Kingmaker in the Forgotten Realms [IC thread]

[Saintheart]

Hills, the Stolen Lands
Morning, Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Pool: 4 of 6

At least they managed to bring down two vultures. Dergosh looked up from attending to Ser Pig's first lesson in 'how to stand on command' in time for the second ugly black bird to hit the ground with a fwat sort of noise. The other vultures were flapping their wings as fast as they conceivably could, and were out of range and gone in mere seconds.

And at least the dreadful manky smell was gone. Ruk had cast a minor cantrip on the massive wolf pelt, and the dried blood (and the flies) were gone a couple of seconds later. The pelt would still need to be properly treated and tanned in the next couple of weeks to maintain the hide's toughness, but for the time being it was a big, warm spread to lay on the ground.

And then there was the giant's weapon.

Spoiler: Three

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The greatcleaver was a curious mix of eld and new. On one hand, the weapon had clearly not suffered a jot of damage from the giant smashing it into the rock; on the other hand, the almost-dwarven runeforms etched into the blade (which was apparently a normal thing for Cactacae weapons) were barely visible as though they'd faded with time. Three couldn't read the language, of course; her archives hadn't been so complete. No, Eron's interests did lie in alternate planes of existence and having a good idea of what weapons came from them, but not quite the language of outsider lifeforms.

In any event, and unlike the fearsome ensorcellment of Briar's Scabbard, this weapon's enchantments were different but still relatively compatible with the Faerunian Weave. It was, clearly, a magical weapon, and giving off a moderate-strength aura of the Transmutation school of magic. Magical, yes; but out of the sacred geometry and eldritch equations that allowed her to evaluate the thing's qualities, not a terribly powerful weapon.

Otherwise, the Company was almost ready to set out again.

Spoiler: OOC

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By deduction given the moderate strength aura and that a magic weapon ordinarily requires a caster level three times the enhancement bonus of the weapon, Three could work out that the Greatcleaver is a +1 weapon. Nothing else really stands out about it, beyond the fact it's a weapon from another plane, albeit not quite one said to be as strange as the Feywild.

[Saintheart]

Midday, The Hills, the Stolen Lands
Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Dice: 5 of 6

The hills southeast of the Old Sycamore were bare. The scrub dotting the dips and tops of the landscape now thinned out to short, yellowing grass and low, dusty-looking bushes crowned with little white flowers, bobbled by the wind. They were getting far away enough now from the Greenbelt that even the green towers of the forest were nothing but a thin black line on the western horizon. They had to be a good seventy miles clear of the place, and the air was cold and clear in the Company’s noses.

Three’s wagon rolled over rocky slopes of sandstone and weathered granite, rather than the dark shale and agate closer to the Greenbelt. The noise of small pebbles exploding under the weight of the wagon wheels was a constant grinding in their ears, but it was also the only sound out here aside from the occasional, and distant, cry of an eagle. Once – once – Ruk thought he spotted something that looked like the shadow of a Pegasus in the cloudy sky above, but the impression was gone just as quickly as it had arrived.

Mikmek kept his silence. Even though they’d tended the tortured kobold’s wounds and let him sleep in the back of the wagon, the kobold was plainly in no real mood to talk. His previous elation at being rescued had transformed into a deep silence. He simply sat on the back of the wagon, acknowledging Ruk now and then with a respectful bow of the head, but otherwise just looking down at the ground behind the wagon as the miles trailed by, glancing neither left nor right.

Eventually, the wagon rolled up to an outcropping of large boulders emerging from the weathered face of a nearby hillock. A narrow opening in the rock led into darkness below. There was a fallen sign leaning against the side of the cave entrance, and an empty cage made of branches and sticks sitting on the other side.

Mikmek jumped down off the back of the wagon, starting for the opening in the rock without a word. Another kobold, just as black-scaled as Mikmek, jumped out from behind one of the big rocks at the entrance, brandishing a spear. It chirped loudly in surprise when it saw Mikmek and the massive shapes of the Company, and hesitated--

Mikmek started talking. The jabbering went on in Draconic and with some energy, forcing Kuros to translate hurriedly, skipping over some of the words:

Spoiler: Draconic

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“Spear down, Nakpik. I bring friends. I bring a Blessed One.”
“Mikmek, you were given up for dead! Tartuk said you’d been killed by the blue scum!”
“Tartuk was wrong. See for yourself.” Mikmek pointed at Ruk, standing on the back of the wagon in all his three feet of kobold-ly, five-coloured dragonwrought glory. “A Blessed One comes. There is no need for Tartuk to protect us anymore.”
“Tartuk’s protecting us against blue scum,” said Nakpik warily, though his yellow, slitted eyes had widened at the sight of Ruk. “Marmuk came back in with some story about heroes in the woods who saved him. Tartuk said he’s a traitor, sent by the blue scum.”
“Tartuk does not need protect us against blue scum anymore either,” said Mikmek. “The Blessed One rescued me. The Blessed One and his not-too-bright servants slaughtered every last gremlin in their hole. They squashed every centipede in the place. The whole nest below the Great Sycamore is empty. The war is over.”
“But – the idol – Tartuk said no war won without –“
“The idol is back. The Blessed One got that too. Fat lot of good the idol did. It was so weak Tiamat had to send a real servant to save Sootscale tribe.”
Nakpik’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be talking about the idol like that. Tartuk’s wise. Saved us when war started—”
“Your head is up your tail. Tartuk saved us from nothing. The Blessed One is here now, he will care for us, a shaman, like true kobolds. Where is the Chief?”
“You not going to Chief.” Nakpik rammed the butt of his spear against the ground. “You going to Tartuk. You got idol, need give back to Tartuk right now.”
“Tartuk is not chief of the tribe! The Chief is the chief of the clan! We go now!”

Spoiler: OOC

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What do you do?

[BluesEclipse]

As Kuros translates, Korlann looks towards Ruk. Finally, as the two kobolds begin arguing over who the group should see first, Korlann says, "Among my own people, a dignitary or champion coming to visit a city would be expected to present themselves to that city's ruler first - it would be seen as a sign of disrespect for the ruler's own position to do otherwise, regardless of their respective ranks among my people as a whole." Turning towards Ruk, he then says to his ally, "That being said, while my preference would be to offer the same respect to the Chief of the Sootscales, I understand that you would better know your own people and how their clans operate - I will defer to your decision here, Ruk, regarding what we should do."

[jdizzlean]

Not needing Kuros to translate, Akara listens to the chatter in an almost offhand way, as if to appear as though she doesn't know what is being said. However, when Mikmek says the guards head is up his tail, she laughs out loud and very nearly replies in Draconic as well before biting it off at the last moment.

To the company she mimics Kuros's sentiment.

"We go to the Chief, not the 'puppetmaster' Tell them Ruk, I don't think it'd be so wise as to force our way there, but we must be strong! "

[almondsAndRain]

Three listened to Kuros’ translation and then to her companions’ advice, and found herself dissenting. Neither the chief nor the shaman seemed to expect them, and so they are off-balance - and why shove over the puppet when the puppet master is on one leg? No, the longer the Company spends with the chieftain, the more time Tartuk has to prepare, the more chances he has to try something. Best to meet with him immediately, when he’s worried and hesitant, than later, when he’s confident and ready.

She shrugged her wooden shoulders and added her two coppers to the discussion: “The shaman is the one in control here, chief in all but name. He is surprised by our visit, while we are not. He will not be surprised for long. Our advantage is a temporary one. We should speak with him before he accounts for us… in all meanings of that phrase.”

[bcool999]

Hearing the debate going on around him, Kuros is reminded yet again that his is not the most politically minded in the party. He looks to Ruk and says, “They’re your people, and you wanted this alliance with them. Whatever you decide to do, as long as your choice is honorable, I’m with you.”

With that Kuros stands off to the side, ready to translate again as needed, and appreciating the heft of his new weapon.

Spoiler: OOC

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I decided that I will have Kuros carry around the Greatcleaver. It is horribly inaccurate with non-proficiency, but it does do a sickening amount of damage.

[Zombulian]

Ruk spoke quietly, mindful to not draw much more attention from the squabbling kobolds.

"I fail to see why we should not simply meet them both. I don't see our odds of winning the tribe over improving if we choose to meet with one over the other, and I'm curious to see the dynamic between these apparently contested rulers..."

[Mercurion 2]

Dergosh shrugged, gazing at the yammering kobolds with undisguised distaste. "Not matter which we kill first. Kill both and make Ruk king of anthill, all little ants follow him then."

After a few moments more consideration, the cleric added, "First kill one that most trouble...Tartuk."

Spoiler: OOC

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Dergosh doesn't much care which kobold is dealt with first, and lacking any strong opinion of his own he usually defaults to Three's proposed plan as he does in this case.

[Saintheart]

Midday, The Hills, the Stolen Lands
Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Pool: 5 of 6

Flit, Akara's familiar, took off into the air, buzzing around his mistress impatiently, chattering in her ear. "Mistresswhyaretheothersjuststandingthereandlettin gthetwokoboldsarguewitheachother? I'msorryifIampresumingtoomuchIjustreallydon'tunder standhumansandkoboldsorwhytheyshouldbedelayingyoui nyourjourneyI'msuretheremustbemanymanymanyfunplace swecouldbeinthemeantimeImeanwe'vebeenstandingheref ormorethanfivesecondsit'llbesunsetbeforeweknowitan dyouknowhowIlikesunsetsIdon'twanttomissit."

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann mulls over Ruk's comment for a moment, before shaking his head. "The issue comes down, in truth, to how you described them - two contesting rulers. Unless the shaman of the clan holds equal rank to the chief, this would not be the case... and to meet with Tartuk first, or even to meet them both at the same time, would be disrespecting the very role of the chief as ruler of the tribe, regardless of personal opinions on either." He pauses, for a moment, considering how to best word his explanation.

"I understand that you, Ruk, hold a very significant position among your people - I'm uncertain if the Skarn would have an exact equivalent, but... I believe that an example might be the kind of conduct followed by either a member of the nobility, or a distinguished individual such as a Perfect of the North Wind, or a warrior of higher rank within the Hierarchy of Spinmeld Warriors, when travelling to other enclaves for any purpose. Even if there has been a blood feud declared between the visitor and the Perfect who leads the enclave they are visiting, these honored individuals will still present themselves and their retinue to the Perfect first and foremost - any less is insulting to the title of Perfect, regardless of their opinions of the individual holding that title."

A frown mars Korlann's face at the thought, as he comments, "Duels to the death have been fought over such insults. Likewise, the Perfect would expect to follow the proper formalities in welcoming those visitors as representatives of their enclaves, or as representatives of the Hierarchy of Spinemeld Warriors as a whole, depending on what the purpose of their visit is. To do any less would indicate weakness on the part of that Perfect, allowing personal feelings to interfere with their ability to uphold their position. The same line of thought applies here - we must present ourselves to the chief first if only to show the rightful respect for the position of leadership, regardless of the individual. And likewise, the chief must receive us - and you in particular - as to do otherwise shows irreverence towards the patron that granted you your blessings, towards your position with your patron, and towards the position that we have taken in accepting our charter."

Stopping to consider for a moment, Korlann then continues, "Presenting ourselves to the chief of the Sootscale first also ensures that our negotiations will place us in a position of strength, regardless of how the chief receives us - whether the chief requests Tartuk to join us in the meeting at all will tell us a great deal, as would seeing how the two interact with one another."

[Zombulian]

Ruk strokes his chin as Korlann makes his point.
"Alright, that's as good a reason as I could ask for."

Ruk makes his way from the company huddle to the arguing native kobolds, smiling and greeting them with a polite gesture common to his desert kobold kin - unsure if it would carry the same meaning with these wood dwellers.

Greetings, brothers. I am Ruk of the Calim, and this is my companion, Eral. We both are servants of Tiamat, and we and our company have been very eager to meet with you ever since we learned of your troubles in these parts. I would like to request an audience with your Chief. My fellows would like to meet him as well, but we will respect whatever his decision in regard to reception.

*Italics is Draconic

[Saintheart]

Midday, The Sootscale Caverns, the Stolen Lands
Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Pool: 5 of 6

Nakpik, the kobold who'd been on guard, stopped arguing when Ruk began speaking. Mikmek stared coldly at his tribesmate, and for long moments the kobold seemed to be uncertain what to do. But at last he closed his mouth, turned to the cave mouth, and beckoned the Company in. "Step where I do, Blessed One," he said, in Draconic. "You must not come to harm."

The kobold led them into the opening in the side of the hill, leaving Ser Pig, the wagon, and the mules behind. The dark enfolded them quickly, and Nakpik again turned to warn them to watch their step. He scooted around the edge of the large-ish cave that they first entered, leaving by a tunnel on the southern side of the cave. It took a few moments for the Company members to spot the well-concealed pit traps that lay across the entire floor of the cavern. Moving gingerly, they followed.

The kobold tunnels were a little bigger than the ones under the Old Sycamore had been, or at least large enough that they didn't have to stoop much. Their character was different too: hewed from rock, not dug from soil, and the air didn't seem quite so foul as it had among the gremlins' abode. However, it was still tight quarters: Ruk could move comfortably (perhaps more comfortably than he had been in all his life) but the rest of the group had to squeeze through some of the chokepoints in particular. Three and Korlann also didn't fail to notice the odd murderhole or two carved into the walls. The place would be a nightmare if they had to fight their way out. The lighting seemed to be coming from a phosphorescent moss growing on the ceiling, but even then the light was dim and without proper illumination they wouldn't be seeing much in here if it came to blows. Now and then came the ring of a distant pick against a rock wall, though the acoustics in here were confusing and it wasn't easy to pinpoint where the noises were coming from.

Nakpik led the group down one tunnel after another, and it wasn't hard even for non-dwarves in the group to realise they were moving downward as well. They passed a larger cavern on their right as they moved, one where even on a glance it appeared foreboding: an impression of a cave with walls smeared with charcoal, with two low flat stone tables, one of which was covered with rivulets of old, dried blood. But then Mikmek was urging them on, and they moved deeper into the caverns. They had picked up, as if acquiring more shadows, a small group of black-scaled kobolds: six of them, with looks approximating hostile curiosity, padding in the Company's wake.

After a few minutes Nakpik brought them into some sort of common room. The air in this large cave felt warm and close, thick with a reptilian stink mixed with smoke and burnt meat. Numerous beds of fur lay scattered throughout the room amid smouldering cookfires, while to the south, a ten-foot-wide alcove contained a large mound of furs framed by dozens of sticks on which were mounted the skulls of many birds and small animals, all smeared with ash.

One of the skulls moved.

Or rather, the skull that was being worn as an elaborate, feather-crowned headpiece by a kobold dressed in a feathered cape, holding a short staff in one hand and a club made from the thighbone of some unfortunate predator. Even to non-kobolds, he looked older than others of the Sootscale they'd seen; his eyes were more crinkled and while the other kobolds still had smooth skin. The kobold came forward, eyes darting from one person to another, the club half-raised, and he seemed to breathe in, preparing to shout--

--and then saw Mikmek and Nakpik step forward, where they went to their knees for a moment. And then caught sight of Ruk, at which point he took a step back as if in astonishment. Club still half-raised, the chief of the Sootscale tribe got hold of himself and narrowed his eyes, dropping into a crouch ready to spring, either forward or away. He spoke, in a harsh, deep Draconic:

Spoiler

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"Who are you? Why have you come here?"

[Zombulian]

Ruk kneeled in respect to the Chief's station, as the other kobolds had done. Looking up while still upon his knee, he introduced himself:
Honorable Chief, I am Ruk of the Calim, a humble servant of our great winged lady, and these are my companions, the Wolftooth Company. We bring with us good news - news of peace and safety for your tribe. In our travels we encountered one of your warriors, Marmuk, who was the sole survivor of his warband. He told us of your conflict with the jermlaine at the Old Sycamore. I made it my purpose to go there and eradicate the pests.
In doing so, we also rescued warrior Mikmek, who brought us to you. Honorable Chief, your war is over.

[Saintheart]

Midday, The Sootscale Caverns, the Stolen Lands
Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Pool: 5 of 6

The Chief's eyes narrowed. His club lowered by an inch.

Spoiler: Draconic

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"Your news is welcome, Blessed One. Your band of armed servants in the heart of our home, less so."
Mikmek raised his head. "Chieftain, these adventurers--"
"Be silent!" The Chieftain's barking admonition was born as much of apprehension as insult. The kobolds in the room stiffened, and edged towards their chief, subtly beginning to interpose themselves between the chief and the Company. The Chief looked to Ruk and the Company once more. "You say you brought Mikmek home from the lair of the jermlaine. We have extensive knowledge of the blue scum's lair; we have paid for it with much of my clan's blood. What else did you find in that place -- aside from this warrior thought lost and now found?"

[Zombulian]

Ruk stands.
My deepest apologies, Chieftain. I meant no offense, nor did my companions. They mean well, but their skin is smooth as you see, and they do not speak our tongue - aside from the honorable dragon warrior Kuros. I had told Mikmek that I would respect whatever your wishes were regarding the reception of my party. I will send them away at once if that is what you desire.
As for what else we found...
Ruk squared his shoulders to the chief and his eyes narrowed slightly.
That was something I did want to ask you about. Marmuk had told us that the Jermlaine had taken an idol from your tribe... one that was brought by an interloper. We found that idol, and we found that it bore the shape of neither Tiamat nor even Kurtulmak. What is that thing, and why were kobold lives sacrificed to recover it?

[jdizzlean]

Sensing the mood in the room shifting, as much as just being cautious should Ruk's question cause a stir, Akara surreptiously looks around to see if there is a caster in the room about them in case another ally is needed in a pinch.

Spoiler

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spot check?

(1d20-1)[15]
and of course a subtle whisper to Flit to do the same, along w/ some thoughts passed through the empathic link
(1d20+10)[20]

still have a readied action for charm person, just choosing the target. failing to notice a caster of some kind will result in picking the biggest, closest kobold other than the chief that is a possible target for success

[Saintheart]

Midday, The Sootscale Caverns, the Stolen Lands
Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Pool: 5 of 6

Spoiler: Akara

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The shadows of the room made it difficult to make anything out, but Akara had a feeling, along with Flit, that there wasn't a caster in the room. The Chieftain didn't look like one, despite the feathered cave and headdress; he didn't seem to have either any spell ingredients on him or any of the ... personal force ... that indicated a sorcerer was present.

The Chieftain's eyes lit up at the mention of the idol. He straightened, the club falling to his side, his whole form taking on a clear look of excitement. "You have it? The idol? Give it to me."

Spoiler: Ruk

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The sudden shift in emotion for anyone also of a kobold heritage was apparent, and it was simple to recontextualise the Chief's look of earlier: the kobold leader had the look of someone oppressed.

[Zombulian]

Ruk looks a bit confused before realization washes over his face.

Spoiler: Draconic

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W- You didn't answer my question, Chieftain. What is that thing? Why was a devil idol so important to your people? Who brought it?

[Saintheart]

Midday, The Sootscale Caverns, the Stolen Lands
Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Pool: 5 of 6

The chieftain glanced to the other kobolds in the room before turning his gaze back on Ruk. "I will tell you of its significance once I have it in my hands. Hand it over!"

[Zombulian]

Ruk sighed and turned to the party.
“I’ve hit a wall with him. He wants the idol before we speak more.”

After speaking aloud, he channels a message spell to Korlann and Akara.

Spoiler: Message

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He is clearly fixated on the idol because of some external force - Tartuk I presume. Maybe if we present the idol he will show himself.

[Mercurion 2]

After all the incomprehensible yip yap back and forth, Dergosh pivoted his glare to the kobold leader once Ruk told him of the status of their negotiations. "Maybe he like idol along with crushed skull," the half-orc rumbled, his tusks grinding back-and-forth.

Spoiler: OOC

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Ready action to cast cause fear on chieftain at the first sign of hostilities.

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann takes a moment to consider the implications here. Tartuk clearly holds leverage over the Chief, be it some form of magical compulsion, or something more mundane such as use of hostages. His eyes narrow slightly at Dergosh's comment, though he notes with approval that the cleric is preparing for what seems to be an almost inevitable conflict. As he considers, though, details begin adding up in the Skarn's mind - the tone of his responses, the subtle, seemingly nervous glances towards the other kobolds in the room. Finally, he nods, slightly, before whispering back a response to Ruk.

Spoiler: Message

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"You are correct... though he does not appear compelled. Too nervous. The shaman has leverage, but not control. Give him the idol - but remain alert."

[bcool999]

“Then we shall give it to him then.” Kuros says before stepping up to the chief while untying a sack from his waist. Kuros reaches into the sack and pulls out the idol. Carefully extending it towards the chief with two hands.

[Saintheart]

Midday, The Sootscale Caverns, the Stolen Lands
Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Pool: 5 of 6

The chieftain's scaled hands visibly trembled, even in the shadows, as he took the statue from Kuros's massive grip.

The kobold looked at the statue. For long moments. He held it in hands with a fierce look of concentration, turning it over; he seemed to make a particularly difficult decision. He looked at Ruk; then at Nakpik; then, finally, at Mikmek.

He thrust the idol above his head, gave a reptilian shriek of triumph....





































































...and hurled the statue to the ground, where it burst apart into a dozen pieces, shattered.

There was no howl of outrage from a plane unseen; no sudden darkening of the cave's deep shadows; only a stillness as the other kobolds in the room froze in shock, staring at what their chieftain had done.

The chieftain swung around to the Company. He had a frantic grin on his snout. And began to speak.

Spoiler: Draconic

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"Blessed One, I thank you - for freeing us from this curse, brought on us by the miserable usurper Tartuk. Praise Tiamat, and Kurtulmak her servant. The statue we called Old Sharptooth, or at least that is what the miserable usurper Tartuk called it. He said it had a curse, and that only he could remove it, that if the statue was not returned that all of us would turn yellow ... and die."

Spoiler: Akara, Three, and Ruk

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While the chieftain's words certainly seemed to be what the kobold believed, there was no form of magic that any of the arcanists in the group knew that could have such an effect with such a set of prerequisites. It was not a matter of the power being beyond them, it was just ... not possible, in the way apples did not fall upward or that the great incantation of Tasha's Hideous Laughter did not produce a baritone song.

"But now Old Sharptooth is gone, we are free. We are beyond the curse. And now it is time for the miserable usurper Tartuk to go beyond this world too. I have borne his sway, his slow bleeding of us, for the sake of that accursed statue, for too long. I have removed the source of one blight on my people. Now I will remove another. Tartuk dies this day! Now! I ask your assistance in doing so!"

The kobolds around the Company were quickly recovering from their shock. The looks of surprise were being replaced by looks of awe, admiration ... and loyalty, and a firing bloodlust, as they began to nod at their chieftain's words.

Spoiler: OOC

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What do you do?

[jdizzlean]

Watching the immediate change come over not just the chieftain, but also the gathered mass of lizardlings, Akara nods in acknowledgement. Seeing the wriggling kobolds immediately working themselves into a froth, she absently shifts her belt knife in and out of the sheath in equal anticipation of the coming fight.

Spoiler: message

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its a fight we'll have friends, it seems like our side has been chosen for us, it's either jump into battle with the chief, or fight them all. Might as well ride the wave you're given

[bcool999]

Kuros nods at the chief's actions, pleased that he won't need to slaughter the resident tribe. It also looks like the tribe's shaman position will be soon opening up for Ruk to take if he wishes to. Drawing his hammer, new cleaver, and longsword, Kuros says speaking first in Draconic before switching back to common for the party, "Lead the way. Let's pay a visit to the shaman."

[Zombulian]

Ruk grinned and grasped the Chief’s free hand between his two clawed fists.
“We’re with you, honored one.”

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann nods, a grim expression on his face. "Very well," he says, giving a respectful bow towards the Chieftain. "By your decree, the shaman Tartuk shall fall."

[jdizzlean]

Akara turns to those kobolds closest to her

Spoiler: draconic

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well friends, it seems the usurper dies this day, tell me what you know of his weak magic, that we might crush him and his cronies underfoot!

[Saintheart]

High Noon, The Sootscale Caverns, the Stolen Lands
Twenty-second of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Complication Dice 5 of 6

The kobolds didn’t seem to hear Akara’s question and didn’t wait around for a reply. On Ruk’s words, the chieftain gave an ear-piercing shriek and ran from the room, the band of kobolds behind him. The Company hurriedly came jogging in their wake.

The journey didn’t take long. A couple of dark tunnels and they emerged into another large cavern. The walls were decorated by a rickety wooden frame formed from clean-cut branches lashed together with gut and twine. Banners cut from two-foot-wide strips of old blankets and horsehides hung from floor to ceiling, covering much of the walls. The sloppily painted banners bore dozens of primitive icons and mystic symbols. A large cauldron filled with bubbling red liquid boiled in the centre of the room.

And behind it, skittering backward as the band of angry kobolds came storming in, was Tartuk. The seeming-shaman of the Sootscale tribe was dressed in a similar-looking feathered headdress to that of the chieftain, but his scales were a glittering purple that Ruk had never seen on a kobold before, not in all his travels – and indeed for any of the Company who’d run into them before, the colouration was very unusual. He had pouches dangling from his belt, though, and a sickle at his side – and there was no doubting the look of fierce, hostile intelligence shining from his yellow eyes.

Despite the sudden roll of noise that thundered into the room, and even backing up somewhat, Tartuk did not seem to be overly frightened.

Which was when they all heard it, in their heads.
For what reason have you brought discord to my chamber, chieftain?
It was a voice like silk. No – like fingernails on silk. Like the noise of an axe in an abbatoir.
Even the chief seemed to take a half-step back at the sudden sound. But the chieftain’s blood was up and he raised his bone club, screeching in Draconic: “Because your death comes howling for you, usurping scum!”

And so it began.

Spoiler: Tactical Map

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Spoiler: Tactical Notes

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Notice the map is scaled up a bit, i.e. one square on the ground is 10 feet. But follow the grid references as usual and it should be fine.

Anyway, straight into a fight here, no surprise round. And as said, we’re trying group initiative this time, which falls out as follows on my rolls:

Dergosh acts first.
Tartuk the shaman acts second.
Korlann, Akara, Three, Kuros, Ruk all act third.
The chieftain of the Sootscale and his kobolds act last.

Yes, Tartuk just used telepathy on everyone in the room.

As a reminder for how group initiative works: no need to post in order, you just post when it's your turn. In this case, there's a 48 hour time limit for Dergosh to act. If nothing by then, he flips down to the rest of the party by default and Tartuk gets his turn.

Then, once Tartuk (me) has posted an update, rest of party has 48 hours to post actions or be caught standing.

Lastly, for Akara and Three: there’s something not right here on either spellcaster’s experience. Three’s files, and Akara’s memories, are indicating a large disconnect between how Tartuk is presenting himself right now and what traditionally are the accoutrements of a divine spellcaster.