressed - by the kobold megalomaniac. He seems to note the healing magic demonstrated but otherwise doesn't interact with him.

Finally Brankahm greets the dwarves, somewhat reservedly. "  Well met, brethren. My name is Brankahm Runechanter, the last of our clan. Will you tell us of yourselves?  "
tonberryking
 The little goblin quickly grows confused, her mouth slightly agap at the kobold's benign antics; she briefly toys with a sheepish feeling at him having used his magic on her unnecessarily. 
  "Uhhh... All this blood,"   she continues speaking in dwarven,   "Isn't mine; it's a giant's.  I didn't get hurt, just messy because I got hit by an artery spray from his throat."   Her mousey tail with a tuft of hair on it that matches her mane swishes in agitation.

  "But to answer the questions, the other goblins ambushed a giant and shot him a lot while I was hiding in a tree I climbed and ambushed it  again  when it ran towards them.  Can't say if the arrows or my cuts did the job, so I don't want credit..."  

Now, with her so close (though she does seem to sway a bit and tries to stay out of reach if she can) it might become obvious that the goblin doesn't have much of an impressive armory.  She also has a short bow and quiver, but on her belt there's a bolo knife with a bolted on wooden handle that serves as a machete for someone of her size. Meager giant slaying tools at best...
BelGareth
Nodding to Brankahm he watches the cavalcade of errant adventurers.

Heldrum smiles at the little feral goblin,   "Oh course!"   he bellows, pointing to the jug of cooled clear water, he grabs it and a cup, and pours her a drink, handing her the full cup when filled.

Following Brankahm, he adds   "Indeed, I am Heldrum, last of my clan also, seems to be a common enough theme these solemn days."
  
tonberryking
The goblin blinks...and ponders for a moment if she used the wrong words in dwarven again.  She still takes a *sip* of the drink and then tears off some of the canvas strips she wraps around her hands, dabs the balled up "sponge" into the glass and proceeds to wipe herself down, making due with what she has.

  "I'm Bushi.  I can hunt, hide and slay, but I don't know why the gnomes have called us all.  Do any of you?"  she asks while still going at it, ultimately upending what's left of the no longer clean water on herself and scrubbing.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm nods, impressed at the martial prowess of the little goblin, and sighs at the cup of water and her efforts to clean up using it. "  Would you like me to show you that pool of water? It will be cold but will probably help you more than just a cup...  " he asks her, trying to smooth over the faux pas and ensure everyone gets along. "  I'm sure they are trying to keep going, manage resources, and gather more allies to the cause. It's been tough for everyone...  "
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
 "Well isn't that cute. cleaning up with a cup of water and a little scrap of cloth...  BUT ITS WRONG!  LIKE THIS!"  He claps his hands together emanating a blast of magical power that cleans up grit and grime and blood with the utility of Prestidigitation.  "Water is a precious resource! Who knows what filth and foul diseases that giant blood could bring with it! And you want to spread that around?! Not on my watch!" 

Looking around at whoever else was around,  "The rest of you! WHO ELSE IS FILTHY?! Vile germs and grime are NO Match against the power of PARONOMASIA! I Shall Eradicate it all! GET IN LINE! LETS GET THIS OVER QUICKLY!" 
 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 

Paranomasia starts flinging around  Prestidigitation  every six seconds to clean people and things.
 
Palanan
When Brankahm calls out to the new arrivals, he receives a quick and courteous answer—though not perhaps the one he was expecting.

“I thank you for your greeting,” comes a reply, “and I give you joy of our safe meeting, though we must beg you reconsider your choice of terms.”

Brankahm might be forgiven for looking about in search of the dwarf who spoke, for the reply is in fluent Dwarven, a voice rich and smooth as finely aged mead.  But the voice flows a touch lighter, a touch more honeyed than those which ring from dwarven throats; and when Brankahm glances down he sees a sleek, furred form wrapped in robes and draped in a rugged, travelworn cloak.

“ Ysoki  was a term applied to some of us by the humanfolk of yore,” the voice goes on, giving a brief snout-wash with his forepaws in memory of the lost races, “—but it was not always used in the most complimentary fashion, and anyhow was more often applied to warrens within city walls.  Whereas we, the wild-minded whiskerfolk—” a nod and whisker-flick encompassing the others behind him— “have always lived without the walls, and in recent years we have joined the fine folk of the Deephall as their  arázhdukkûl . *

“And now we have come here in answer to urgent summons,” he glances about, “though we are only now arrived, weary and hungry from our journey.  I hight Brathahul Earthtongue, and here are my kinsfolk and  arázhdukkäwät .  How shall we call you, and would you be able to guide us to our lodgings?”


_______

* An archaic Dwarven term, meaning roughly “cave-siblings,” describing close companions sharing an underground refuge without the bonds of blood relation.

Note that  arázhdukkûl  is in the aorist plural, while  arázhdukkäwät  is present plural indicative.
tonberryking
Bushi seems more confused by both the helpful kobold helping a SECOND goblin (IE, herself) and the diplomacy at hand trying to smooth things over.

  "Well, if I'm going to be here for awhile, I imagine that I'll be fighting more giants or finding more ways to get dirty, so yes, I would still like to know where the pool is, thank you,"   she gives a sheepish grin towards Brankahm,   Also, thank you, Piranha for cleaning my clothes."  

...

...From the expression on her face, she's either a more brilliant actress than Paronomasia is a performer, or she's  trying,  bless her heart, to get his name right and isn't going to succeed on attempt #1.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm continues to observe the loud-mouthed kobold without directly interacting. Behind his beard and deep set eyes there is a hint of a smirk, but he doesn't let it show to openly.

At the correction by Brathahul Earthtongue the Runechanter bows his head respectfully. "  I apologize for any offense and thank you for the correction. I thought...that word...was respectful. For what it is worth, I welcome you to this   hame   and hope your stay is peaceful. My name is Brankahm Runechanter and I will be glad to show you to a dry, empty cave where you can set up. There are some empty gnomish warrens, but they aren't mine, so...  " he shrugs as he gestures for the ratfolk to follow.

Turning to Bushi he says, "  The cave with the pool is this way too, would you like to see it now? Come along!  "
Palanan
“No offense taken whatsoever,” Brathahul smoothly assures Brankahm, in the same golden tones of rippling Dwarven.  “In these times there are far worse things to be concerned about.  To those of us who survived the fall of men and elves, a stray word is but a trifle, no more.”  He dismisses the matter with a flick of a slightly bedraggled paw.

“Quite so,” comments a taller form, a sturdy dwarf with a face both impassive and serene, framed by an intricately braided beard fastened with a long mosaic of inlaid tiles.  The dwarf’s robes are in an older style, and he carries himself with a stoic gravitas.  “But in matters of urgency and grave import, one wonders that our hosts are not yet to be seen—unless this is some gnomish trick,” he says with a trace of disapproval, as if their hosts might be hiding invisibly nearby, waiting for the perfect moment to spring out in a surprise appearance.

“And even in these times,” he continues, “the modes and forms of diplomacy should be acknowledged, if only to honor the ancient days in which they were more fully observed.  This is to say nothing of  akharäzhdûhawwa  *, though perhaps some deep-halls view these customs differently.”

A ponderous breath, and a heavy hand smooths down the waterfall of finely-worked tiles keeping his beard in precise geometric order.  “Forgive me,  akka  **; it is only my aching knees and surly belly that lead me into the rockfalls of rudeness.  I hight Beolfryth Hymm-Hoarder, a lore-singer of Deephall and cavespeaker to other halls—though it is long since we have heard aught from many of them.”

As Brankahm leads them deeper into the gnomish burrows, Beolfryth strides alongside him, keeping pace despite his bulk and his evident weariness from the journey.  “Runechanter, you say?  A lore-singer yourself, or kin to one?”


_______

* Another archaic word, denoting hospitality between dwellers of different caves.

** Cave-brother, a truly ancient term.


 
 Spoiler 
Those few elven linguists with the patience and determination to study Dwarven have traced the term’s descent from Proto-Meso-Terran  aklenannaka , “spawned of the same earth-chamber,” though the underlying connotation of hatching from an egg mass has been replaced with a reference to dwarven legends of divine twins born of the same colossal geode.
 
Farmerbink
 
 Originally Posted by Athaleon 
   "Close indeed. I hope this doesnae mean they've learned of our meeting, or that more will come looking once these were missed. Aye, we ought to get everything back underground, quicker the better."   
 

The Gnome bows, grateful as many of the Goldgather Dwarves hop to to assist in picking up the slack presumably left by the fallen Gnomes.  Without missing a beat, despite clearly being in charge of the caravan-outing, he too grabs a chest that seems much too big for him and hefts it along without complaint.  Clearly, a world once marked by castes and servants has no room now for those unwilling to carry their own weight.  " There's always more, " he grunts out between steps.  " Always closer.  If they haven't found the entrance yet, they will someday.  Perhaps we can burrow deeper and they'll decide we're not worth the effort? "  Somehow, the Gnome doesn't sound as optimistic as his words would suggest.

Within about 15 minutes, you find yourselves in the entrance tunnels of Step Downsy Forynth (often called 'the Downs' for short).  The entrance is well-hidden, and the first several dozen feet kept unlit to avoid announcing their presence.  The hallway winds sharply downward, but the floor is kept impeccably smooth and clear of debris.  Even for those without dark vision, it's a trivial matter to keep your footing as you make your initial descent despite the distracting echoes from several dozen marching Gnomes and Dwarves (and their unlikely companions).  Notably, the taller Dwarves occasionally have to crouch to avoid hitting their heads on the ceiling.  This is no place for larger folk.

Perhaps 100 paces in (having made at least 2 full circles), you catch the glint of torchlight around the next curve.  Passing a pair of bored-looking guards (who themselves immediately reach out to lighten the burdens on their friends), you find yourself in a strange room, full of fungus on nearly every surface.  Save a once-more well-manicured walking path through the mushrooms, wide enough for perhaps three Gnomes abreast (or one particularly stocky Dwarf), the lead Gnome steps on without hesitation.  " Oy, if you're new here- don't touch the shrooms.  It'll get unpleasant real quick! " he calls, almost yelling.  Perhaps surprisingly, the sound seems to not echo in the slightest, here.

Picking from 3 exits without thought, he leads you to another narrow hallway, beyond which you find yourselves in what appears to be a small open-air market.  From all sides, the sounds of  movement  echo.  Somewhere in the distance (in a direction it's impossible to discern), water is running.  The forge master is at work in his smith, and the alchemists grind mortar against pestle with rough, steady strokes; there is simply nothing remotely like silence in the halls of the Downs.  Lit by a curious mixture of torches, candles (often held behind colored glass), and even a handful of bioluminescent fungi, nearly nauseating shadows and figures dance across the mostly rough walls and ceilings.

It's here that you find Heldrum and Brankham, and introductions and explanations made.  Many amusing intricacies of language are discovered, and a small company of Gnomish women approaches, fairly well adorned, though the eccentrics of their nature remain on full display.
 
 Originally Posted by tonberryking 
   "I'm Bushi.  I can hunt, hide and slay, but I don't know why the gnomes have called us all.  Do any of you?"  she asks... 
 

" I believe we can assist with that, " one of the women interjects with a gesture of welcome.  The Gnomish tongue cutting gently through the harsh utterances of Dwarven still echoing in the cavern.  " I'm afraid lodging will be fairly bare-bones, but you will be kept safe, warm, and fed while within our walls.  Where we are able to offer greater comforts, I assure you every effort will be made. "  She bows in greeting, and looks around.  " If I may, I've been instructed to guide the emissaries to Father Handred Stepford.  My sister Sally will be happy to begin tending your companies. "

The speaker eagerly greets the elder statesmen, offering each a robe, equal parts elegance and simplicity, before ushering them away.  Apparently her sister Sally then steps forward.  If she's surprised to see so many left over, she hides it well, offering both a winsome smile and wide open arms.  " I  do  have good news, " she begins, almost so happily as to potentially annoy.  " We anticipated your arrival, and have heated the baths well- don't worry for your masters, we may not be precisely luxurious, but they will each receive all the hospitality we can offer.  If you'll follow me this way, I'll guide you to them.  In a few minutes, my brother Hopton will be bringing fresh sliced chevon to help you relax from the journey. "  A handful of Halflings flit to and fro, eagerly relieving travelers and caravaners of an extraneous burdens, and helping to gesture in the direction indicated by Sally the Gnome.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
The locals immediately recognize the term 'chevon' as local goat meat.  Not precisely rare, but something like the Stepford-Henderson's best fare.  Goats are well prized for their milk, hardiness, and willingness to graze on just about anything.  In the Downs, they are often released to the surface under watch of a trio of shepherds, for brief stints to graze on surface flora, but the quantity of livestock makes for a butchering to be a rare and typically celebrated event.
 


The cave warms noticeably as Sally ushers you through another low-roofed tunnel (it seems literally every passageway is designed to be an obstruction for anyone taller than 4').  About a minute later, you're unsure if you could re-navigate back to the marketplace, though Sally walks with confident purpose.  She opens a well-mounted wooden door, releasing a full wall of actual steam, and steps inside.  " Please feel free to make yourselves as comfortable as you like.  As I mentioned, food will be delivered here as soon as the butchers are content with its presentation. "  A handful of Gnomes are already bathing- the keen-eyed among you recognize them as caravan guards that made the return trip/entry alongside the rest of the journeyers.  The apparently didn't need directions.  They make it clear that nudity and mixed-gender bathing is at least far from taboo in the Downs.

After such a lengthy trip, the spacious pools of water (varying warmth from almost boiling to just better than lukewarm) provide much appreciated relaxation for tight muscles and worried shoulders.  As promised, a surprisingly skinny Gnome leads a trio of Halflings into the room almost 5 minutes later, bearing trays almost too big for them heavily laden with goat cheese, thin-sliced smoke meats, and sliced mushrooms of some sort.  Before offering, the skinny Gnome makes an obvious display of partaking of each, and opens his arms wide.  " Welcome, and we hope you enjoy these offerings of greeting.  If you have any special needs, please ask any of my friends here.  We'd be happy to do what we can to make your stay as comfortable as possible. "
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm looks at the new dwarven speaker with a mixture of emotions (likely only visible to dwarves or those who've spent many years with them). He's both impressed and a bit embarrassed as the man who is obviously an elder speaks and asks him questions. "  The gnomes of the Downs will have to take the formal lead on welcoming all of you - I'm sure they will be here momentarily...  " he begins as his words are shortly proven true.

On the way to the baths, of which he won't partake at this time, since he hasn't been traveling today, Brankahm tries to answer the question about his heritage. "  My tribe is the 'Runechanter' tribe - I'm the last, unfortunately. Like so many, our home was overrun by the giants years ago...

We lived on the surface amongst the other races. I was training to become a lore-keeper, but was interrupted and never finished. Our family name comes from our practice of keeping the histories verbally. We had one large tome with the ancient geologies and histories. I finished memorizing that and had begun to work on the rest of our library...  " his answer trails off as he seems visibly relieved that they've arrived at the baths. "  I will let you clean off the dust of the road in peace...When you have time I would be honored to hear more from you.  "

 
 Spoiler: Lore that other dwarves would immediately recognize 
According to Brankahm's description, the Runechanter clan was "nomadic" by dwarven standards - living in "temporary homes" and moving frequently, about once or twice a century. They enjoyed the open air, sunlight, and people. Their songs and history were kept in massive tomes of paper - paper, of all things! - and taught in oral tradition to the younger generations. Essentially the Runechanters were radically unusual for dwarves and generally considered scandalous and strange by their cousins.

Other dwarves likely immediately think Brankahm flighty and distracted, though the other races won't notice his distracted tendencies just by his appearance.
 
Palanan
As Brankahm touches on his family history, Beolfryth listens carefully, nodding judiciously with a hand on his beard-mosaic as they walk.

“Mm, indeed.  I recognize the name now.  Quite the unconventional approach in many ways.  I once heard tell of a Runechanter who kept a storytelling house in a city of men, though this was long before your time.  As I recall it was quite popular—he mostly told episodes from the Bruin’s-Hide Cycle, even if the sagas never could be properly translated into the tongues of men.  But most translators were working with the older, unsyncopated versions, and I’ve always wondered….”

As Brankahm leads the Deephall contingent further into the gnomish warrens, an impromptu marching order develops: Brankahm and Beolfryth in the lead, followed by Brathahul attended by Narajhet and the remaining three dwarves behind them, with the two whiskerfolk scouts, Perriket and Ojjamit, padding unremarked and all but forgotten at the rear.

“Catch that?” Ojjamit murmurs, nostrils widening as he sniffs with interest at the air.  “Some kind of deep-earthstar, it must be.”

“Maybe,” allows Perriket; “but there’s something else as well, some kind of mushrooms I wouldn’t want to try.”

“Those are the gutwrenchers,” Ojjamit says absently, still sniffing carefully.  “They must grow them as a decoy, in case something gets in that’s just looking for food.  —Ahh, and that’s got to be grey-sagebeard, gathered fresh.”

“Something else in there, too,” and Perriket pauses for a moment, eyes half-squinched as he teases out a trace of tempting scent.  “There’s goat stew—”

“Keep your goat,” Ojjamit mutters gracelessly, “stringy tough tasteless stuff—”

“—Yeah, but there’s something else, too—”

“—leeks—”

“—Obviously, but something beneath that—”

“You two are shakkin’  pathetic ,” Snethi throws back in a gravelly mutter, having paused to smirk at them from further ahead.

“Sst!” Gytha snaps over his shoulder, and Snethi gives a last sneer before disappearing after the others.

“— mm ,” Perriket says abruptly, with real satisfaction: “Grubs, nice fat ones, with ground nuts.  Fried and crispy.”

“With some sort of sauce,” Ojjamit says longingly; “spicy sauce, with a touch of wild garlic.”

And with a glance at each other they’re off down a side corridor, snouts high and breathing deeply as they follow the odors of glorious, freshly-fried grubs dusted with ground nuts.
tonberryking
While she needs an interpreter for the gnomish language, Bushi remains quiet and reserved once the guests are joined and she seems overwhelmed to a degree, over the generosity offer to them all.  At least once she realizes it's being offer to her as well...

...AND that baths come hot instead of just cold.

The concept of a warm bath fascinates her as she crouches by the pools of water and sticks half her hand into them.  Bushi tries not to make her shock  that  obvious but she does steal glances at everyone else who's a guest to see what they do, and gauge what would be considered rude or polite in this situation.

Ultimately she decides it's best to just ask.

  "Not that I need much, but do you have any thin strips of sail cloth or heavy canvas you can part with? The ones I wrap my hands and feet with are getting old and worn out... If that's alright to ask for?"  

By this point however she's stripped, clad only in chest bindings and a fundoshi style loincloth which she doesn't remove, the rest of her things being taken by one of the attendees.  Other than, yes, her tail is real, the goblinette has curious pale yellowish stripes down the skin of her back and over her limbs, something close to tiger stripes.  If anyone knew what a tiger was, that is.  She may have been sheepish about asking for cloth, but Bushi is going to have a damn bath and she slowly slides into the hottest pool she can stand, letting out a sigh that suggest she's about to melt...
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The kobold continued to be bombastic, and a tad annoying at the very least as they led about. But once they were in the baths, and food was presented.. A most unusual thing had happened. He suddenly fell silent. Even as the other kobolds partook in the gifts and the baths, Paronomasia moved to sit off to the side only grabbing a handful of things from the food table. Rather than consume the right away, he pocketed them when people weren't looking, and began watching the skinny gnome with suspicion, as the gnome's efforts to reduce suspicion only triggered the kobolds own paranoia.
Farmerbink
As most of the non-political visitors bathe, enjoying the heated water and offered delicacies in varying degrees, Perriket and his troublemaking companion seek out...  different  fare.  They easily navigate the narrow tunnels, being just a little slighter than their hosts, and if anything less accustomed to personal space.  Thus, a few turns later, they pass what must be a school (if the wide range of young-to-adolsecent Gnomes are any indication) and find a portly matron plating  (presumably food for the students).  Though they make the effort to go unnoticed, she seems to have an  almost providential sense of "someone's trying to steal my food," and she keenly spots the pair peeking over a short windowsill.  " Oy there, lunch is in- ACK! WHO'RE YOU!? "

She jumps to the defensive immediately, brandishing a wooden spoon in a trembling hand.  " Help! Help! " she calls, filling the cavern (and at least a few tunnels) with desperate cries.

The plates look delicious, expertly crafted.  Perhaps less fancy than the hors d'oeuvers offered elsewhere, but no less savory.  Their noses do not lie: carefully roasted grubs with a light garlic sauce drizzled atop.
Palanan
“Forgive us, kind ma’am,” Perriket says quickly in Gnomish, “we’re with the Deephall dwarves who have just arrived for the council.  We’ve been traveling for days through the surface lands, and right when we got here we smelled your  exquisite  roast grubs—”

“—With that lovely fresh wild garlic,” Ojjamit adds.

“—and we couldn’t help ourselves, we just  had  to follow that marvelous fragrance and at least savor the scent closer to its source.  Please forgive us, it’s simply that good.  You must be a noble cook, ma’am, and in high esteem here in the Downs!”
Farmerbink
 
 Spoiler: Perriket in the schoolhouse 
As you offer your apologies (and compliments), the matron stops screaming.  She nervously lowers the spoon, as a surprisingly burly Gnome bursts in from another door (on the far side of the room from you).  " Peace, Jeffrey, " the matron calls, still obviously struggling to regain her breath.  " These two gentlemen only startled me, that's all.  You know I've been on edge recently... "

The muscle-bound Gnome rolls his eyes, with more than a little bit of good-natured jest in his expression.  " You gotta learn to relax, Mildred.  Nobody's gonna get you, not down here.  You know how many- " " Yes, yes, " she interrupts.  " I know there's guards every tunnel from here, I just. "  She lets out a sigh, unable to finish the sentence.  Looking back up to Perriket, she smiles warmly.  " Besides, we have guests!  Let's save the sour moods and  worries for another time.  Come in, come in!  I was just about to say, lunch is in 10 minutes, yet.  If you'll make yourselves useful putting out the table settings, I'll whip up an extra couple dishes! "

One of the rooms beyond this chamber is clearly a moderate-sized cafeteria.  Three short tables span the hall, making room for some 25 or so place settings.  Without being asked, Jeffrey brings a pair of chairs and adds them to the left-most table (where the keen-eyed will note the chairs are a bit larger).  Stacks of plates and small bundles of utensils lie stacked on the same table, ready to be spread out among the rest of the seating.  " Just like you'd think, one plate to a chair! " the matron calls, apparently convinced of your good intentions (and perhaps swayed by your honeyed words).  She hums happily in the kitchen as you disperse the plates and utensils.

Almost as if on queue, another pair of doors open and you realize you must have stumbled upon what serves as the Downs' school.  Young Gnomes gambol in, equal part eager to take a break in their studies and partake in Mistress Mildred's fare.  The first couple all-but literally screech to a halt, bowled over by the 3rds and 4ths in line, when they notice Perriket and Ojjamit.  Squeals of confusion are quickly squashed by Jeffrey, as the strong-armed headmaster calls out.  " You'll notice we've got guests for lunch today!  Make your way to your seats as normal.  If they'd like, you  may  get to introduce yourselves after we eat.  Hop to it, now! "

Jeffrey, for his part, seems less impressed by your compliments.  He ushers you to the left-most table, indicating the seats he just retrieved.  " She'll be right in. "

Regardless, Mildred shortly pushes a narrow cart through the door, covered in savory-smelling food.  She personally attends each child, starting with the youngest and working her way to the final table where a trio of older students sit with a pair of teachers.  Two seats lie empty (presumably for Mildred and Jeffrey), and finally yourselves wrap up a crowded lead table.  " Please, don't wait! " Mildred chimes over a growing din of whispers (and sometimes more than whispers).  " It tastes better warm! "  She opens a small chamber on the cart that apparently has been keeping the last plates warm, to deliver nearly piping-hot food to you and the elder Gnomes.  " Welcome, and thanks! " she chirps.  " Now, take turns eating so you can tell me all about this council and the Deephall Dwarves, you said?  I've not heard of them, but I mostly keep my nose clean of the politics, if I can help it! "
 

Once the serving men realize Bushi can speak Dwarven, one of the Halflings (apparently a linguist) is called over to speak with her.  Between the two high-pitched speakers, the guttural tongue of the undergrounds' oldest race sounds especially unusual, but it gets the job done.  Ironically, the details of her need prove more problematic than the brief language barrier, but after bringing two garments that were wholly unsuitable, they manage to provide a satisfactory alternative: " it's technically a very thin leather, " the Halfling quips, more than a little relieved to see Bushi wrapping her hands appreciatively.  " It's fairly rare, but we don't usually use it for much.  Not strong enough for most leather applications, of course.  I understand the gardeners occasionally use it to divide the beds?  Something about the grubs not liking the smell, as I recall.... "

Some time later, and notably better-smelling, Sally returns to usher the guests to their 'quarters.'  For better or worse, there are no hotels in Step Downsy Forynth, and not nearly enough private homes volunteered to account for the full compliments of the political contingents.  As you walk (a much shorter distance this time- so it won't be too onerous to return to the baths), she explains some of the challenges.

" I'm deeply sorry we don't have a better solution, " Sally explains with a bit of a grimace.  Gesturing to a large cavern, still nestled securely in the Downs and more than a few tunnels from anything that might pose immediate threat, she invites you to where you'll be staying until- well, until the elders and statesmen finish talking.  It's essentially a battle camp, complete with a few well-tended cook fires.  Already, a pair of deer that must have been hunted in the woods far overhead spin on spits for the evening meal- manned by Stepford Gnomes bearing as much of a uniform as you've yet seen- a brown cloak over their everyday clothes, held together with a small, ornate brooch.

Several essentially uniform tents line the space, with ample privacy for changing or sleeping, but little else.  The most unusual divergence is the well-appointed camping chairs and cots.  The Gnomes seem to harvested or scavenged more than enough solid wood for chairs and tables, and produced enough fabric for more than a handful of admittedly thin cushions.  Still, it will be a strange arrangement, with people of all different races and cultures largely crammed together by simple necessity.  " We felt it most suitable to let you all take it from here, " she comments with a slight bow.  " Please, again, if we can help make your stay more comfortable, we will. "

Again, with your representatives (and often elder family members) off doing 'official business,' you're left to spend this bit of time how you will.
Athaleon
Urist's expression lightened tremendously as the food was brought.   "Ah, a rare luxury indeed in these times, to partake of a beast that yet grazed under the sky. Reminds me of my youth, you know, we did a lot o' trade with ranchers."     One more reason to curse the giants  , he didn't add.   "I'm glad the knowledge and tradition's being kept alive. Ah, and here's a luxury no Dwarf can go long without!"   He indicated the hot baths. After his long and dangerous journey he was ready to relax, not inclined to go wandering just yet. He decided he'd be more talkative once he'd slept, but from the look of the living quarters he'd be socializing with members of the other retinues soon.

 
 Spoiler 

Sorry for the long time between posts. I should be able to be more active until just before Christmas.
 
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm follows the group to the camp sites, quietly listening and observing. The observant members of the group may notice a low, rumbling hum - an unsightly, private action for a dwarf to do in public! - but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s even doing it. Once he has seen everyone settled the Runechanter steps forward again. "  I’m not important enough to be part of the official party, so I’m free to show you around if you’d like. There is a small, gnome-sized bar in one of the chambers. The proprietor is a friendly man and he does have acceptable dwarves ale, at least by my standards.

I camp and practice in a cave near here, if anyone wishes to drill or spar. I would be glad to have company - my family passed along many tactics to use against giants. If anyone wishes to share their tricks of the trade I’d be happy for the company.  "

It appears the dwarf is something of a “nerd” for his chosen activities (fighting giants and studying lore, especially dwarven, anti-giant lore) and isn’t good at social activities. It bears observing if he’s any good at the rest…
Athaleon
  "Aye, I suppose some practice with the old hammer could be in order. It's been too long, anyway. Then I daresay I'll be putting the acceptability of your Dwarven ale to the test!"   Urist said with a wink of joviality, such as it was.
tonberryking
To the others it may seem Spartan, but poor Bushi finds the accommodations (and  especially  the leather strap gifts) to be downright opulent.

She arrives at the 'campground' fresh and clean and still hungry, but also eager to test the wraps around her limbs with a couple hand stands and standings on one foot, even a cartwheel.  It almost looks like some sort of absurdist performance mixed in with legitimate exercises, but she hastily cleans her hands off again.  These would do far more nicely than threadbare canvas...

Bushi picks a tent out of the way of the others and puts most of her gear in a neat little pile, though she keeps her bolo knife on hand. And from there...she tries to remain on good behavior and simply takes a seat near the cooking fires waiting for whatever venison platter they're preparing, watching the flames flicker.  By now it's become apparent to the little goblin that the gnomes are entirely gracious hosts and it's not very hard to respond in kind towards them...

As for the others? The fanciful kobold is also generously affable, but she still isn't sure if the dwarves will let their guards down in front of her and it would be best not to given them a reason to rouse their ire... Also because she has no  earthly  idea where Big Job's men went, or what they are doing. Probably best she just stays out in the open, minding her own business in case the other goblins simply don't.  ...It does not occur to her, however, that she may unwittingly be a distraction at this point.
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The loud bombastic kobold still remains oddly silent, now moving away a slight bit from the others, putting his back near a wall so no one could sneak up on him. There was fewer and fewer people here, and he found less of a reason to put up a villainous performance, especially since for the moment, the others were leaving him alone. Instead he sat there, analyzing each of them in turn. How easy the Dwarves turn to combat as a form of entertainment. Of course there was Smoke, the sniper kobold who has constantly been almost a ghost through the whole event.
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
 
 Originally Posted by Athaleon 
   "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...


 
 Originally Posted by tonberryking 
   "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.


 
 Originally Posted by Triskavanski 
  "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!  "


 
 Originally Posted by Farmerbink 
 " 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.


 
 Originally Posted by Palanan 
 “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.” 
 


 
 Originally Posted by tonberryking 
   "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
 
 Originally Posted by DarkOne7141981 
 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.


 
 Originally Posted by DarkOne7141981 
 "   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 
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 
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 
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 
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 

 (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 

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 
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 
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 
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(?) 
   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 
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 .”
tonberryking
 "Someone grab a brand from the fire."  Bushi suggests.

 "Don't throw it at the brute but toss it onto the shore near the water; animals hate fire and it'll give us time to pack and it'll be less likely to come ashore. I'll watch it while you guys get ready..." 
Palanan
“No fire,” Perriket countermands in an urgent whisper.  “Bad enough we lit one—the last thing we need is to start throwing it around.

He’s already at the far edge of the firelight, eyes gleaming faintly within the gathering dark.  “We need to leave—this instant.”
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm looks at the two smaller allies with a sad expression. He doesn't move to engage the reptilian attacker, though, instead planning to give the creature a vote in whether or not they fight it. "  I worry that all the effort spent on not dying has led to less real living too. Pack up if you must - I will guard your retreat...  " he rumbles.
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
  "Continue the retreat, I'll distract.."   He remarks moving forwards ahead of the group   "How doth the little crocodile
  Improve his shining tail
And pour the waters of the Nile
  On every golden scale!"  

He recites poetry to the beast as he does a little dance. Doing his best to not be too terribly loud, but loud enough to fascinate the reptile.

 
 Spoiler 


Bardic Performance - Fascinate
DC: Will save 13
Bardic Performance Rounds 7/8
 
Farmerbink
Brankahm eyes the reptile warily as Paranomasia strides forward, dancing and speaking in a terribly distracting (and a little confusing) manner.  As the others begin stepping away (up-stream, to the north), it quickly becomes apparent that the Kobold has firmly commanded the attention of the crocodile.  And- perhaps despite its nature, the beast simply stands in the shallows, close enough to be a threat, but seemingly content to simply watch the little bard's dance.

However, as you move away (for now following the edge of the riverbed, just below the horizon proper to those standing above), you see another pair of "logs" moving distinctly not quite with the current.  Unlike their kin (now some 40' to the south), these two are focused on Bushi and Perriket near the front of the troupe, floating about 5 feet from the river's edge.

 Here's a map 
DarkOne-Rob
 
 Spoiler: Brankahm's Status, Round...1? 
   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
 


Brankahm looks around and sees the other crocodiles approaching, likely hunting the ratfolk and goblin. "  Watch yourselves near the bank - this one isn't alone,  " he rumbles. "  I think it best to kill them when they come up on land. Get back from the water at least, though...  " he finishes as he steps forward to attack the first of the crocodiles, hoping to get a killing blow while it is fascinated...

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
Based on the summary in Discord and description in the DM post, I think we need to kill one, at least, to run the others off. They're wild animals but not necessarily loud or stupid, so hopefully not suicidal.

Initiative:  (1d20+2)[ 17 ] 
 Can't see the map, so move me to a position from which I can attack the fascinated crocodile and if it's killed move on to the others immediately thereafter, please. Once there, Brankahm will activate Power Attack and strike with his MW Heavy Flail:  (1d20+5)[ 11 ]  to hit,  (1d20+5)[ 7 ]  (19-20/x2),  (1d10+7)[ 17 ]  bludgeoning damage,  (1d10+7)[ 13 ]  critical strike damage. 

As discussed in Discord, I don't think it's a good idea to start melee from this far away. Brankahm has a Pelletbow he would draw and ready instead. If the rest of the party is ready to fight he will fire (and miss, based on the d20 rolls above), but he still won't initiate combat unless some of the others are willing to fight too.
 
tonberryking
While Bushi wanted to just leave out of instinct and discretion, being pointed out that there are more alligators just frustrates the little barbarian and scuttles her desires to flee into the woods. This isn't going to be like warding away wild dogs or a particularly grumpy serpent, or even that mother badger that-- ...No, better not think about her and her no-good offspring.  That's not a story to reminisce over right now.  The point is, she rapidly reasons out, is that getting water in this neck of the woods is going to be all the more frustrating if she kowtows to these scaley bastards without a fuss.

It's not like they're wearing leather collars with big bloody bells that would alert giants to their presence, either...

 "Aw to hell with this." 

She technically says that in goblin, slowly,  but her inflection is so clear anybody, even those who don't speak goblin can pretty much understand what she meant as she notches and pulls back on her bow.

 
 Spoiler: OOC/rolls 

 (1d20+5)[ 7 ]  Initiative

I am going to hold my action and (ultimately) shoot at either Gator 2 or 3, whichever of them moves towards us first.

 
 Spoiler: Gator Gigging attack roll 

 (1d20+9)[ 21 ] 
 (1d4+1)[ 5 ] 
 

 
Athaleon
  "Thrashing and splashing, or fire, or magic, all will draw attention. If we aren't leaving  right now , then make ready to make the fight quick at least."   
 
 Spoiler 

Initiative?  (1d20)[ 18 ] 
Urist moves towards Bushi and readies an action to cast Color Spray, provided he can catch at least two crocs without hitting an ally.
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The kobold had been expecting the others to retreat while he enraptured the other lizard with his exotic dance moves and poetry speaking. But they openly drew weapons, disrupting his groove, and ruining the magic of the bard's dance. Quickly he pulled back, pulling out his own pellet bow.

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 

Any obvious threat, such as someone drawing a weapon, casting a spell, or aiming a weapon at the target, automatically breaks the effect.

IF I can get to level 8, we'll eventually be able to ignore this automatic breaking effect.


Move to W6 as movement action, draw weapon with swift action. Ready action to attack if the gators attack.
 
Palanan
Perriket, already on the outer fringes of the group and as far as possible from the water and the reptiles, takes this opportunity to melt into the shadows and vegetation.

 
 Spoiler 
Stealth
 (1d20+17)[ 26 ] 
 
Farmerbink
The crocodiles seem content to pace you from the river's edge, though one of the northern two takes to the bank menacingly.  " They're unlikely to attack outright, " Franklin murmurs from the base of the short escarpment marking the river's narrow floodplain.  As if on queue, another reptile takes to the shore, and the first begins hissing unnervingly.  Bushi jumps, loosing an arrow (that strikes well), and Brankahm follows suit, though his goes wide.   As if it's what they were waiting for, the crocodiles lunge.

Urist demonstrates uncanny prescience, placing himself close enough to draw the attention of one while angling to interfere with another.  A blinding burst of colorful light erupts from his fingers as a pair of reptiles charges the shaman and his barbaric companion.  Both reptiles snap lazily at nothing, apparently unable to see.  The southernmost reptile manages to surprise Brankahm, however, dashing rapidly across the sandy banks and snapping his leg with a vise-like grip ( Brankahm suffers 6 damage and becomes  grappled  ).

 Hells!  Franklin exclaims, as surprised as anyone by the speed of the aquatic reptiles.  He dashes to Brankahm's side, and strikes true with his rapier, though the crocodile doesn't seem to care yet.  Heldrun likewise closes the gap, driving his Giant-sticker between the pair.  Unfortunately, the narrow spacing complicates his attack, and he catches only sandy gravel with the spear's tip.

 Map updated 
DarkOne-Rob
 
 Spoiler: Brankahm's Status, Round 2 
   Brankahm Runechanter   
Male Lawful Good Dwarf Fighter (w/ 2 Archetypes), VMC Bard,  Level  2,  Init  2,  HP  23/29,  Speed  20 ft
 AC  16,  Touch  12,  Flat-footed  14,  CMD  17,  Fort  5,  Ref  3,  Will  2,  CMB  +5,  Base Attack Bonus  2
 Spiked Gauntlet   +2 (1d4+5, 20/x2) (+2 BAB, +3 STR, -2 Grappled, -1 Power Attack)
 MW Chain Shirt   (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition   Grappled 
Power Attack
 

As he falls Brankahm drops his pelletbow and strikes at the aquatic reptile with his spiked gauntlet "  Off me, get off!  " he grunts as he keeps trying to land blows on the crocodile's snout.

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
Activate Power Attack and strike with his Spiked Gauntlet:  (1d20+2)[ 15 ]  to hit,  (1d20+2)[ 22 ]  (20/x2),  (1d4+5)[ 7 ]  piercing damage,  (1d4+5)[ 8 ]  critical strike damage.

If the crocodile let's him go he will use a move action to stand up and/or move away from the water, as long as it won't incur an AoO from the crocodile.

If an attacker incurs an AoO: Spiked Gauntlet,  (1d20+2)[ 15 ]  to hit,  (1d20+2)[ 8 ]  (20/x2),  (1d4+5)[ 9 ]  piercing damage,  (1d4+5)[ 8 ]  critical strike damage.
 
Athaleon
  "They're blinded, but they'll recover 'fore long!"   Urist informed the others before running to Brankahm's aid, his ornate hammer raised to strike.

 
 Spoiler 

Urist moves to O26 to provide flanking, and attacks with his hammer.

 (1d20+7)[ 15 ]  To Hit
 (1d8+3)[ 8 ]  Damage
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
 "Well we're in a sticky situation.. But they more so!"  he says casting glue seal on the one aligator closet to him.


 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 

 https://aonprd.com/SpellDisplay.aspx...me=Glue%20Seal 

DC 13 reflex under A1
 
tonberryking
Bushi had hoped to save this for the giants, but the Gator to her right is too close for a bow and she doesn't want to risk hurting her allies by firing too closely at them.

She just drops her bow and lunges towards the alligator that she attacked (who then attacked Brankahm)darting in just as her eyes begin to glow, first gold and then the angry red of magma hot coals. Wait, her hands are empty, what exactly is she planning to fight the thing wi--

   KRR-CHACK!!!   

With an awful noise like steel slapping against bone, a pair of claws erupt from between the knuckles on each of her hands, oversized serrated things that she wastes no time raking across the gator's hide.  Bushi doesn't howl, she doesn't bellow with a deafening roar but the growls her voice makes sound far more like a cornered wild-cat (or several wild-cats) than the salty goblin from before.

She goes for anything soft between joints or under the head.

 
 Spoiler: OOC/rolls 

 (1d20+10)[ 25 ]  If I need this Acrobatics check, it's to get into flanking position against Alligator #2

Hits:
 (1d20+12)[ 18 ] 
 (1d20+12)[ 19 ] 

Damage:
 (1d4+3)[ 6 ] 
 (1d4+3)[ 6 ] 
 
Palanan
Perriket glowers at the unfolding chaos along the river’s edge.  What should have been a simple, quiet slipping-away from trouble has instead become an uncoordinated and highly audible brawl.

He watches with distaste as the small, irritating monkey-creature extends claws, growls bestially and leaps at the nearest alligator.  While Perriket would have preferred to aid Brankahm, he is much closer to the alligator now being scraped and snarled at by the monkey-creature.  So he will gather himself, point his snout directly at the river-beast’s midsection, and let loose with a mighty shrill of sound that no one else will hear.


 
 Spoiler 
Perriket is casting Ear-Piercing Scream at the nearest alligator (A3).  Fort save DC 14 to avoid being dazed and taking half damage; otherwise dazed and taking full damage.  After that, not moving from his spot, Perriket will hunker down and attempt to hide again.

Damage
[roll]1d6[roll]

Stealth
 (1d20+17)[ 25 ] 
 
Palanan
 
 Spoiler: Trying Again 
Mistyped the code on the damage roll in my last post, so trying to roll for damage again:

Damage
 (1d6)[ 5 ] 
 
Farmerbink
The exploratory squad swarms the alligator attached to Brankahm's leg with savage efficacy.  Franklin's rapier flashes out among Brankahm's spiked guantlet and Urist's hammer.  As the remaining crocodiles struggle to overcome Urist's magic.  Bushi begins the process of eviscerating one of the alligators, and is quickly joined by Heldrum and the others.

Very suddenly, what seemed like a potentially disastrous turn of events is over.  The riverside cobbles, splattered with blood and viscera, make for uneasy footing, but the threat is over.  Given the opportunity to inspect them more closely, you find that the reptiles are horribly thin- malnourished and underfed.  Perhaps it explains their willingness to aggress against you.

For the moment, only your heavy breathing breaks the stillness of the late-summer night.
DarkOne-Rob
"  Thank you, everyone. Now, let's find a place to hide, just in case something bigger heard us. If nothing comes this way soon, then we can make camp upstream a bit,  " says Brankahm as he recovers his equipment. He looks a bit sad at their attackers' corpses, though whether that is sad for the creatures dying or that they are too thin to make a good meal is impossible to tell. The dwarf then makes his way to cover and settles down to listen to the night sounds for warning of approaching giants...
Palanan
“ Thank you ,” Perriket says to Brankham, crisply and sincerely, if still in a cautious undertone.  “That was far too much noise, we need to get  well  away from here.  Quarter-mile at least, if not more.”

As he slips out of cover, intending to coax the others along, his curiosity turns his nose towards the alligators’ viscera for just a moment, scenting carefully to see if there’s any hint of something unnatural in the reptiles’ emaciated state.

 
 Spoiler 
Perception
 (1d20+9)[ 27 ] 
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

Quickly the kobold went about cleaning up the mess, making sure  that any blood stains and the like where quickly cleaned off the floor and anyone who asked for it with a snap of his fingers and a bit of prestidigitation. A tidy operation was important to avoid illness and anything that could track them normally.
Palanan
Perriket is grudgingly impressed at the kobold’s efforts to prevent their being tracked; but he spares only a brief, curt nod before again urging the group to move along and find a new campsite, ideally a quarter-mile away at least.
Farmerbink
Paranomasia's arcane bent makes short work of the mess, though the corpses themselves prove impossible to "clean" by such means.  Perriket confirms that there's enough meat for  some  decent eating, though it might take more work and time than desirable to extract it from the now-still reptilians ((let me know if you want to butcher any of them and I'll work out details)).

Within a few moments ((or minutes)), you're trudging northwards against the current of the stream.  Despite making decent effort, Perriket is unhappy with the parties inability to hide their tracks effectively, but at least you'll have the warning of sound in the event of an ambush.  " We should cross here, " your guide/emissary announces after only a few dozen yards.  " There's no especially good fords, and if we light a fire on the east bank, it'll be visible from the foothills, " he explains, gesturing to the looming crags, now brilliantly illuminated by the recently-set sun.  Blessedly, it's a brief and uneventful swim (though some struggle a bit, the matter is made trivial with a rope and Perriket's training).  Keeping the wood dry proves the most difficult errand, still more awkward than challenging.

It takes a little longer than some would like to find another decent place to make camp on the western bank, and the sun has truly set behind the mountains before you call a halt.  Franklin digs out a small burrow and quickly lights a fire, now hidden from all directions by the short bluff to either side.  Now almost half a mile north of your original campsite, and on the other bank, you're as safe as can reasonably be achieved to settle in.  Franklin produces a small pouch of spices and demonstrates the importance of culinary arts amongst the Stepford-Hendersons.

Heldrun gratefully enjoys one carp, seasoned and roast almost as well as the wives in the Downs could achieve, burps, offers a gruff " I'll take last watch.  I like seeing the sunrise. " and falls asleep with his back to the western bluff.  Snoring gently, the quiet gurgles of flowing water and his steady deep breaths make for a pleasant, peaceful beginning to the night.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
(other) watches?
 
Palanan
For his part, Perriket would strongly prefer not to harvest any meat from the alligators, both from a lingering suspicion regarding their health and out of an urgent wish to be away as soon as possible.

But as the group proceeds north his estimation of Franklin rises and rises again, and by the time they’re ensconced in their natural revetment Perriket is willing to concede that Franklin is a worthy guide.

Even so, after the near-disaster at their first campsite Perriket remains as lit up as a spark elemental, so he will take the first watch.
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
 "I'll take first watch as well."  the kobold says moving to take a seat. He was nothing, if not fastidious as he cast another spell to clean himself and his clothing one more, then mendings to keep his clothing looking fresh and new. One last spell and his head snapped upward for a moment as visions began to pour into his head.


 
 Spoiler 

Casting  ears of the city 
Question 1: What giant's territory are we currently in
 (1d20+10)[ 14 ]  Diplomacy check

Question 2: where is that giant's home
 (1d20+10)[ 27 ]  diplomacy check.
 
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm does his best to help his allies as they relocate, apparently unconcerned for his own comfort as he fords the stream, practically walking along the bottom in his armor as he holds wood just barely above the surface. For a dwarf he's strangely comfortable with it all, perhaps as a result of his youth above ground. As the party settles he sequentially removes his various clothing items, dries them as best he can, and finally nods as the others start claiming watches. "  Sounds like I've got the mid-watch. Makes sense, since I don't use magic. Please wake me with enough time to don my armor - I'd rather sleep less than fight naked,  " he rumbles with a smirk that's barely visible in the dark. True to his word, though, the dwarf sleeps nearly completely in the buff as he lets his gear dry by the fire.
tonberryking
With another sickening clacking noise, Bushi retracts her bone claws and is sluggish and altogether silent for a spell after the fight, even if she does her part to help out.

 ...My claws are getting bigger the more I do this. 

That thought shouldn't surprise her, her mother did tell her to rely on the Beast totem would be to become more bestial and besides, what else is she going to kill giants with? But even so, Bushi recalls the lecture from her parent (the one she knew, anyway) about the tenuous control one has while in a rage. Embrace it, but always treat it as just a part of you, not the  whole  of you.  She's learning that's easier said than done...

  "I guess I'll take the last watch."   she offers before finding a spot for her to settled down in, curling into a ball with her own mane of hair serving as a sort-of blanket.
Farmerbink
As Paranomasia stares unseeing into the heavens, the rest of you settle in as best you can, managing the wet clothes and tumbling stomachs as you will with Bushi's fish, Brankahm's tubers and berries, and Franklin's culinary inclination.  The stream gurgles by, and it quickly becomes impossible to ignore the choruses of chirps and trills as insects and night birds too small to be interesting go about their own evening activities.

 
 Spoiler: Ears of the City 
I'm... really unsure how to adjudicate this one.  You're very much in a place where using diplomacy to gather information would be...  uh...  challenging.   That said, I'm generally in favor of using things in creative ways, so I want to allow for at least the possibility of useful information.  To that end, I'm going to roll a percentile die in real life to determine if the place you're in has seen enough foot traffic to offer useful results.  (I'm deliberately choosing a low chance of success, as you're deliberately avoiding hanging out in high traffic areas, like that broad road you crossed several real-life weeks ago).

*time passes*
 


The Kobold bard blinks back into consciousness, forced to admit that you have very likely successfully avoided notice of  all  of the nearby giant tribes.  His glimpses of the riverbed offered little more than a time-lapse video of scenes from nature.

Fortunately, the lack of useful information proves prescient to the relative safety of your chosen camp.  Other than the passage of small animals (which mostly  avoid  the fire, though Heldrun finds some amusement in watching a few field mice argue over the cool scraps leftover of last night's dinner as the sun rises gloriously over the distant woods over Step Downsy Forynth.  Only the vaguest wispy tendrils of their campfire hang overhead, easily dismissible as clouds or other stratospheric phenomena.

Perhaps unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the tendrils of smoke you saw to the south the previous evening.  One has died out, but the other two rage on, clearly fueled by either a large fire, or many small ones in close proximity.  Frederick frowns at the sight.  " I've never traveled that way, but I know a few neighboring clans have.  I hope they're all alright, " he mutters, clearly unconvinced.  Deliberately putting on a good face, he stretches languidly in the early morning light.  " Well, we made good time yesterday, and ate better than I dared hope last night.  With luck, we'll be knocking on doorposts in another day and a half.  Make sure and fill your waterskins- there's only unreliable creek beds between us and the foothills. "

The doughty Gnome takes his own advice, before scrambling atop the short western bluff to gaze at the next leg of the journey.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm stands his watch stoically, content to be out in the open air and used to having his sleep broken up. He goes back to sleep easily enough, after removing his armor again, to rest until woken. After rubbing his eyes with two fat-fingered fists he rises and goes to the stream to wash his face. After looking carefully for potential threats he plunges his hands into the water, splashes himself quietly, and returns to don his equipment.

The stout dwarf breaks his fast with some dried rations, eating enough to settle his stomach but not more. He also looks off to the south, thinking to what he knows of the area and trying to remember anything noteworthy that used to be that way...

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
Knowledge (Geography):  (1d20+5)[ 19 ] , possibly with a bonus from having looked at the map a couple days earlier?
 

At the recommendation of their guide he takes a good drink from his skin and then refills it before stating, "  I'm ready. Lead on, friends.  "
Palanan
Perriket will move up beside Franklin, and will carefully scent the air and survey the landscape for several minutes, comparing what he sees to what he recalls of the map, and then will point out what he believes to be the best route through the next stage of the terrain.

 
 Spoiler 
Perception
 (1d20+9)[ 11 ] 

Knowledge (geography)
 (1d20+7)[ 18 ] 
 


If Franklin concurs, Perriket will suggest they scout ahead together, and he will once again melt into the landscape:

 
 Spoiler 
Stealth
 (1d20+17)[ 34 ] 
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The Kobold hums and sleeps through the night after his shift was over, and continues the next day. He'll need to keep checking to keep making sure they are not near any of the giant's territories as they adventure along. But, that was information he didn't need to say to the others. If they began to believe there wasn't any nearby they might get... sloppy. Best to keep them on edge.
Athaleon
Urist had taken the middle watch with his fellow Dwarf, though he'd spent more time looking up at the stars than looking out for enemies.
  
"You know, I've seen the sky more in the past few weeks than I had for many years, previous. But I know we'll be back underground, sooner or later, so we might as well behold what our ancestors quested for, eh?"  

Urist had said little since, whether on his watch or in the morning.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm nods as he looks up at the stars briefly too. He points out a couple of constellations in a quiet rumble, perhaps a bit shy around the other dwarf as he demonstrates his knowledge and familiarity with the open night sky. "  I don't like being pushed back below the surface, but the giants...just too much...  "
Farmerbink
With full waterskins, and eager steps, the party sets off, trudging westward as tall grass slowly gives way to the rocky foothills of the crags.  The travel is steady, but not fast.  Short legs and uneven terrain would make for uncomfortable travel in the best of circumstances.  Still, spirits are fairly high, as you've managed so far without making use of any of your dried rations.  Though none of you would look forward to it, there's a certain relief in knowing you won't  need  to find food for a few days, yet.

Approaching midmorning, Franklin leans down to all fours, peering curiously at the ground.  " Perriket, Urist, would you two come look at this? " he calls, beckoning the Whiskerfolk from wherever he's been keeping pace nearby.  Rising, he peers into the distance, north and south (roughly perpendicular to your direction of travel).  " We're not...  entirely  alone, I think. "

 
 Spoiler: survival DC 19 
Something, a moderately small party of  somethings  recently moved through this area.
 
 Spoiler: DC22 
They appear to have reptilian feet 
 Spoiler: DC25 
The tracks are only several hours old.  Some were bipeds, others walked on all 4s (most likely a few Troglodytes and a lizard or two).  Moving from south to north (towards a rocky outcropping perhaps a mile away)
 

 

 
Athaleon
  "Hm. Reptillian-looking. Recent,"   Urist rumbled.   "Four, five individuals, maybe. Can't properly say much more than that.   Urist glanced at his companions to see if the tracks may have belonged to Kobolds.
tonberryking
Bushi is not in the best of moods for much of the second day trek. Partly, it was because she was surprised by the relative indifference the revelation of her claws had earned.  Any of the other (few) goblins or (many) goblin-ettes under the beast totem's protection wouldn't have batted an eye, to be sure, but outside of that group, most goblins including Big Job always gave her a leery berth if they knew she was never without a weapon.  The kind of 'respect' you'd give someone who just carries a knife in their hands all the time as if the concept of a sheath was completely foreign to them.

Another reason was she only partly realized that she was feeling antsy from actually being part of a group for more than a few hours, her solitary instincts chafing.

  "Is something following us, or just nearby?"   she asks, not making much of the terrain in front of her,   "Either way, point me in their direction. I can slink off and get you an idea of where they are and what they're doing."  
 
 Spoiler: OOC/rolls 

 (1d20+18)[ 28 ]  Stealth in case she's allowed to do what she's offering.
 
Palanan
Tense and silent, Perriket will look at what Franklin is indicating:

 
 Spoiler 
Survival
 (1d20+7)[ 13 ] 
 


And he will press low into the grass, slinking as invisibly as he can:

 
 Spoiler 
Stealth
 (1d20+17)[ 27 ] 
 


With a cautious glance at Franklin, he moves a short ways in the direction the tracks seem to be leading, eyes and nose on exquisite alert:

 
 Spoiler 
Perception
 (1d20+9)[ 16 ] 
 
Farmerbink
Franklin and Heldrun quickly gather as well, murmuring quietly as the reeds sway.

" Did you see this over here, Urist? "  Finally, the Dwarf gets a few good footprints despite the thick grass, and draws some probable conclusions:

"There's Trogldytes afoot.  With at least a few of the quadruped lizards, as well."

After a few more moments of inspection, you determine with fair certainty that there's at least one Troglodyte raiding party about, though they passed through this area a few-to-several hours ago, headed northwards (roughly perpendicular to your E-&gt;W direction of travel).  Glancing to the north, you spy a prominent rocky outcropping perhaps half a mile distant.

" Almost a guarantee they went back below surface before sunrise... " Franklin murmurs, frowning.  " As if the giants weren't enough, we've never had anything like this. "
Palanan
Perriket listens with a numb chill, the fine hairs rising on the upper curve of his snout.  While Franklin confers with the dwarves, Perriket is searching his memory for anything the dwarf-thegns of Deephall may have said about encountering troglodytes.

 
 Spoiler 
Knowledge (arcana)
 (1d20+7)[ 14 ] 

Knowledge (local)
 (1d20+3)[ 8 ] 

Knowledge (nature)
 (1d20+7)[ 22 ] 
 
Athaleon
  "I wonder what they've been up to on the surface. But if we have to hide underground, we'll have to be ready for Troglodytes as well. Could be lots of them, in those rocks."   Urist frowned as he pondered.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm takes a sip from his water skin as he looks at the ground, helping the others to spot tracks and details. Once they mention troglodytes he nods thoughtfully, his craggy face hard to read as he silently thinks. "  Could be bad - if they're hunting we may have to fight them. Could be loud, though they'd want it quiet too. Course, they have those rocks to hide and we don't,  " he says as he thinks aloud. "  Probably best to get out of their territory before they catch us, but be ready to kill fast and then get running if we're seen.

Shall we go?  " he finishes, securing his gear - all except for a coupe of weapons in reach - as if to suggest that they might want to move faster. It's only then that he realizes several of the party are sneaking off, in the direction of the rocks. "  Oh, well that's not what I'd suggest, but you all are very sneaky...  " The dwarf shrugs and then settles down to wait until the scouts return.
Farmerbink
 
 Spoiler: On Troglodytes 
Legend has there maybe the oldest species of sentient beings.  As the other races evolved and developed, many were taken and kept as slaves beneath the surface.  For better or worse, the Troglodytes failed utterly to adapt to ground-level life, and the younger races escaped their depraved clutches in the freedom of sunlight.

 
 Spoiler: Local or history DC 15 
Troglodytes have never been seen on the surface in greater numbers than small raiding parties.  Very rarely, they have been known to attack small settlements or traveling caravans, rarely leaving any survivors (never on purpose).  Even so, they nearly always return to at least a small subterranean lair before sunrise.   
 Spoiler: DC 20 
Troglodytes don't actually have any difficulty navigating in the sunlight, they just know that their keen capacity for dark vision fails to confer any benefits in such an engagement.  If pushed to desperation, a tribe of Troglodytes could easily survive on the surface (apart from the threat of Giant incursion).

Historically, the many diverse tribes of Troglodytes have kept each other "in check," being fully content to wage brutal civil wars, cannibalistic raids, and feuds dating back to literal antiquity.  It would be a potentially disastrous development for many tribes to band together as one for any significant purpose or length of time.
 

 

 

 
 Spoiler: Setting 
 
 These are the mountains in the distance.  The outcropping is much closer to you (and the route you're on), but this is the best visual I could find in ~20 minutes 😉 
 
 This prominent jut of rock is about 10-15 minutes walk to the north, or roughly 1/3 mile 
 


 
 Originally Posted by Athaleon 
   "Could be lots of them, in those rocks."   Urist frowned as he pondered. 
 

" More  underneath  'em, but yeah, " Franklin comments, sharing his companion's expression.  He turns his attention to Bankahm, listening closely.  " Honestly, I'm more concerned about what their presence could mean for the messengers we've sent.  Been almost six weeks since the last group before us.  They're a married couple, made the trip dozens of times. "  His frown deepens as he peers intently at the rocks emblazoned by the morning sun.  " I sure hope not, but Trogs on the route could be all the explanation we need... "
DarkOne-Rob
"  In antiquity they took slaves - not for a long time, though. We might find their remains, if they haven't been eaten. Our best choice is to either avoid them entirely or kill them all. I vote we move on for now and perhaps investigate more on the way back...  " suggests Brankahm grimly.
Palanan
Perriket returns from his brief reconnoiter in time to hear Brankahm’s last comments.

“Avoid them, indeed,” he murmurs quietly, “—now  and  on the way back.  We should give them a  whaayd bearth , as the hoo-mahns used to say.”

To Franklin, he asks, “Can we avoid the rocks where they’re hiding?  Go around by a mile or two?  And are there any oils from roots or leaves that they find unpleasant, that we can use to mask our trail?”
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
 "Trogs?! Those stinky geckos, they're going around lurking around in the shadows.. Fools! They should be removed from existence, especially if they seek to stop our glorious focus on destroying the giants and taking over the world..."  The kobold looks around grumping as he focuses on trying to see if there are eyes underneath a rock staring at them.
Farmerbink
Franklin frowns.  " We can easily avert our course.  Without knowing how far they range, it's hard to be sure how wide we would have to go to avoid them entirely.  Could be simple.  Could be a bunch of extra effort for no gain at all. "  He gazes around the plains as best his short stature will allow briefly before shrugging.  " It's wide open out here.  Easy to avoid a specific spot.  I don't know anything about things they like or don't, though.  Like I said, we never had to deal with Trogs in these parts before.... "

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
 My  perception is that's two votes in favor of leave them alone, and one vote in favor of kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out?  Without a consensus from the other two, I'm content to have you moving away.  If Urist and Bushi both want the violent approach, there's room to reconsider.
 


He begins leading away, following roughly the tracks the Troglodytes made- though in the opposite direction.  " They'll be able to smell us tonight, " he comments.  " So there's no point in trying to hide too hard unless we want to go all the way back across the stream to mask our travel.  Still, we can figure out more about their range if we follow their route.  The next group can avoid whatever we tell them they need to. "
Palanan
As they retrace their course, Perriket examines the troglodyte tracks as he’s able, doing his best to work out how many individuals there are, what sort of formation they’re moving in, and how heavy and encumbered they may be.

 
 Spoiler 
Survival
 (1d20+7)[ 12 ] 
 


He also keeps a close watch on the grasses, herbs and other growths they pass, looking for anything he might use to anoint his fur to mask his own scent—and anything else that might cover the hefty odors of sun-warmed dwarf.

 
 Spoiler 
Knowledge (nature)
 (1d20+7)[ 15 ] 
 


—And a sudden thought flicks his whiskers: “There should be other streams, shouldn’t there?” he asks Franklin quietly.  “Not large, not like the one with the water-lizards last night, but little ribbon-streams flowing through low points in the open grassy areas.  Even something only as wide as a dwarf-shield would do—all we’d need to do is shimmy along it for a crossbow-shot or two, and that should throw them off entirely.”
DarkOne-Rob
Looking satisfied that the party is moving away from the threat - at least for now, as well as they can tell - Brankahm hums tunelessly to himself, the low rumble barely audible over the slight breeze blowing across the fields. He doesn't look happy at the idea of wading through a stream, but doesn't argue or complain either as he tries to use his relative-height advantage to look for a small streamlet to use as described.

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
Perception is at +8. He'd take 10 essentially for an  18 .
 
Athaleon
  "I don't fancy a fight without knowing how many there are. If we have to backtrack to the stream, so be it, but hopefully we find another one close enough."
  
 
 Spoiler 

Perception:  (1d20+9)[ 16 ]  to look for a likely place for another stream.
 
tonberryking
Bushi speaks up again.

  "Let me scout ahead. If they just come out to hunt or scavenge, then it stands to reason they won't have many or  any  patrols or... sentinels waiting for people like us to wander by. A lookout for giants, maybe, but not heavily armed soldiers.  But if they have the run of this area and do patrols, it would imply that they don't regularly deal with giants and we'll be forewarned of their locations.   
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  


Finally the kobold chimes in.  "Well there doesn't seem to be much of a giant territory around here. Course nevermind that one could just be wandering around.  But at our last camp I did a little divination.. But the use of it.. is questionable at best. Take that of what you will. Personally I like the scouts idea.. but for the rest of us sitting around rotating wouldn't be too much good." 
Farmerbink
 
 Spoiler: Climate 
We hadn't talked about it much yet, but the setting is fairly temperate grasslands/forests, and the timeline has you at mid-to-late summer right now.  I didn't go into great detail with the previous river, but I know I mentioned the much wider riverbanks (that aren't full) from the wet season.  I hate to shoot down generally good ideas, but my timeline has most of those creek beds long dried since the spring thaws.  A good summer squall could fill them, but I didn't have one in mind.
 


As you trek further from the rocks, the thick web of tall grass thoroughly stymies Perriket's attempts to discern more about the Troglodyte raiding party.  In fact, he's forced to admit that there may have been a good bit of luck involved that had you cross their path were it was as visible as it was.  It's increasingly difficult to be sure you're even following their steps on the open plains.

" Doubtful we'll find that right now, " Franklin murmurs, glancing again at the clear, sunny skies.  " Most of those rivulets are narrow even in the spring thaws.  This late in the summer, they're nothing more than dusty depressions with a little less densely-clustered grass. "

Despite the relative unease, you don't encounter any unfriendly reptiles (or indeed anything living other than yourselves and flora).  About an hour later, you've lost the trail (it's colder now than it was, and harder to track), and amended your course for something more tangential to the now distant rocks.  Franklin pointed out one of the minor tributaries of the river (now a significant distance to your east)- or rather, what he's fairly sure is one.  For about 30 feet both directions, you track a shallow depression, only 8 inches or so at its deepest, with enough grass growing that you might have crossed it on accident were you not searching for something of the sort.  " They're all gonna be like this now.  The springs that primarily feed River Dennith (now and henceforth named) are several days journey to the north, on both east and west of the valley mouth. "

The rest of the day passes uneventfully.  By evening, you've just reached the thinning of grass that denotes the beginning of foothills, and the once remote spine of the crags now looms heavily overhead.  " I had hoped to get some distance up the hills today, but that diversion cost us a lot of time, " Franklin murmurs, glaring back in the direction of the outcropping- only barely visible near the horizon.  "  Peace, friend,  " Heldrun rumbles.  "  We have already learned much.  Gods willing, the rest of the journey is as uneventful as this afternoon, and we will have our answer.  "  With what appears genuine optimism, the cleric looks around the immediate surroundings.  "  Find us a good hollow for another warm fire, and I'll raise our spirits with a few songs of the Old Gods.  "

 Regional map 
DarkOne-Rob
"  We're nearly there, and safely too,  " says Brankahm by way of encouragement to Franklin. "  Hard to know what we will find, but we've made it this far, so let's keep our hopes up. Heldrun has the right of it, at least with his cheer. I'm not so sure about the fire or songs, but maybe soon.  "

With a sigh Brankahm adjusts his heavy pack and looks around at the others. "  We're an odd company, at least by pre-giant standards, but I think we're working together well. Somewhere between paranoia and being too loud is the sweet spot, and I think we've mostly found it. That said, we should be careful tonight - the trogs like the dark, can see as well as a dwarf at least. If they know this area they might try something if they find our tracks. We should go until it's too dark to keep going quietly and wherever we camp needs to be defensible. Is there somewhere close, or do we just need to keep looking?  " he asks Franklin seriously.
tonberryking
  "I don't want to push this idea very far but... There any chance we could just talk our way out of a fight with these creatures?  We have nothing they'd want unless they try to eat us, and I can't say if we're worth the trouble for them to try."  

Bushi, who has mostly just gone to the surface under the cover of stealth and guile, innocently suggests the pacifist route of plans.  She hasn't ever met anything up on the surface that wasn't either a dumb animal or something that definitely wanted to kill and eat her (or both,) but neither, apparently, has she ever had to deal with a trog.
Palanan
Perriket gives the claw-goblin the briefest glance, and puts an urgent question to Franklin:

“Can we press on?  Get as far up the hills as possible?  The dwarves and I can see in the night, and likely—” another glance to the goblin-creature— “can as well.  If we keep going into the hills after sundown, and don’t let up until midnight, then we’d be well ahead of these trog-things,  and  we’d have the high ground for a better defensive position.”
Farmerbink
Franklin nods happily at Brankahm's comments, before taking on a less-happy expression as talk begins of pressing on.  " I'm afraid I won't be an awful lot more use tonight, " he murmurs.  " It would be madness to light a torch as we begin climbing the foothills, and without one, I'm quickly going to struggle to see.  But if you all can take point... and maybe help me over any hidden obstacles, we can cover more ground before we have to stop. "

 
 Spoiler: OOC, some details 
In the dark, Franklin will be unable to move more than half speed, without illumination.  In addition, you've just really reached the foothills that will involve unsteady grades, sporadic rocky footing, and a generally upward slope.  Most of you would be reduced to half speed anyway, so given Franklin's visibility concerns, it will be  slow  going.

 But,  You're certainly free to keep going, knowing the limitations.  More distance will certainly make it less likely that the Trogs track you down overnight, and if you want to make the effort to pick a defensible location, I'm content providing what amounts to significant circumstantial bonuses on the "random" encounter roll- in whatever way makes the most sense.  You can look for a secluded hollow and do without a campfire, and I'll just decrease the odds that  anything  finds you.  You can look for an easily defensible position, and I'll adjust the results based on the intelligence and desperation of a potential threat, or you can just travel through the night and I'll have your roll for fatigue to start the next day, probably without any encounters (from behind).

Give me your preference (perhaps adjusted by percentage? [ie: I prefer a secluded hollow 60% and a defensible position 40%]) and I'll adjudicate as reasonably as I know how.

Some good questions, frankly.  I'm really excited about the thought going into it and where we can go from here.
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  


The Kobold stops, making a face as his scrunches his nose in confusion, staring at franklin. Then looks to the others, then back to franklin.  "What  are  you?"  the kobold asks, now unsure if franklin was really a gnome the entire time or not. While Stepdownsy Forynth might have had a lot of torches, the kobold had just figured it was so they could see colors, something that often missing from constant underground living.
Palanan
“That would be best,” Perriket nods firmly in answer to Franklin’s half-hearted suggestion.  “I’ll take the spear’s-tip, the others can be right beside you.  If we can keep going until midnight, just as far as we can up into the hills, then hopefully we can leave these trog-things well behind us, down and away in the grass.”

But seeing that Franklin remains hesitant, Perriket takes a different tone:

“Dinna fash, lad,” Perriket says in his best mock-dwarven accent.  “I ken yuir nought but a wee lad, but these lairds—” he nods to Brankahm and Heldrun— “are braw an’ sturdy folk, and surely ’tis nae bother for them to hoist ye for a time when the brae goes skaggan beneath ye.”
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm chuckles at the rough imitation of stereotypical dwarven speech, especially given that to him all of them speaking in Dwarven sounds  off . He doesn't make light of it, though, and just nods. "  Yes, I'll help you out, friend. Won't do to have our day-guide hurt,  " he says encouragingly. He let's Heldrun choose, but makes a point to have the two dwarves to front and back of the gnome to help him out.
Palanan
Perriket nods briefly to Brankham, turns to Heldrun.  “What do you say?  Press on for a few more hours?”
DarkOne-Rob
"  I think we should, yes,  " confirms Brankahm as he looks to the others for their vote.
Athaleon
  "Ay—yes, we should get as far as we can, I think, now that we have to climb. Finding a good hidden place to rest will be even more important."   Urist's brow darkened at Perriket's Dwarf impression, but he reined in his dialect all the same.
Palanan
With the whiskerfolk and two dwarves ready to press on for several hours into the night, and the kobold evidently against the notion of going any further, Perriket glances to the claw-goblin for her vote.
Farmerbink
With just a bit of chagrin, Franklin nods, and the party continues onward.  True to the Gnome's suggestion, you quickly find your steps more uneven than before, and pocked with sporadic stretches of rocky, precarious footing.  Still, stoically you trudge onward, and upward, into the foothills of the Crags.

It's difficult, but not  dangerous,  as the worst of the brief slips are a few banged knees and scratched shins, thanks in part to your relatively low centers of gravity and light frames.  The stocky Dwarves are fortunately blessed with keen dark vision, enabling them to avoid the worst of the slip risks, and help Franklin to navigate them without too much incident.

Gazing back over the plain, you can't help but be surprised by the vastness of it.  There's an eerie glow far to the south, just past the curved horizon which leaves you wondering what could cause such a light, but at this distance there's nothing you can do but guess.  Otherwise, the world is a grand, mostly flat, expanse of darkness.  Stars dot the sky, gradually becoming overpowered by the rising moon's dull glare.  Only the sudden void of starlight announces the canopy of the grand walnut trees that shelter Stepdownsy Forynth, now a hard two day's journey eastward.  Amidst all that space, not a single torch glares.  Not a single campfire betrays the presence of would-be travelers.  Not that this area was ever densely inhabited, but you're struck by the apparent waste of space, nonetheless.

Fortunately, your travel up the foothills passes largely uninterrupted.  Despite your best efforts, you never come upon any particularly good hiding spots, though you do venture a bit off the path (as best Franklin can figure), and find a shallow bluff that allows you to put your backs to a short cliff- hard to climb, but easy to defend.  After several extra hours, you halt there, and all-but collapse with simple fatigue.  There's no fire tonight, the obscured fields below giving all the reason you would need to avoid risking the beacon.  Instead, you solemnly eat rations and talk quietly as the first wave of sleepers drift off on their bedrolls.  Without reason otherwise, you take the same shifts- though shorter shifts this time.

It's almost an hour into the last watch, when Bushi first notices movement.  With a quiet whisper to Heldrun, the squat cleric turns his gaze as indicated, and shortly thereafter confirms the little Goblin's suspicion.  Thanks to the waning moonlight, you can see that  something  is moving...  slowly, but it seems generally in your direction- still quite some distance away.  Perhaps a quarter mile down the slope?
Palanan
Drawn from a dark tissue of nightmares, Perriket is wakened from a light sleep by a subtle nudge and murmured words between Heldrun and the claw-goblin.  Pressed against the small cliff wall in the crisp predawn air, it takes but a moment to realize they have spotted something.

Perriket knuckles each eye with the back of a paw, flexes his nostrils and whiskers, and slinks to the edge of their all-too-exposed campsite.  He allows his eyes to readjust to the moonlight, and stares long and carefully at whatever might be advancing up the hillside, all too close already.  Likewise his ears angle forward, reaching for the faintest hint of sound—voice, footsteps, anything—and his nostrils flex wide, drawing in the scents of the coming day.


 
 Spoiler 
Perception
 (1d20+9)[ 27 ] 
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

Even without a fire, the kobold enjoyed a warm cup of fluids and heated rations, thanks to his immense arcane power. He thought of casting his divinations again, but decides against it for the moment, unable to think of proper questions to focus on answering, only realizing now there were some he should have asked before they exhausted themselves. Being woken up earlier with the warning of movement, he pulled out his crossbow ready to chuck stones once more.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm is a bit slower to wake than some of the others, but his weapons are close at hand. "  What is it? I'm ready to fight if we must...  " he rumbles. With his chain shirt already in place the dwarf tries to avoid being too loud as he stares into the night. "  Think it followed us?  "
Farmerbink
Heldrun puffs, peering down the rough slope with an intensity that looks odd on the man- outside a forge, anyway.  ""  Can't be sure,  " he begins, his gravely voice barely more than whisper, " -least not without lettin' em walk on a while... "

For the moment, it seems there's nothing else you  can  do.  Unfortunately, at this distance, your uncanny ability to penetrate the darkness serves no benefit.  That and the distance makes it difficult to be certain of anything, so you hunker down for the moment and watch.

It's clearly a small group of small (not mechanically- but obviously nothing like a giant- even from here) bipedal figures, moving at a fair pace in the darkness.  Over the course of a few anxious moments, stretching almost to a minute, they seem to move almost directly towards you- though they occasionally pause for some reason.  After a time, Perriket notices one of the figures bending down to the ground.  The others stop, as it... does something with the ground.  When it rises, it gestures in your general direction (or maybe just up the slope?), and the group begins to move again.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
At the moment, they have obviously not located/identified/recognized you, yet.  They're simply too far away.  However, you estimate that you've got about 10 minutes before they stumble into your camp, if they keep coming this direction at their current pace.

It's mostly dumb luck and the nature of a generally still observer to a generally in-motion party that has given you this much lead time as warning.
 
Palanan
“We need to leave,” Perriket says in a ghost of a whisper, “ now .    Quietly  .

“But we also need to know who and what they are.  You three—” he nods to the dwarves—“should move out, now.  Get as far as you can.  Me and  her —” a flick of the whiskers to the claw-goblin— “should hold back, watch them from a good place and see what they are.”

—And a thought: “Leave them something that will keep them busy a few moments, so we can watch what they do.”  Perriket uses the archaic Dwarven dual form of  we , connoting himself and the claw-goblin as a pair.  “Something we—” back to the overall group form—“can afford to give up, some trinket that will occupy them.  But we need to decide and leave  now .”
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm frowns in the darkness, unhappy with the recommendations provided by his companion...but also with the circumstances that may require such a reaction. "  They're too small to be giants...they're tracking us...and not all of us can see in the darkness,  " he says, thinking out loud. "  We won't likely find a better place to defend ourselves, either...Friend Perriket, I don't think fleeing is the right decision. We should prepare ourselves to fight and then I will hail them once they're close enough. If several of you can hide we can surprise them if they prove hostile...  " he argues before looking to their gnomish guide. "  Besides, we won't be able to run from every fight, especially at night. Franklin won't be able to keep up all night, and it wouldn't be wise to try.  "
Palanan
Perriket puffs slightly through his whiskers in frustration.   Why do dwarves always want to root themselves like a fulkin’ stalagmite? 

Aloud—just barely—he counters, “We don’t know  what  they are, and we need to learn everything we can about them.  If we’re clumped up in here, they can rush us from all sides and we’ll be trapped.  Better to move out, so if they clump up here themselves we’ll have the advantage of surrounding them.

“And better yet, we’ll have the option of  leaving quietly  if that’s to our advantage.  We may end up needing to fight—but there’s no need to fight  immediately , not if we can learn something first.”
tonberryking
Bushi lets out a silent curse.  She happens to have just the thing for the confusion tactic plan.

 I didn't like these anyway...  the tells herself as she slips a well used journal from her bag, flips through it and tears out two pages of random sketches that are unflattering in terms of skill, as she imagines them, anyway.

 "If we're going to leave them something, let it be something to look at."  she explains as she collects the rest of her gear and then drops the papers on the earthen floor.


 "Whether the rest of you stay or go, I still need to hide for all our benefit."  and then silently scampers into the underbrush, trusting that her allies can make themselves scarce.

 
 Spoiler: OOC/rolls 

 (1d20+18)[ 31 ]  Stealth and Perception:  (1d20+4)[ 11 ] 
 
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm nods at the wisdom his companions are displaying. "  Yes, I agree - we  should  investigate and see what they are. It seems that Bushi is volunteering, so let's wait a moment and find out what she discovers. Then if we'd like to try and ambush them we can do so without rushing to break camp and giving ourselves away,  " he says, trying to highlight that sudden movement will likely draw the attention of the trackers, either visually or by noise.
Palanan
“That’s your cue,” Perriket tells the dwarves in an urgent ghost of a voice.  “They’re still well enough down the slope—if you leave now, you can be away before they spot you.  I’ll stay here with her—” a nod to where Bushi disappeared— “and we’ll see who they are.

“But the rest of you have to go.   Now .”
DarkOne-Rob
With a frustrated, but respectful, grunt Brankahm grabs his gear and looks at the others in the darkness. "  Seems I'm the only one voicing the opinion to stay here. Let's go,  " he says as he gets ready to lead the others away...

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics and OoC 
I'm not sure striking camp is fast or quiet enough, but I don't want to argue...
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The kobold looks about for a moment, thinking.. When suddenly he gets an idea! Muttering some incantation, his senses start gathering up information, sight beyond sight.


 
 Spoiler 

Casting Ears of the City, duration 16 seconds.

Question 1: Who is Approaching  (1d20+10)[ 11 ]  information gather check.
Question 2: Are they Hostile  (1d20+10)[ 29 ] 
 
Athaleon
 "We ought to stay together, and it seems to me they're tracking us anyway. Breaking camp and moving won't help us evade and might get us spotted. Maybe we can ambush 'em—if they're hostile, it's our best chance to fight on our chosen ground. Don't have to fight if  they  don't, after all."  Urist suggested in a whisper.
Palanan
“If we fight here we’re trapped,” Perriket murmurs as he slinks towards cover.  “If you move out now then you can enclose them later if you need to.  Either way we—” again the dual  we , connoting himself and Bushi— “can see who and what they are.  —Now go!  Please!  Just  go! ”
Farmerbink
As Paranomasia revels in his burst of insight, he temporarily goes blind to the well-intentioned bickering going on around him.  With the ability to focus his efforts on the seen but unidentified figures, he finds himself picking up strands of thoughts and emotion.  Details of efforts unseen and goals unspoken (or at least unheard).

It seems, above all else the approaching party is  ambitious.   Things could become hostile, but perhaps not.  You get a sense of hunger, but not the literal, food-related kind. Whispers of "meat," "slaves," and "honor" mingle in with the sounds of wind over the plains and water dripping somewhere deep below the surface.  Groans of dull pain and whimpers of loss.  Above all, they are diligently seeking gain for themselves.

Whatever else that may look like,  you  are certainly what their immediate quarry, as whispers of "passage," and "footsteps to the hills" echo in your thoughts.
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

Parnomasia comes out of his flash of insight, and frowns. Taking a breath, he thinks of using message but rather for now whispers  "Alright, running from them isn't going to do anything unless we can fly. They're tracking our footprints through the passage. Worse yet, this is likely a young clutch of Trogs, who are desperate to prove their worth to their brethren. And we are the victims of that proof, but there is two ways this can go down, diplomatically or hostilely. Even if we move, they'll catch up in no time. We're tired and need rest, they're fresh..enough. And well, unless I'm wrong, most likely they are going to be hostile to us, unless we can show dominance in the situation."  He hums.  "Actually there is one possibility we have for escape, and that is a quick trap left behind. If they fall for it, we can escape, but if they don't, we're doomed."  
Palanan
Perriket flicks his whiskers at Brankahm and murmurs a brief cantrip, and then continues with his original intent: slinking low into cover, out of the small depression and—with exquisite care—up to the top of the small cliff, where he will melt into deep cover with a view just over the edge of the small rock-face.

From there, he intends to surveil the oncoming meat-eating slaver lizards, and will pass along what he sees via the message cantrip to Brankahm.


 
 Spoiler 
First roll is for Perriket’s initial stealth for slipping out of their sheltered encampment, through low cover and around to the top of the small cliff.  He will slink for 50 feet or more upslope if that’s what it takes to avoid being too obvious, making every effort to use boulders, shrubs, clumps of grass and anything else for cover as he works his way around to the top of the clifflet:

Stealth
 (1d20+17)[ 24 ] 

Once there, Perriket will merge with cover at the top of the cliff—but he’ll pause a moment to see just how pointedly heroic he feels before rolling.
 
Athaleon
 "No one's gonna be fighting  here . Those of us who aren't sneaking about ought to get into a good ambush position."  Urist examined the terrain around their camp for a better spot to fight.

 
 Spoiler 

Survival? If so,  (1d20+9)[ 21 ] 
 
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm gets up and moves to shepherd most of their party out of the campsite, leaving it behind instead of breaking camp. "  It'll be too loud - come on!  " he urges as he uses his darkvision to help their gnomish guide and takes point stepping out into the darkness so that their pursuers arrive at an empty - but still "warm" campsite in a couple of minutes...
Palanan
Calling on all his skill and cunning, and whatever kindly spirits or strands of fate may bend his way, Perriket nestles down in his chosen spot just above the small rock-face, where he hopes to observe the oncoming creatures without being seen himself.

 
 Spoiler 
Stealth (with hero point)
 (1d20+25)[ 35 ] 
 
Athaleon
Urist grumbled and followed the rest of the non-stealthy party members to wherever they were being led.
Farmerbink
Perriket takes up a crouching position, just peering over the edge of one of the many tall (to a Kobold) rocky outcroppings nearby.  He watches keenly as the party slowly advances, clearly stopping periodically to reassess their tracker's findings.  As the rest of the party slinks quietly (as much as they can) away, Perriket begins to make out glints of weaponry and scales in the comparatively bright moonlight.  Grateful for the lack of a fire that would have been a dead giveaway, he costs heads as they approach- only 6 of the reptilian figures slink forward- clearly an advance party... of some kind.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Just a reminder, your characters specifically chose this place to stop  because  it was defensible.  In the absence of a really good opportunity to  hide,  you picked easily defensible- or at least that's what I recall choosing, between your stated priorities and the luck of the metaphorical draw.

To that end,  I've made you a map.   The approaching party is still some distance to the east, which is downhill.  Give or take 6 minutes, as Perriket figures.

In the interest of 100% clarity, that is  not  code for "YOU WILL FIGHT HERE."  But it  is  code for "you sure might." 😁
 
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm looks around and tries to visualize the upcoming fight in his mind. "  We have the high ground now...Perriket or Bushi, do you mind sneaking further down the slope and running to us to draw them in for the ambush? We can all hide along the ridges to the north and south, throw or shoot into the 'kill zone,' and then wade in with melee to mop up...  "

To demonstrate the big dwarf draws his pelletbow, loads it, and lays flat on the ground to the south, aiming it to the narrow path to their plateau. He places his heavy flail beside him, within easy reach, and gets low to the ground. From bellow the lip of the campsite he wouldn't even be visible to the approaching troglodytes...

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
Brankahm will move to either  Q  or  R16 , ready his gear as described, and lie prone on the ground to help with his stealth check (+1 modifier, taking 10 or 20 if allowed).
 
Palanan
" Good plan ," Perriket barely whispers through the Message link to Brankham.  " I'm in position here; let Bushi do the running ."

Ensconced in his observation hide at the top of the small rock-face, Perriket strains his eyes, ears and snout to learn anything more about the reptilian creatures—their weapons, their armor, the musculature of their bodies, how they move and observe—and likewise strains his mind for any further scraps of information he can call up about them.

 
 Spoiler: On High Alert 
Perception
 (1d20+9)[ 29 ] 

Knowledge (arcana)
 (1d20+7)[ 18 ] 

Knowledge (nature)
 (1d20+7)[ 27 ] 
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

As the others prepared to ambush the potential enemy, The kobold moved to the center of the clearing. He let a long sigh, muttering to himself   "no blasted traps or proper escape route.  I'll take the part of the distraction. At the very least, I should be able to communicate with them, and if all goes well then we'll have some allies. If not, blood for the soil, and may the grass grow ever greener." 
tonberryking
So, about that running...

Bushi doesn't speed along, though this isn't the first time she's been asked to draw foes into an ambush, this is the most pleasant that she's had it asked of her, and not flat out referred to as 'bait' by the people doing the ambush part. Maybe next time someone will actually say 'please'!

She crawls on all fours through the underbrush, trying to find a good spot for her to jump out and run back to the others, but she also concedes to her primal, huntress instincts.  She'll wait until she can see those approaching, to possibly discern if she can strike at any of them first before lighting out.

 
 Spoiler: OOC/rolls 

 (1d20+18)[ 38 ]  Stealth; she's moving in the general area of AH/13, or however close she can get to that and still have cover, but more importantly, she is trying to give herself a straight path back to the others, with the least amount of DT that she has to run over.

 (1d20+4)[ 19 ]  Perception check
 
Athaleon
Urist removed himself to well behind his stealthier companions, doing his best to be quiet despite the rattle of his armor. He wanted to be close enough to help when the fight did break out, and in any case, moving too far would have made it even more likely that he'd be detected.

 
 Spoiler 

Moving around to K7 or so, trying to get around to the higher ground while staying low and not being visible from below, if that makes sense.

Stealth (lol)  (1d20-3)[ 13 ] 
 
Palanan
Without moving so much as a whisker, Perriket focuses intently on the oncoming party of savage cannibal reptile creatures.
Farmerbink
The minutes tick past, quickly giving credence to Perriket's estimates.  Bushi prowls forward without immediate response from your pursuers.  She and Perriket watch keenly as they pick through the hills, ever closer to your hiding spots.

They are almost silent as they move up the hills, apparently somewhat expert trackers and hunters, themselves.  The pre-dawn twilight betrayed their presence to you, but it could do the same for them if an armored Dwarf or Gnome were foolish enough to stand up at full height.  To your credit, you manage to stay well hidden against their searching eyes, and are able to get a clear count of their number:

One of the Troglodytes (for that is undoubtedly what they are) leads three more: all of them armed.  The lead scout frequently leans to the ground to reassess course, apparently following the tracks you left the night before.  One of the remaining trio bears accoutrements of a shaman, while the other two seem to be fairly generic warriors.  They travel with minimal gear, prepared to move quickly when need be and perhaps carry more weight on the return trip.  To Perriket's more trained eye, the foursome seems perhaps a bit underfed?  No doubt still dangerous, they just seem scrawnier than the images he's seen of similar raiding parties.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
At this point, you remain confident you've got the element of surprise on your side.  If you wait another ~minute and a half, they'll be at give-or-take AN/20 on the map.  You could make a break for it with a several-hundred foot head start, or perhaps with ranged options engage nearly immediately.

 The map is largely unchanged - though I adjusted Perriket and Bushi's locations in a manner I hope consistent with your plans.
 
Palanan
 “They’re still heading our way,”  Perriket murmurs through his  message -connection to Brankahm.

 “I don’t think they’ve seen us.  Are we attacking?  They don’t seem like much of a challenge, very skinny and poorly fed.” 
 . 
Athaleon
Urist clutched his hammer with a white-knuckled grip, willing himself not to breathe loudly.   The creatures should be upon us by now,   he thought. Had they somehow missed the party and gone past? Were they wary of the ambush? Had they thought better of it and turned around? Were they outflanking the party now? In any case, he dared not voice his questions. He would not be the first to make a noise.
Palanan
Watching fixedly, barely moving a whisker, Perriket will wait until the shaman-looking troglodyte is within range (110 feet) and, with the smallest possible motions, Perriket will cast  message  on the shaman, allowing the shaman to hear what Perriket says.

Then, still motionless, Perriket will speak in the merest whisper, with his voice emanating from right beside the shaman’s head, barely breathing the following in Dwarven:



 “Turn back, flee, beware the Beast of Mäkhnadhûr!

“Heed my words, all ye who yet live!  I was once a mighty warrior, and once I could have slain your greatest champion barehanded.  But I wandered up these very slopes, and I met the Beast of Mäkhnadhûr, to my great misfortune, alas!  I fought the Beast with all my strength, but I was as nothing to the Beast; it tore my flesh and slew me utterly, and it broke and scattered my bones, and now I am no more than a desolate spirit on the lonely wind.

“Beware the Beast!  Flee this place, flee these rocky hills, flee back down to the lowlands before the Beast slays all of you as well!  Save your flesh, your bones, your very souls!  Beware the Beast of Mäkhnadhûr!  Flee now while you can!” 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The Kobold, not privy to the plans other were cooking, continued to wait where he was to be the decoy. Taking his cup of mushroom tea, he muttered the spell for prestidigitation and warmed it up before taking a sip.
DarkOne-Rob
 
 Originally Posted by Palanan 
  “They’re still heading our way...

I don’t think they’ve seen us.  Are we attacking?  They don’t seem like much of a challenge, very skinny and poorly fed.”  
 

Brankahm nods and responds back, "  We're hidden - won't reveal ourselves until the attack.  " He then does exactly as he said, patiently waiting for the chance to fire upon the trackers before closing to melee...
Farmerbink
For several long minutes you wait, as the raiding party treks closer.  The sky brightens, warning of the oncoming brilliance of day.

From his elevated vantage, Perriket can see  precisely  when the shaman hears his whispers from the winds nearby.  The shaman stiffens subtly, before slowly looking to the sides.  Without a sound, he gestures and the trio halts at his beckoning.

You can't tell his expression from this distance as the coming dawn will break behind him, but you can see him gesturing.  He continues to look about himself- in all directions, methodically as you try to scare him off.  The tracking party is still, only a few dozen feet to the east of Bushi- still for several seconds after Perriket's silent warning.

Bushi hears a lot of hissing reptilian speech, but can't see gestures without likely revealing herself.  For the moment, they  still  don't appear to have located you.
 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Bushi needs to roll a Fort save vs the Troglodyte's oppressive  stench .  DC 13, else  sickened  for 10 rounds.
 

 Map updated 
Palanan
Perriket holds his position in utter stillness and silence, watching intently and holding himself ready for whatever happens next.

With the faintest of motions, Perriket casts a simple cantrip, focused on a clump of rocks on the edge of their campsite, and from that spot he causes a low, rumbling growl to emanate, the deepest and most menacing vocalization he can conjure, as if a distant storm were purring low thunder in hungry anticipation of the kill.

 . 
tonberryking
 Oh by all the gods that have fled this wretched place!!! 

Bushi silently shoves two fingers up her pug nostrils with haste for a few moments, eventually coaxing a quiet, steady breath out of her mouth to keep from smelling that awful smell. Of all her experiences that she's not proud of, hiding in rotten places here and experiencing the full extent of goblin slovenliness there, nothing is worse than a gods damned troglodyte!

To make matters even worse, it doesn't take much reason for her to realize that if she were to resort to using her rage powers, she'd have to actually get up close to these outhouse rejects, or even worse, have to touch them.

A fine time to get her bow ready, perhaps!

Bushi starts inching away from the trogs, waiting to see what they do but from a safer vantage as she crawls, hopefully, past some difficult terrain to keep between her and these invaders.

 
 Spoiler: OOC/Rolls 

 (1d20+18)[ 36 ]  Stealth check, trying to move to AG/10 with all that nice difficult terrain between me and the trogs. I wish I could move to AE/8 but I don't know if I can stealth at more than half movement, so I will go for the closer 'barrier'

And if she makes it, I want to prepare an arrow attack in case these stinkburgers become aggressive.
 
DarkOne-Rob
From his hidden spot Brankahm continues to watch the campsite and look for the approaching party of troglodytes. He grips his pelletbow firmly but steadily, his movements subtle and slow as he readies himself to fire on the reptiles...
Farmerbink
Perriket's breath catches in his throat when Bushi moves.  Like he's trying to will her to silence, he peers over his cover with an intensity surprising even to him.  The lead Trog- the tracker, turns his attention from the shaman for a moment, peering terrifyingly close to where the catlike Goblin slithers along the rubble.

Miraculously, she avoids stepping into clear line of sight  and  knocking loose any of the pervasive piles of pebbles and other debris.  She scampers behind another slightly larger rocky projection,  just  as the shaman appears to offer a command:

In response, the ranger readies his long spear, and the other two reptilians grip a javelin each in their scaly claws.  With deliberate precision, the trio prowls forward, low to the ground.  Only a moment later, the ranger thrusts his spear into a nearby scrubby bush.  Four steps and two thrusts of his spear later, he thrusts it where Bushi had previously been hiding- he's officially trying to flush you out.

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

The kobold blinks as the campfire begins to rumble and groan nearby. He begins to move away from the campsite and up the hill some more.  "I don't know what that signal is.. but I don't like it. "  he mutters to himself heading back up some more to the rest that where up higher, when he pauses looking at the dwarves and gnome. He points to the cliff that is up higher and begins working his way to get up on top of it.
tonberryking
Bushi gives a more clear signal.

The little lioness hellspawn leaps up in the air (quite literally; for such a short runt she could be playing basketball in another life) with her bow pulled back and lets an arrow fly towards the shaman.

  "KISS MY ARROWHEAD, YOU SACK OF @#$%!"   she offers to them in goblin before running on all fours up and around more of the treacherous terrain, putting enough distance, she hopes, between them and her for her to fire off another arrow or three in the coming moments.  No matter where that arrow lands, she figures they're gonna be awful mad.


 
 Spoiler: OOC/rolls 

 (1d20+9)[ 14 ]  Attack
 (1d4+1)[ 5 ]  Damage
 
Palanan
Feeling a sudden jolt of real fear now that his attempted ruse has failed, Perriket quietly slips a bolt into his crossbow, aims over the covering rocks, and fires at the closest of the hunters, who appears to be the troglodyte ranger.

 
 Spoiler 
MW Light Crossbow:

Attack:  (1d20+8)[ 17 ] 
Damage:  (1d6+2)[ 5 ] 
 
DarkOne-Rob
 
 Spoiler: Brankahm's Status, Round 1 
   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
 Light Dwarven Pelletbow  +4 (1d4, 19-20/x3)
 MW Chain Shirt (250 GP)  (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition  None
 

"  Alright, boyos,  that's  definitely a sign,  " rumbles Brankahm as he lets loose with his first shot from the unique dwarven weapon on his shoulder. "  Keep them away as long as you can!  "

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
Attack the Troglodyte Tracker ("TR") - Light Dwarven Pellebow:  (1d20+1)[ 13 ]  to hit (counting penalties for range),  (1d20+1)[ 17 ]  (19-20/x3),  (1d4)[ 3 ]  bludgeoning damage,  (2d4)[ 6 ]  critical strike damage.

He will then reload (as a free action) and set his MW Heavy Flail beside him to grab when melee is imminent.
 
Athaleon
  " Arn eth djovr!  At the devils!"    Urist uttered a battlecry as old as Dwarvish itself. His words accompanied a spell that filled him and his allies with fiery courage.

 
 Spoiler 

Casting Bless. Would have been better to get it out before everyone else had shot, but at least it'll be up from now on.

I also can't find the link to the map, but I'm assuming everyone is within 50'?
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

As the others start going the other way.  "Oh we're going this way then?"  he asks, before popping up slightly to shoot at the closest trog, before running the opposite direction.


 
 Spoiler 

 (1d20+2)[ 22 ]  shot stone crossbow, then moves 30 feet the other direction
 (1d20+2)[ 6 ]  if crit
 (1d4)[ 4 ] 

move to L12
 
Farmerbink
The lead Trog grimaces as it handles a pair of hits, and the pair directly behind him hiss angrily.  The shaman yells as the troupe surges forward suddenly (which Paranomasia understands) " Take this small one alive! "

The reptiles quickly swarm Bushi, lashing out with club and long spear alike.  She deftly dodges a club and a javelin.  Frustrated by the scrubby hill, the ranger hurls a javelin as well.  Bushi gets the impression that he's got a better arm than the other two, but fortunately his throw clatters harmlessly against the stones to her right.

In the same moment, the shaman takes cover behind a pile of boulders and points a finger at Perriket.  A vast ball of lightning coalesces on top of the Ratfolk scout- taking him by surprise as it painfully scorches him (( Perriket takes 5 damage )).

Heldrun and Franklin leave cover and begin charging to the fray.  Heldrun pauses shortly to call upon the blessings of the Forge, adding supernatural weight to his blades.

 Map updated  
DarkOne-Rob
 
 Spoiler: Brankahm's Status, Round 2 
   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
 Light Dwarven Pelletbow  +4 (1d4, 19-20/x3)
 MW Chain Shirt (250 GP)  (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition  None
 

"  Get out of the kill zone!  " Brankahm calls before firing another shot from his unique pelletbow. "  Don't want to risk hitting you!  "

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
5-ft step to  R15  and then delay action until Bushi can leave melee (to avoid penalties to ranged attacks). Attack the Troglodyte Tracker ("TR") if able to fire without penalties due to melee. Otherwise attack the shaman, who looks to be out of melee. Light Dwarven Pellebow:  (1d20+4)[ 18 ]  to hit (counting penalties for range),  (1d20+4)[ 16 ]  (19-20/x3),  (1d4)[ 4 ]  bludgeoning damage,  (2d4)[ 5 ]  critical strike damage.

He will then reload (as a free action).
 
Athaleon
Bushi was in trouble. Urist quickly weighed his options, but all of them required him to get much closer. He ran towards the fray, shouting curses at the Troglodytes to try to get their attention.

 
 Spoiler 

Double Move to Z11.
 
Palanan
Perriket has never felt a pain quite like this before—a charring, penetrating fire that isn’t fire—and he knows that if he gives the hovering, crackling sphere another moment, it may just end him.

Quickly he casts a spell he’s been keeping in reserve, and dense mist rises from the rocks and grass, coalescing from the predawn air itself to form a thick low cloud, its domed crown lit from within by the brightly snapping sphere, now smothered in opaque humidity.

As soon as the thick mist has spread out around him, Perriket slinks away, as low to the ground as possible, slipping around the edge of the descending slope to his immediate north in search of deeper cover, making sure to keep the bulk of the dense low mist between himself and the troglodyte band.


 
 Spoiler 
Stealth
 (1d20+8)[ 22 ] 
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The kobold begins moving towards Perriket, reloading his crossbow.  "Stop bleeding and get over here!" 
Palanan
Intent on escaping the deadly crackling sphere that appeared above him, Perriket pays no mind to the distant shouting from the kobold, and bends all his stealth and speed to slipping away under cover of the densely opaque mist.
tonberryking
  KER-CHAK!!!  

The claws pop and Bushi takes a pair of hard swipes, aiming for the trog's midsection before she tires to handspring and bounce away, her face a snarling mask of fury.  If they want to chase her they are GOING to pay for it.

 
 Spoiler: OOC/Rolls 

Claws:
 (1d20+10)[ 23 ] 
 (1d20+10)[ 21 ] 
 (1d4+3)[ 7 ] 
 (1d4+3)[ 5 ] 


Ignore the second if she can't swing both sets before a tumble/movement

Acrobatics check to leave threatened squares; she wants to get as close to AE by LOOPING around (not moving through) the difficult terrain: (1d20+10)[ 11 ] 
 
Farmerbink
Perriket disappears in several ways, mundane and otherwise as the fray thickens rapidly.  Bushi delivers a savage swipe with one claw before bounding away.  Despite a clumsy start, the Troglodyte fails to capitalize on her unsteady footing- instead, Franklin plants an arrow in the assailant's chest while Brankham does the same to another one of the reptilians.

As clouds billow up from the ground, the shaman hisses " Take her! "  Suddenly thick vines erupt from the scrub all around Bushi  trapping her in the spot !  His warriors prowl forward carefully in the rapidly spreading cloud, and swarm the catlike Goblin. This time, one javelin strikes true (( Bushi takes 4 damage ))

In the same moment, the bizarre cloud of electricity suddenly surges to Urist.  (( Urist suffers 7 damage ))

(( There is an  obscuring mists effect  centered on the aggressive thundercloud.  Heldrum, Perriket, and Paranomasia are  in  it- Bushi is on the edge.  Everyone else is probably unaffected.  In addition, everyone but Brankham needs to roll vs Entangle: DC 14.  Basically everything is difficult terrain west of Bushi ))
 Map updated  
tonberryking
Bushi's eyes are completely red, but her hunter's cunning seems to remain as she simply tries to leap  on top of  the vines that sprout at her feet, but even if she's caught in a tight squeeze, there's a  perfectly good  target next to her she can attempt to eviscerate.

Her claws move in blurring red swipes, still stained from the last hit she managed.

 
 Spoiler: OOC/rolls 

Reflex Save and/or Escape Artist check.
 (1d20+5)[ 22 ] 
 (1d20+5)[ 24 ] 

If both or either succeed Bushi is going to attack her two attacks and then (try to) move 5ft to AD, putting the vines and difficult terrain between her and the trogs.

Her two attacks:
 (1d20+10)[ 20 ] 
 (1d20+10)[ 24 ] 

Damage:
 (1d4+3)[ 5 ] 
 (1d4+3)[ 4 ] 
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The kobold grumbles and tries to move out of the vines himself now going back up the hill. Blasted fools the lot of them, can't even plan a proper ambush and take enemies by surprise.. and now they're getting blood everywhere.

 
 Spoiler 

Double moving out if I can escape entangle.  (1d20+6)[ 21 ] 
 
DarkOne-Rob
 
 Spoiler: Brankahm's Status, Round 3 
   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
 Light Dwarven Pelletbow  +4 (1d4, 19-20/x3)
 MW Chain Shirt (250 GP)  (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition  None
 

With a sigh that suggests a bone-deep weariness, Brankahm reaches down with one hand and grabs his flail, and begins a steady jog towards the troglodyte leaders. "   What a mess...   " he rumbles, shaking his head.

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
Pick up MW Flail, start moving at full speed directly East (left to right on the map). If I can get further than  V15  I'd like that, but I'm not holding my breath...
 

 
 Spoiler: OoC 
Things did not work as I imagined they would...as a party I think we should discuss tactics a bit better...
 
Palanan
As the tough grasses and vines come alive in the mist, Perriket does his best to avoid them.


 
 Spoiler 
Reflex
 (1d20+5)[ 15 ] 
 
Athaleon
Urist cried out despite himself as vines tangled and grasped him, while the lightning spell shot his limbs through with spasming pain. Desperation to get away from such magic, combined with rising bile as he spat wordless hate at their attackers, lent him the strength to tear away from the growing plants and stagger towards the nearest troglodyte. Blackened and bloodied, Urist brandished his hammer in grim defiance.

 
 Spoiler 

Failed save vs Entangle, escaped as a Move Action, using his remaining Move Action to move to AC-9 to threaten the remaining Troglodyte Warrior.
 
Farmerbink
Paranomasia grimaces as he struggles through the vines.  Writhing, grasping, chest-high grass and weeds threatens to bind him in places with every step, but he  just  manages to escape their grasp.  Brankham lumbers  around  the mass of bizarrely animate flora, as fast as his Dwarf legs will take him.  Urist also struggles with the vines, but manages to escape, closing the distance with the warriors harrying Bushi.

Some divine grace seems to wash over Heldrun, as he manages to entirely avoid becoming entangled.  He leaps off the ledge and approaches the ranger, loudly calling upon the Dwarven pantheon for aid.

In the same moments, Bushi's savage claws rip the throat out of the nearest Troglodyte, sending the would-be slaver/cannibal to the rocky ground in a rapidly growing pool of blood.  She then wrestles her way to the north, just managing to get clear of the aggressive plants, herself.  Franklin turns his attention to the shaman in the back, where he  just  manages to deliver a well-aimed arrow.

As the shaman begins casting a spell, the thundercloud assaults Heldrun with lightning and hail and his allies turn on Urist.  The warrior lashes out savagely with claws and teeth, while the ranger brings a savage machete out of a belt loop.  (( Urist takes 4 damage from a single claw hit.  Heldrun takes 14 damage from the cloud )).  Blessedly, the bizarre cloud of seemingly-sentient malice suddenly winks from existence moments later.

(( There is an  obscuring mists effect  centered at Y/6.  Perriket needs to roll vs Entangle again (though it's not relevant if you don't plan to move): DC 14.  Basically everything is difficult terrain west of Bushi ))
 Map updated  
DarkOne-Rob
 
 Spoiler: Brankahm's Status, Round 4 
   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
 Light Dwarven Pelletbow  +4 (1d4, 19-20/x3)
 MW Chain Shirt (250 GP)  (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition  None
 

"  'm after the shaman! Try to get away from the magic!  " encourages Brankahm as he trots forward, takes aim once more with his pelletbow, and fires at the troglodyte shaman.

 
 Spoiler: Mechanics 
Move to  AD15  and fire: Pelletbow -   (1d20+4)[ 7 ]  to hit,  (1d20+4)[ 5 ]  (19-20/x3),  (1d4)[ 1 ]  damage,  (2d4)[ 6 ]  critical strike damage.   (Miss) 
 
Athaleon
Urist retaliated at the Troglodyte that clawed him, swinging his hammer desperately now that he had finally come to grips with the enemy.

 
 Spoiler 

Attack:  (1d20+5)[ 25 ] 
Damage:  (1d8+3)[ 9 ] 
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

Blast it all! The kobold runs up closer to the shaman,  "Stick around a while, so we can beat up on you!"  he shouts as he casts glue seal on the shaman.

 
 Spoiler 

 Glue Seal  - DC 13 reflex
 
tonberryking
What's really creepy, or perhaps effective, about Bushi's rages is that she doesn't really go all snarling or roaring all the time.  Her eyes burn redder than heated iron, but she only lets out a feral cry when she goes in for a kill and it's too late to stop the blow. Case in point, she leaps from the tangling vines and spins like a buzzsaw before coming down with another pair of claw swings at the remaining warrior to her right, only letting out a wildcat cry after she feels her bone claws connect with the trog's flesh.

 
 Spoiler: OOC/Rolls 

Acrobatics check:
 (1d20+10)[ 21 ] 
Trying to land on space AD-8

Claw Attacks:
 (1d20+10)[ 18 ] 
 (1d20+10)[ 21 ] 

Damage:
 (1d4+3)[ 7 ] 
 (1d4+3)[ 5 ] 
 
Farmerbink
Having found some semblance of safety amidst the sudden violence, Perriket burrows into the sandy ridge, desperate to remain hidden from the shaman.

Brankahm's attack goes wide, as does Franklin's, but between the two of them, they manage to distract the skulker enough for Urist's hammer to deliver a truly savage blow.  With startling force, the cleric plunges the weapon of his god fully through the enemy's ribcage and deep into its chest.  It blinks, gurgles, and dies as Bushi leaps down on his companion.  Her claws savage the other warrior, drawing wide-eyed frustration (and realization that their "prey" was not so easily taken) from the shaman.

Paranomasia's sudden bold ploy draws a snarl of fury from the shaman's lips, but he manages to avoid the sticky substance without too much disruption.

The remaining Troglodyte keeps his focus long enough to call up some dark spiritual forces.  A huge mass of bats, thick enough to block sight and choke off breath blinks into existence on top of Paranomasia; between the reptilian assailant and Heldrun and Urist.  With no apparent concern for their own safety, they pile into the Dwarves and their allies, biting and clawing with mindless fury.
(( Paranomasia takes 4 damage.  Urist and Heldrun take 7 damage each.  Bushi takes 3. ))

  End of Combat  

Your weapons and claws prove almost totally useless, as there are simply too many of the tiny creatures for physical violence to be significant.  A few moments later, they suddenly wink back  out  of existence, leaving behind only the wind rustling the nearby grass.  In the sudden stillness, you realize that the shaman must have bolted as soon as the bats were around.  You don't see it nearby, and immediately suspect it left in search of easier prey.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm huffs up to where he last saw the shaman and takes a look around. Seeing no sign of the reptile he asks, "  Anyone see the leader? Or which way he fled?  " before trotting down the slope at a steady, dwarfish pace for about thirty seconds. When it's clear that the attacker has gone to ground, so to speak, he stops and calls back, "  I've lost 'im. Coming back up - don't attack me by mistake!  "

Once back at the site of the ambush-turned-to-counter-ambush he looks around and notes that all of the companions still live. "  Well done, everyone. Not the cleanest fight, and much louder than ideal, but we live. Is everyone ready to move on a bit and find a new, safe hidey hole for a bit of a rest?  " he asks as he helps everyone gather their things and settle for a bit more of a march before they try to recover and rest...
Palanan
Once the tough grasses have stopped their whipping and clinging, once the dense low vapors of fog have dispersed—and most importantly, once the murderous sphere of crackling pain has vanished—Perriket will cautiously slide up from where he had been crouched, cautiously approach the trampled areas where the fight had been thickest, and will attempt to pick up the tracks of the troglodyte:


 
 Spoiler 
Perception
 (1d20+9)[ 17 ] 

Survival
 (1d20+7)[ 16 ] 
 
Athaleon
  "Aye..."   Urist wrenched his hammer free of the Troglodyte once he was finally free of the bats. He bled from a dozen places, and though no one wound on him was serious, it was clear he was barely able to stand.   "I will need a rest, at any rate. Then I can heal our most grievous wounds once I've rested. I have these scrolls, in a pinch, but I'd rather save them if we aren't about to get into another scrap."  
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

The kobold comes by and slaps Heldrun,  "Be healed! Stop bleeding on everything, its disguesting."  the slap is accompanied by healing energy.


 
 Spoiler 

 (1d8+2)[ 8 ] 

Life back to him
 

 "As merciful as I am, there is a limit to my generosity, until next time. "  he snaps his fingers as he starts walking away, cleaning the blood and dirt off Heldrun with a prestidigitation.
Farmerbink
Perriket peers down the slope as the party generally begins recovering from the fight.  As the vines wither and dissipate, he sees only the swaying of scrub grass and the distant beginning of sunrise as the sun's first rays begin to lighten the sky over the great forest of ancient walnut trees sheltering Stepdownsy Forynth.  It'll be several minutes to dawn yet, but not enough time to nestle back into your bedrolls unless you plan on spending much of the day in recovery.

At this point, the fleeing Troglodyte obviously wants nothing to do you with you, and the skill to enact it without more effort from the party.

Tired, and in some cases bruised and worse, the party begins their preparation for the rest of their journey.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Mechanically, if you want to press on, everyone who took first and second watch (I had to do some digging, but that's Paronomasia, Perriket, Brankham, Franklin, and Urist) will do so fatigued for the day.
 
Palanan
“We need to be away from here,  quickly ,” Perriket urges the others.  “That thing may be on its way back to its nest, or hive, or whatever they have—and we need to be well gone before they return.  We need to find a route that isn't so exposed and press on, as fast and far as we can go.

“Also,” he glances reluctantly at the loud kobold, “there are others of us who have been injured.”  And indeed, his flank is badly scored with a long streak of char from where the hovering fiery ball lashed him with its flickering tendrils.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm nods in partial agreement with Perriket. "  Shouldn't stay here, but too many of us didn't rest well for it to be too far away, friend. Let's look for another secluded spot - if the trog comes back with more we will have trouble, either way. But we risk walking into something worse doing it dead on our feet...  " he says, trying to negotiate by meeting the fearful ratfolk in the middle. The dwarf doesn't yawn or show much fatigue, but there is a tightness around the corners of his eyes of stress and strain from the difficult night. "  Come on everyone - take a couple of minutes to prepare, but let's move before the sun rises. We'll go an hour, maybe two, and then find cover to rest, hopefully behind the tree line...  "
Palanan
"We need to go as far as we can, as fast as we can," Perriket insists.

"And if there's someone who can help with  this —" he glances pointedly at his scarred and bloody wound— "then I'll have a better chance of finding us the best route."
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

 
 Originally Posted by Palanan 
 “Also,” he glances reluctantly at the loud kobold, “there are others of us who have been injured.”  And indeed, his flank is badly scored with a long streak of char from where the hovering fiery ball lashed him with its flickering tendrils. 
 

 "As I stated, there is limits to my generosity. There is no more healing for any of you tonight from me. So stop bleeding on your own."  The kobold groans back. He only had three spells, and used all three of them already. Paronomasia was no cleric but a supervillain after all. He snaps his fingers to clean the filth off the ratfolk though with his prestidigitation.
Palanan
With a sour, sidelong look at the kobold, convinced the creature is holding back, Perriket will do his best to bind his wound using his rudimentary field-bandaging skills.  He will hiss and wince perhaps a little more than is strictly necessary.

 
 Spoiler 
Heal
 (1d20+6)[ 7 ] 
 
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm shakes his head a bit sadly. "  I'd try to help, but I'm no good at first aid. Sorry,  " he finishes awkwardly. As the others mill about he takes a moment to collect the dead troglodytes and looks over their gear curiously. He seems more interested in any markings or signs that might mean something than in the actual equipment, but he doesn't avoid taking anything that might prove either valuable or useful.
Farmerbink
His companions still deciding how to move on, Brankahm busies himself with the unsavory task of rifling through the belongings of the deceased.  Most of his findings are unsurprising and uninteresting: the Troglodytes are unarmored, and only equipped with rudimentary (though undeniably effective) weaponry.  However, one of them carries a trio of vials filled with thick, red liquid. In a small sack, a surprisingly well-made chain with clasps for wrists and neck clanks dully.  Someone stuck in the manacles would struggle to use his hands or look far from directly ahead.  Another chain in the same sack could secure ankles, making escape a difficult proposition at best.  No doubt it's for the best that you never found out what that was like firsthand.

 
 Spoiler: OOC, loot 
3 javelins, with amentum, 3 machetes, 3 cure moderate wounds potions, and a masterwork manacles.
 
Athaleon
  "Ah, that changes things..."   Urist rumbled as the curative potions were discovered.   "But still, let us save the scrolls if we can."  
 
 Spoiler 

 Scrolls of   Casting Cure Light Wounds, for anyone still needing healing:

 (1d8+1)[ 4 ]  First one  +1 as these are now his own spells, not scrolls 
 (1d8+1)[ 9 ]  Second one  +1 
  (1d8+1)[ 4 ]  Third one   Only prepped two. 
 
Palanan
Perriket will nod his weary gratitude to Urist, and then he'll sniff cautiously at the other items Brankham has assembled, scenting for magical auras with a brief casting of Detect Magic.
tonberryking
Bushi stays quiet following the battle, doing what she can with her small hands and then scampering off ahead trying to find suitable shelter or camp grounds for the night. To no one's surprise, she darts in and out of sight the entire time.

However, to the surprise of the others, perhaps, she doesn't ask to be healed.  She was clipped a little and while she's not leaving a blood trail, it's clear she was in a fight. She doesn't try to hide it, but even after the discovery of the potions she doesn't ask for one. Potions are luxuries for leaders and important goblins...it might not even  occur  to her she can ask for one...

 
 Spoiler: OOC/rolls 

 (1d20+18)[ 22 ]  Stealth roll

 (1d20+4)[ 15 ]  Survival check to try to help find shelter along the way...
 
DarkOne-Rob
"   Definitely slavers, or they liked to eat their meals extra fresh,   " mutters Brankahm as he inspects the troglodyte equipment. With a shrug he collects everything before offering the potions to the wounded. "  Hey - three potions here, likely healing. Check them out and then drink up while I take a quick look around...  "

Without waiting for the scouts, the sturdy dwarf makes his way  up  intent on seeing if there are any other good spots nearby. After about ten minutes, all while staying close to the others, he returns looking tired and resolved. "  Bad news, I'm afraid,  " he says, without any real hint of being upset. "  This spot is likely our best bet for at least several long hours. I think everyone is too tired for a forced march - I'll stand the first watch...  "

Brankahm says this to the entire party, though he looks to the scouts for confirmation, indicating that if they doubt him they should look from above too. As they argue, scout, or agree he helps the rest of the crew settle again before finding a good place to post up where he's unlikely to fall asleep...
Farmerbink
Franklin nods soberly.  " We're doing well.  We've avoided notice of the big folk so far, and we're close than I hoped to the halls of the Craghammers without being chased there. "  He glances around the area a bit warily, as Brankahm goes on his brief scouting venture.

" We're a single hard day of equal parts climbing and crawling away.  Only about seven and a half or eight miles from here, but there's a lot of slopes, and it's not always up.  There's a narrow road- more a track really- about two miles south makes it more like a half day of gentle uphills, if we wanted to risk it... "
DarkOne-Rob
"  Decide after sleep - no one makes good decisions tired  " declares Brankahm. The dwarf then sets aside each of his weapons and begins practicing forms, intent on doing something to keep active during his watch.

 
 Spoiler: OoC 
An easier path is likely to have encounters. As a player I'm for encounters - they're interesting and make us figure out how our PCs would react. I don't expect to survive fighting each, so it's good to figure out how we retreat/hide from some of them.

I'm pretty sure Brankahm would be willing to do either but concerned about the harder path. Injuries happen from falling just as easily as combat, and he's prepared for combat.
 
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
 "Yes, rest, sleep, it is something that we need. Our power will grow, but until then.. Sleeep."  the kobold says before moving to find a place to flop over. Then pops up for a moment  "And no murdering each other in sleep! only morons do that!" 
Farmerbink
Franklin, apparently eager to latch onto an agreement, slumps to a slouch, his back resting against one of the many rocky bluffs nearby.  " I know that's  my  vote, " he murmurs, nodding his accord with Brankahm and Paranomasia in turn.  Heldrun grunts, to claim attention more than overtly agree or disagree.  " I slept well and was up for the day anyway.  You lot hunker down back on the ledge and I'll keep watch with Bushi until you feel ready to press on. "

He stumps to a projection from which he can see into the distance with a bit of a grimace.  " I'll be all but a beacon up here without some cover, " he grunts, as he takes a few steps back to keep most of his plate-clad torso behind the rocks.  " Bushi, " he calls.  " If you would, take point? "

With Bushi and Heldrun on watch, the rest of the party (some more begrudgingly than others) settle down to make up for the lost rest caused by their reptilian pursuers.  A few minutes later, Bushi hisses savagely, as she notices the Troglodyte druid now several hundred yards down the hill and scrambling away with obvious purpose.  Heldrun joins him peering over the edge with a growl, but immediately assesses that catching the survivor would be probably impossible, and definitely more trouble than it's worth.  Instead, the pair watches until it's too far to keep up.

You're now about 8 miles west of the road you worriedly crossed some three days ago, more a thing you're aware of than something you can see, exactly.  Late in the morning, most of you are feeling more rested and considering moving on.  Just a few minutes before the sun reaches its zenith, your lookouts notice a strange development.  Gradually (at this great distance), a long cloud of dust rises from the road, from north to south.  Ultimately, it proves little more than a discomfiting disturbance as you begin to hypothesize what could (and  would ) be disturbing so much earth with so little concern for other things noticing them.  Franklin frowns deeply, muttering, " probably a dozen giants or more... "

Nowhere near foolish enough to try to interact with such a thing, you resolve to wait another hour or so, until the beginning of the dust cloud has passed your current latitude.  Somewhat better rested, you break camp in earnest and spend most of the afternoon trekking up further into the hills.  After a few hours, the distant dust clouds are visible, rising gently into an otherwise clear sky.  The base, where giants or carts or some other caravan might be, however, is too distant to be anything more than a not-so-subtle reminder of the forces at play on the surface.


 
The evening and night pass without incident, thankfully, and you rise much better rested the next day.  " We'll be at their front door by lunchtime, if we keep yesterday afternoon's pace. "  He glances around the area with an odd expression.  " To be true, I expected to see explanation of their silence by now, " he admits.  " We won't be able to  see  the gates until we're about 100 yards away- they're nestled in a ravine about a mile that way- " he points, roughly west-southwest upwards into the hills.

With as much optimism as you can muster, the party breaks camp as the sun rises in earnest over the distant walnuts and mountains beyond.  The going is rough- marked by loose gravel and many short, steep climbs.  Fortunately, nothing living makes the passage any more challenging, and other than a few bruised knees and scraped palms, you round the last bend (by Franklin's explanation) no worse for wear.

You find yourselves looking down a narrow canyon, perhaps 120 feet long, both sides lined with medium-sized wooden huts, the structures apparently built into the rocks themselves.  At the end of the ravine, a set of huge stone double doors loom, perhaps 15 feet tall, flanked by bronze statues of Dwarven warriors clad in metal armor.  " Oh? " Franklin wonders, visibly confused.  " They didn't have any of these huts outside the halls proper last time I was here...  Been a couple years, but still... "  With a bit of trepidation, he continues forward.  Strangely (?), no one and nothing stirs among the buildings, though it appears by all counts like a typical main thoroughfare for a decently large surface city.
Athaleon
 "Very curious, then."  Urist's whisper still managed to rumble in his throat.  "A lot of work went into these structures, considering, especially if done only within the last two years. But on the surface, in these days? And deserted now, for all that."  He frowned, deep in thought as he examined the stonework.

 
 Spoiler 

Perception:  (1d20+9)[ 29 ] , +2 if Stonecunning applies here.
 
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm doesn't speak, instead looking around suspiciously at everything, first in front of the party in the ravine, and then back behind them (looking for an ambush). He makes eye contact with the scouts, shrugs, and then gestures for them to take the lead (stealthily)...
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  

Even the loud screechy kobold goes silent as they go through the canyon. As information is given, he begins to not like this place one bit. IT was the sort of place the sacred texts would say would be primed with an ambush of betrayed expectations. But now the kobold was expecting the unexpected.. Which only meant that things were about to get even worse.
Farmerbink
The party cautiously advances down the narrow, uncannily quiet ravine.  Distant birdsong filters through the overhanging rocks and somewhere not too far a rivulet must trickle between the narrow gaps in ancient stone.  Perriket curiously peers at the floor, noting no shortage of disturbance in the sparse foliage pressing through the rocky soil.  "Someone has passed through here- probably many someones...  fairly recently," he murmurs through the precautionary  message. 

More and more curious, Franklin approaches one of the nearby edifices, offering a quiet " Hullo?  Anyone here? " through an unlatched window.

Finally, about halfway to the grand stone doors, a voice that isn't yours breaks the silence.  " Franklin?  Is that really you?! "  A venerable Gnomish matron all-but appears in one of the two double-doorways leading to the right.  " Aunt Vernie? " he asks.  With surprising affection, to your great relief, the old woman gleefully bolts from the doorway to catch her nephew in a tight embrace.  " Moons and stars, I haven't laid eyes on you for so long! " she exclaims.  " Come on out, everyone! " she calls.  " It's my kin and his... friends? "  At the young Gnome's quick nod, she continues " From the Downs! "

Within moments, at least two dozen Gnomes and Dwarves pour from the same doorway, offering emotional (if only for the relief of suddenly not being terrified) greetings and offering shelter within.  " We hate to be so suspicious, but I'm sure you understand.  Surface life isn't what it used to be, " a broad-shouldered Dwarf explains.  " I'm Stagni Craghammer- first son of elder Borden.  Please, be made welcome at our hearth. "

As you allow yourselves to be ushered in, you find a surprisingly well-equipped common room.  It appears the buildings have been carved much deeper into the ravine face than you might have guessed from the outside.
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm is immediately relieved to see signs of (friendly) life, smiling broadly and stepping back as greetings are made. As the party is ushered into the home he asks, "  You all live above ground still? How do you avoid notice?  " his deep rumble polite but obviously surprised at the audacity of the community. "  And everyone in one home? Or has something happened? We came because the Downs haven't heard from you all in some time - is something wrong? And if something is wrong, why are you above ground?  " The dwarf is unusually talkative - for a dwarf - and seems unbothered by his unusual behavior. He's clearly concerned and confused, but pleasantly so, given the apparent health of the Craghammer community.
Farmerbink
Stagni immediately draws Brankahm aside, with astonishing tact, you're forced to admit- perhaps especially for a Dwarf.  Clearly, he is familiar with delicate issues and prepared to address them.

" Aye friend, in truth  everything , it seems, has gone wrong.  Our once proud, but small home has become well and truly overrun- and before you get too excited, it is a matter of refugees more than violence!  Perhaps a good problem to be had, being one of so few remaining homesteads that civilized folks dare to call 'safe.' "  He frowns at some of your other questions, lowering his voice so as to be unheard by most in the very crowded common room.

 " Most the time, folks stay in their own homes up here, "  he admits.   " But when we see someone coming-  anyone  coming, we pile into my home here for the  illusion  of safety in numbers. "   You can tell from his eyes that Stagni has seen things he's been forced to reconcile, and that he has the strength of will to do whatever it takes to keep as many of his people safe as possible.

He shrugs, an awkward, unhappy thing.  His deep, calm voice is a surprisingly comforting thing, given the subject matter.   " Truth be told, I'm much more comfortable underground, but someone had to be in a position of authority up here.  We're both the first line of defense for the Halls and the only place left to put new faces with anything like permanence or comfort.  Gods help us all if the Giants come knocking again.... " 
DarkOne-Rob
Brankahm looks concerned as the other dwarf expounds on the problem, his expression thoughtful. "  So...there's not room below ground for everyone? What happened? Are they all fleeing a new attack? Or are these all lone survivors fleeing from their ruined homes?  " he asks, his low rumble of a voice hard to mask. He looks at the tightly crowded mass of people in the home above the earth and grimaces. "  You are all at great risk here. We fought troglodytes on our way to you, and much worse could attack if they ever find this place. Without the steady earth to protect you all...well...you know what would happen.  "

With a sigh the big dwarf steps to the doorway, taking a deep breath and listening for a moment to the sounds of nature nearby. "  Perhaps we could help bring enough of the refugees to the Downs?  " he poses quizzically, though after a moment he mumbles, "   Though I probably shouldn't invite them without talking it over with the gnomes themselves...  Franklin!  Do the Downs have room for more? Stagni here tells me that they are overwhelmed underground and forced up here due to space. Could we bring some families to the Downs to relieve the burden here? Or is that going to cause other problems? I know the trip would be a challenge...  "
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
 "Well as with all things, eventually the giants will come again. But this time.. We slaughter them. String up their bodies and decorate our walls with their bones and heads. I'm certain that a giant's body can very easily make all kinds of living quarters once you get the the fleshy goo bits off them. Actually would make something really spectacular to make a castle our of the skulls after they turned grey in the sunlight." 
Athaleon
  "Easier said than done,"   Urist grumbled.   "The strength of the nations couldn't stop the giants before—nowadays a strong showing at the surface is just going to draw more of them."  
  "Shame about the lack of space,"   he went on.   "They say every mouth to feed comes with two hands attached, and anyone left alive these days must have a solid spine and a good head on their shoulders."   He tried not to eye Paranomasia as he seemed to reconsider.   "That or the Archfiend's own luck, and in these times, I'll settle for lucky. I would see about bringing a group back to my own hold, if it were feasible."  
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
 "Well clearly, it was because they had no Doomsday devices. And they didn't know their target audience, and lacked the proper presentation. Giants have big bodies.. Big bodies need more food. With the amount of damage they have done to the eco system, they are surely  very  hungry. And those big bodies are just full of flesh and soft meats ready for some hulking brute with a club to go smacky smack. But well, magic can mess that all right up of course. " 
Farmerbink
Franklin allows himself to be drawn into the strange huddled conversation, accompanied by a disapproving frown from his aunt.  " Aye wot? " he murmurs, before allowing himself to re-think what he's already heard.  " Oh, well... I'm certainly not the best Henderson to Ask, but we'd probably make the same decision the Crags have already had to, if it came to it. "  He turns to Stagni.  " I'm also curious where this deluge of refugees comes from? "

Stagni nods knowingly.  " Of course.  It's been strange, honestly.  I'd never accuse the big uglies of bein' the most thorough sorts in the best of times, but well...  Seems every week for the last 5 months a pair or trio turns up knocking.  Some from Rockstop down south.  Several from Celadin.  We've even had a handful of rangers came  over  the Spines!  It's been almost 3 years since Celadin fell; you'd think they'd have- " he lowers his voice again.   " It's just strange is all.  Borden and his sages swear they're making sure everyone is who they say they are- that's above my ken- but some o' the stories don't seem to all add up to me, yeh?  Seems... "   Franklin openly frowns at this new revelation, but stoically keeps his peace.

" And o'course we've dealt with a few of the big uglies, but So far they seem...  strangely content to leave us be... "
DarkOne-Rob
"  Well, if the stories don't add up, but you can't confirm by talking to them, someone needs to go check out things from back where they were,  " says Brankahm, sounding confident in spite of the obvious dangers of such a trip. "  I'd be deeply uncomfortable with so many people up top sides right now, especially if I was staying here too. I'll plan to go look at the nearest of those places you mentioned - which is that? Rockstop, Celadin, or over the Spines? Does anyone else want to come with me?  "
Triskavanski
      
     Paronomasia    
   AC:  18  | HP:  16  | Current:  16
 Fortitude:  +2  | Reflex:  +6 | Will:  +3  | Perception:  +4
 Active Effects:   None.
 Conditions:   None.
   
 
  
 "Of course! I the great Paronomasia shall bring fear and ruination to theses absurdities standing far taller than they should have any right to! And they will soon have that height crushed to the floor!"  the kobold postures, taking a bit of a pose before going through the motions of laughing loudly, yet he was silent.
tonberryking
Now Bushi keeps quiet.

Perhaps it's because she may honestly believe if she speaks up she'll be kicked out (or at least inadvertently make a scene if she tries to be evicted and her allies intervene) but the blond maned goblin just hovers by the peripheral of the others, listening.  Contemplating.

In fact, when Stagni lists off the refugees they've been receiving, Bushi frowns, and starts counting on her hands repeatedly.  Consternation  surrounds her so much so that she finally speaks up:

  "These refugees you brought up,"   she says in perfect dwarvish,   "Do they congregate with one another? Just group up thick as thieves without any hesitation even though they're from far and wide different places?"  
Palanan
Ever since the party was stalked and attacked by the troglodytes, Perriket has been lost in a distant haze.  The pain of the shaman’s lightning-ball was so fierce, and his terror during the clash so bone-deep, that some part of him simply failed, ceased functioning, became numb; and for all the uncertain time afterward he has been no use to dwarf or gnome, padding and scenting mechanically as if he were somehow drifting alongside himself, observing himself from a vantage point both within and without his mortal form.

Now, finally, the superficial reassurance of snug tunnels, warm bodies in familiar proximity, and the promise of fresh hot food have all helped massage his badly-frayed nerves.  Now, at least for the moment, he is able to breathe a touch more freely, and even dream wistfully of Nadjhet’s trim and delicate whiskers.

But the press of so many gnome and dwarven bodies, and the scent of their underlying fear, has begun to weigh on him, even in this place of precarious safety.  Ordinarily he would long for the freedom and the quiet thrill of a quick, fluid scurry in the open air; but after the troglodytes, the whirling bats, and that distant glimpse of lumbering horrors, Perriket is caught between an urgent desire to escape the press of refugees, and a growing terror of what else might be lying in wait—either just across the next hill, or terrifyingly close by.
DarkOne-Rob
      
    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)
 Dwarven Urgrosh  +5 (1d8+4/1d6+4, 20/x3)
 MW Chain Shirt  (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition  None 
 
  
Brankahm looks around at the gathered party, noting the slow reactions of those who had only yesterday survived a harrowing ambush and how they all seemed to need some leadership. "  Alright, everyone, here's what we're going to do,  " he begins, announcing loudly. "  We have too many people to safely stay above ground, but not enough room below ground. However, some of your stories don't make sense, so we can't bring you somewhere else yet. Who here is a refugee from Rockstop, Celadin, or over the Spines? I need to talk with you before we go out and see where your home was...  "

 
 Spoiler: OoC 
In the interest of moving things forward, Brankahm will start talking with NPCs to figure out where we should go first. @ FarmerBink  - do you want to RP this conversation, or give us a summary of where we should go to investigate first?
 
Albinobrow
 
 Rockstop. 

What looks like a support post starts to sway and move forward through the crowd. Under the post, no  carrying  the post, a female dwarf in heavy armor steps forward. She has long ruddy brown hair, and piercing blue eyes, with freckles sprayed over her cheeks. She would be considered conventionally beautiful save for the deep scars across her forehead and cheeks from some previous wounds. And upon second glance, the thick pole she carries is no pole but a massive spear!

 I am originally from Rockstop. Though that was overrun by those giants 15 years ago... 
 
 Spoiler: OoC 

   Darewealynn Anvilrock   
Female NG Dwarf Sister-in-Arms Cavalier,  Level  2,  Init  0,  HP  22/22,  Speed  20ft
 AC  17,  Touch  10,  Flat-footed  17,  CMD  15,  Fort  4,  Ref  0*,  Will  2*,  CMB  +5,  Base Attack Bonus  +2
 brace and reach  MW Dwarven Giant-Sticker (--)   +6 (2d6+4, x3)
   Lemellar (Iron)  (+7 Armor)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 11, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 13
 Condition  None
 
DarkOne-Rob
      
    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)
 Dwarven Urgrosh  +5 (1d8+4/1d6+4, 20/x3)
 MW Chain Shirt  (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition  None 
 
  
"  Well-met, Miss Rockstop...?  " says Brankahm, bowing at the waist to the dwarven woman as she introduces herself. "  Or do you go by another name? I'm Brankahm, these are my companions. As you heard, I think we need to see what's pushing everyone away - if it's not giants, that may be good news or it may be bad. What made you flee here most recently?  "

 
 Spoiler: OoC 
RP only, though this might give @ FarmerBink  an opportunity to expose the next step in the story.
 
Albinobrow
 Anvilrock. My name is Darewealynn Anvilrock. I am originally from Rockstop but after it was taken, I've did what I could to both survive and help others I found. I've been here offering support and protection for the better part of the last decade. Truth be told, I've somewhat lost track of time.  She responds to the questions willingly, but beyond her steely eyes scanning each newcomer he faces is without emotion.
DarkOne-Rob
      
    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)
 Dwarven Urgrosh  +5 (1d8+4/1d6+4, 20/x3)
 MW Chain Shirt  (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition  None 
 
  
Brankahm nods and bows respectfully. "  Greetings, Earthmaiden Anvilrock. I am the last of my clan, the Runechanters. Seems most of us are refugees or the last of our kind these days. Do others of your family still live? Or am I being too forward by asking?  " he says, his rough dwarven skin turning ruddy as he blushes. "  I've been told I'm too direct for a dwarf - please excuse me for prying...  "
Albinobrow
 In times like these, I believe it could be better for more straightforwardness and unity. I don't see how we can survive otherwise. As for my family, I hadn't seen them for years prior to the attack due to my duties as a Gray Maiden. I hope they are alive..  Her face remains stoic during their exchange, her eyes though looking in Brankahm's direction seem to focus on nothing.
DarkOne-Rob
      
    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)
 Dwarven Urgrosh  +5 (1d8+4/1d6+4, 20/x3)
 MW Chain Shirt  (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
 Abilities  Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 11
 Condition  None 
 
  
With pursed lips Brankahm nods and looks about a bit uncomfortably, unsure how to continue the conversation.

Instead, he decides the right response is to continue talking to the other refugees to try and determine a way forward...