There is a loud crack as the hammer strikes home and the goblin pitches forward unto the ground.
And then a heavy silence descends onto the room.
OOC: The goblins are all dead.
Everybody gets an inspiration. This works kind of like an HP in that you can use it to roll a second dice and take the highest of the two for any roll you make.
Aldan considers letting the rope down and climbing down but hesitates.
"Well done, fellows!" he congratulates. "Perhaps someone checking to see if that was all the cellar contained would be a good idea. The rest staying up here as a good ambush place to lead potential foes. Zasio perhaps as a martial sort who can see in the dark?" he suggests.
"Goblins don't like light. I say bring a torch rather than fight in the dark." Tyragorn shook his hammer to get any grime from the goblin off. "I'll go first. Someone should search these as well. They might have a clue where they came from."
"We'll have to go down there eventually to clear it." Tyragorn peered down the stairs. "And I can hear something down there." He held his shield in front of his chest. "Hello down there. How about coming up without a fight?"
At the news that the paladin heard something Aldan is quick to knock another arrow. He's steady to aim at the cellar entrance even as his spectral hand goes to pull the already shot arrows from the goblin corpses and, after a wiping down, float them up to the perched archer.
"Something bigger than goblins is down there." Aldan says with some certainty. At his command the spectral hand abandons the arrow retrieval and floats up to get the oil flask from his pouch.
"Hold it or them back at the cellar entrance, make a choke point. If you've buffs like Bless or such now might be a good time." Aldan takes both bow and arrow in one hand and reaches for a bag of ball bearings with the others, ready to fling it over his companion's head and onto the stairs if he sees some ground-based thing or things that use legs trying to come up the stairs.
Zasio Blackthorn: Objects of Interest: Goodberries (2 - each heals 4 hp)
"I am ready for whatever it is that would challenge us." Zasio says as he moves himself next to the stairs, his short swords held in a stance ready to combat the looming threat from below.
OOC wrote:Zasio will move to L18 to await whatever it is coming up the stairs
Jabroniville wrote: ↑Tue Jul 13, 2021 11:45 pm LOl- "The Tattooed Man"? What kind of ABSOLUTE DILDO would refer to himself as "The Tattooed Man" !?!
There is another hissing snap and then the sound of large feet on the stairs can be heard.
Withing moments you can see a pair of large figures coming up the stairs one at a time. Muscular bodies covered in dull green scales, with crocadillian heads and bright orange fringes that flare over their head like a mowhawk. Each of the lizard men carries a large gnarled club and a crude wooden shield.
OOC:
To save some time I decided to reuse the init.
Georgia: 25
Aldan: 18
Tyragorn: 14
Zasio: 9
Lizard men: 6
Against all odds, another six. The lizardmen haven't made it up the stairs yet, they're about half way up, this is your chance to move, or use an action before the baddies get to go.
Heroes go first.
"Sister Bright, a little divine magic would not be unwelcome." Aldan says. As he noted they were being too careful to be tripped up by ball bearings he'd stow the unopened bag. Carefulness would not help with oil though and the dirt cellar would not be overly harmed by fire.
He directs the oil-bearing spectral hand to float over the heads of his companions and into the stair way. It hovers, ready to pour. Perhaps the teifling's fiery nature would have something to ignite it.
Aldan had studied Draconic as the most magically potent of languages - calling to mind huge scales, vast treasures, and hoarded ancient secrets. He hadn't expected to use it to rankle information out of huge brutes that'd just as soon cave in his elven skull...
"Give up!" he says in the language of dragons, "Your dark god will not save you for we know your place of so-called power."
"Sister Bright, a little divine magic would not be unwelcome." Aldan says. As he noted they were being too careful to be tripped up by ball bearings he'd stow the unopened bag. Carefulness would not help with oil though and the dirt cellar would not be overly harmed by fire.
He directs the oil-bearing spectral hand to float over the heads of his companions and into the stair way. It hovers, ready to pour. Perhaps the teifling's fiery nature would have something to ignite it.
Aldan had studied Draconic as the most magically potent of languages - calling to mind huge scales, vast treasures, and hoarded ancient secrets. He hadn't expected to use it to rankle information out of huge brutes that'd just as soon cave in his elven skull...
"Give up!" he says in the language of dragons, "Your dark god will not save you for we know your place of so-called power."
Seeing Aldan's work with his mage hand, Georgia looks at the Oil flask and snaps her fingers.
"Need a light?"
The spectral hand will continue to move the oil into the cellars to dump it on their foes as far down as possible so as to minimize the amount landing on the wooden stairs.