As he gets closer to the compound, he sees that the direct approach has been cleared quite a bit. It looks like he might be able to get a decent approach from the northern edge, though the dark, swift rushing stream is in the way.
Griffin works his way through the stone trees towards the Wolfskull Lair. Fortunately, the petrified forest yields a myriad of hiding places, and he takes his time. As he moves, he tries to keep an eye out for other possible approaches to the lair. He ranges east and west, even venturing to climb a tree or two. He ventures down to the river on the east side near where the walls come close to the water. Maybe they could sneak up more easily through the stream if it were shallow enough.
Of course, there was no telling how many gobbos were inside. Maybe they could lure some out. They still had the wolf cloaks. What if the guards heard someone cry out in pain and saw one of their own collapsed in the middle of the trail? It was cleared out down near the bridge, but up the hill it looked like there were some potential ambush sites. Hmm...
Griffin finds that it is quite difficult to get much closer. At best he can see where the “walls” of the strong hold turn corners and he catches a glimpse of what appears to be a second structure on the island to the south. The Goblins chose the location for the lair quite well, the whole area is filled with large patches of petrified bushes and brambles, some up to 5 yards tall and over 10 yards long. These rocky brambles prove to be completely impassable, though Griffin thinks he might be able to climb them, probably with a great cost to his hands and other lightly armored places.
Meanwhile, Draven, Remar and Marcel crouch in the shadows trying to regain their breath. After about an hour and a half, Griffin returns and tells them what little information he has been able to find out.
“I was thinking while I was checking things out. We did pretty good against that last patrol. Do you think maybe we could use the gobbo wolf cloaks to lure out another small batch? No telling how many of the vermin are in that place - if we try a frontal assault we’re likely to get swarmed. Not how I want the Saga of Griffin to end, really.
“No, even if we had the other three with us, a frontal assault seems like a bad idea. Not that going through the front door has to be an assault, if you see what I mean. Think we could get close enough to the entry without being seen to sneak in?”
From a distance, the entrance to the Wolfskull’s lair looks like a cave mouth found inside an even larger cavern. The whole petrified forest seems to resemble a huge above ground cavern system. The darkened cavern mouth is flanked by several torches and the entire entry way is lit up as brightly as can be. One dire wolf can be seen sleeping just inside the entrance. The stronghold entrance appears to go through one of the large, hollowed out tree stumps. The front facing of the tree has been carved away to make an entry way and the inside is wide and hollow. It seems to lead in and to the left, out of line of sight, though those areas too must be torch lit as no dark areas are visible. Any more intel on the lair will require a closer inspection.
“Well, we’re at the crossroad between finesse and surprise.” He slips through the stony landscape to get a glimpse of the lair. “If we’re to fight them, I’d rather do it in a hallway since we’re outnumbered.“
Taking on the lair seemed to make sense only if there was a chance to retrieve Stephan. Then again, Marcel questioned his motivation for doing so. Yes, killing goblins is a reflex that doesn’t requires a lot supplementary motivation to jump in. However, he never had entered a lair with anything less than a full-sized company. He feels a little uncomfortable on his ability to ensure the safety of his friends in such an unpredictable place.
A Spiritual Moment
“Draven, I’m not at peace right now. I think that I need solace. I am uncomfortable with the slaying of the prisoners and I fear that this will weigh on me in future trials. Can your gods appease this turmoil?”
Marcel is highly superstitious: he believes that if he is not a peace with himself, bad things will happen at the most inappropriate time. No need for a crystal ball to predict such times in the near future.
Draven looks nonplussed for a minute, not expecting such a thing from the young mercenary. He pauses very briefly, takes a deep breath and considers Marcel’s words.
“You’re a good man, Marcel, far stronger of heart than most who carry arms for hire. The gods sometimes test us, and those who have the harder time finding their answers are those who truly come out of those tests in the right.”
“Whatever you might think of Thyatians, even before we shared this land, Traladarans have suffered mightily under the swords and spears of subhuman monsters. The history of this land is one of regular hardship, more often than not caused by goblins and their kin. That alone would give you perfect reason for dispatching our prisoners back there. But in this case, not only did we give them the chance to help us in exchange for their lives - an offer which they rebuffed as you’d expect from a soulless monster - but when they did the gods saw fit to grant us the boon of their gifts in loosening the tongue of their leader. If we were so far in the wrong, would they have been so gracious to us?”
“Pray with me now, Marcel. Come aside, into the quiet, and tell me all of what burdens your heart. The Immortals grant solace to those that admit their faults and strive to rectify them. I can offer you their absolution.”
He looks to Remar and Griffin as well. “This is a gift I will offer you all, if you so choose. No man should go into danger with his heart heavy, or his soul in torment.”
Remar felt conflicted. Being a former slave himself, he saw that the prisoners’ decision to reject freedom as irrational. But that did not make their actions completely right. Sighing slowly, the mage puts his hand on Draven’s shoulder and nods. “I don’t see a reason to not share this gift.”
Draven makes what good he can of the space they have to themselves and listens to each of the men in turn as they tell their brief tales and provides them with the blessings that the church allows. Hopefully, this eases their spirits and releases their burdens some.
Griffin stands silent, not sure how he feels about this himself. Killing prisoners feels wrong, but killing gobbos feels right. He keeps his own council.
Seeing that Griffin is not yet ready, he approaches him last and offers “when the time is right, you will know. And the gods will be there for you. They have an infinite capacity for patience and care for every one of us. They’ll guide your righteous hands whether you’re ready to share your mind with them directly or no.” He finishes with what he hopes is a friendly, welcoming smile, all but aglow in his own personal faith.
As all this soul searching and ministering occurs, the loud sound of a dire wolf’s bark brings everyone’s focus back to the task at hand. Peeking through the rocky tree trunks, Marcel can see four dire wolves with Goblin mounts heading out of the lair. After crossing the wide log bridge at the entrance, they break into a run, heading up along the path that leads from the lair. One of the wolves slows and tries to stop as it passes near where the Grey Company previously left the trail, but the Goblin rider urges it forward with the other three.
Marcel makes a best effort to pray phonetically in Thyatian in hope that it would register with some higher being. Are they listening to a Traladaran? While he is struggling to convince himself to feel better, he notices the patrol leaving the lair. The goblin distracts the wolf from the Company’s scent. “The gods have spoken”, he thinks to himself.
“Draven, thanks.”, he says in a half-voice then pauses, “He received counsel while you guided me. These Gobs must go. Stephan and the others need us. We are the hand of the gods here. We must act.”
Four have gone out and will come back. We can barge in while they are not there, or wait in ambush for their return.
“I think that we should bleed them for as long as they are willing to trickle out. I propose to wait for their return and ambush them then. If more come out in force, we split into a rabbit force to draw them far and a agile force to slip in and retrieve the prisoners. The rabbits need not to be large, but dragging the horses away would be sufficient. Hopefully, we won’t need to split. ”
“That is my call unless someone can convince me that we can just barge in and achieve as well by brute force.”
“While I will never shirk from the duty, it seems smarter to find a way to whittle them down, or at least pull them out of their nest and reduce their advantage.” Turning to Remar he asks, “do you have any tricks up your sleeve that might qualify as flashy? I can summon those thunderbolts, and can wrack them with sound - it might even reverberate around in the enclosed spaces of their den - and can call on the voice of the gods when I need to be heard at great distances, but short of pretending to be one of their gods or some other angry immortal, I’m not sure how to capitalize on that…”
“Yea, if we can find a way to lure another bunch out, we could have a nice surprise waiting for those ones that just left. If you arcane-types can’t come up with something, we can always fall back on dressing Remar up in a wolf cloak.”
“Or I can go poke around more, see if I can find a way across and behind…”
As the Goblins and their mounts disappear up the trail, it is noted that the hour is probably well after noon and any type of action will have to happen soon or camp will have to be set within the petrified forest with no camping supplies or food, and with the scarcity of actual animals nearby, it may be difficult to find food.
“I hope you’re joking Griffin. As much as I always enjoy the occasional thought of being the alpha of a tribe of wolves, in another life, I’d rather not be one in this life. As much a farce at it is.”
He ponders the situation, his spellbook in hand. He motions in the air with his hand, “I could always conjure some fire, but maybe brute force isn’t quite what we’d like here.” Bringing his hand to his chin and closing his book, Remar mutters to himself. He then goes to take a look at the lair again. “Scaring them is always an option, but I’ll have to get relatively close and also use a fair bit of my strength in the process. If I’m successful, though, I can cause enough of a ruckus to grant all of you an ample distraction.” He looks to his comrades, “How does that sound?”
A Way In?
As Griffin and Remar discuss possible approaches, Draven squints his eyes in the strange shadowy daylight and points toward the lair, up near the top where the “roof” of the lair meets the “ceiling” of the canopy. “That looks like a hole there, and there,” the Acolyte points to a few places that appear to have good sized spaces. “I wonder if there might be a way to get up into the canopy above the lair. Maybe there’s a way in from there.”
Following Draven’s pointing finger, Griffin examines the possible flaws in the lair’s defenses. “Good eye, Draven. I’m pretty sure I can get up there. Can you guys get up if I drop a rope?”
“I think we can get down to the river on that side without them seeing us if we’re careful. Then slide across and up we go!”
“I could always grant some of us Flight. Is that something you would like me to do?” The mage motions over to the spot Draven pointed out.
“Whoa! You can do that? Fantastic! Let’s all fly over to the roof and check around for Stephan and any other prisoners. We secure that area and then work to clear the rest of the complex. Total air superiority - I’ve only read about such things in books! This is going to be awesome!”
Giving the Wolfskull lair a wide berth, the Grey Company maneuvers itself out and away, making for a spot a bit upstream from the entrance. The small stream is still quite wide here and swift moving, no other spots have been seen anywhere for an easy crossing. Either there are just no good natural spots to cross, or the Goblins have made sure of it themselves.
The water here is about 6 yards across. The water is dark and swift. The rain has picked back up again, ensuring that everyone, even those that might not enter the stream, will be soaked to the bone. The Goblin lair cannot be seen from here at all and the forest is thicker but hopefully there is a path through the closely packed stone trees.
Surveying the situation, Draven makes a face. “I’m a city boy, and my swimming is rudimentary at best. Any of you better in the water? I’m wondering if it doesn’t make sense to have someone go across with a rope or something to help guide those of us who’re less well equipped to make the fording.”
“Griffin, can you hop over to the other side and fasten a rope to a tree over there.”, he points to a nearby robust stump. “We should be able to get across with 1-2 ropes in relative silence.”
Griffin takes out his rope, and, tying one end to himself and handing the other to the strapping soldier, makes his way carefully into the swirling waters of the river. “Here Marcel. Just play it out slowly as I cross. This should be enough. Once I get to the other side, I’ll make it fast and you can belay Remar and Draven. Then tie it on yourself and the three of us can bring you across.”
Marcel looks down in the stream and kick a pebble into its depth. “You think that this water is safe?”
Marcel closely inspect the stream bed for evidence (or lack-thereof) of life.
Something Fishy Going On Here
The water is swift and cold, Griffin shivers as he steps down into the water. Marcel looks around and sees no signs of life on the riverbank, though he does see some small bits of vegetation growing beneath the surface of the water, similar to the moss and vines seen growing elsewhere in this otherwise lifeless forest.
The stream proves to be quite deep for its narrow width and within a few steps, Griffin’s feet have lost contact with the stream bed. Desperately, he kicks his legs and paddles his arms, trying to keep his head above water and moving for the far bank. The current tries to push him away from the Goblin lair but the rope helps keep him from being washed away.
Draven, no strong swimmer himself, frets and prays, knowing that he’d be in no better shape.
The young Thyatian manages to keep his head above water on his way across the stream, though he is being pushed downstream quite a bit. About halfway across the water, though, something happens. What he first thought was just the the water buffeting him turns out to be something more. Griffin feels a sharp pain, as if something were biting him under the water and he is surrounded by a shoal of small, biting fish!
 |
| Bad Fish! |
From the shore, it seems as if Griffin has suddenly found some trouble. As he swims, he begins to call out, confused at first, then in pain. The dark water around him becomes turbulent and several small fish can be seen coming to the surface or even leaping out short distances. Even from the bank, it is easy to spot the wide mouths and sharp teeth of these aquatic predators.
“Haul him back! By all the gods, get him out of the deeps!” Draven puts his shoulders into it, urging the others to haul on the rope and bring Griffin to safety.
Marcel tugs on the rope softly by firmly to get Griffin off to the wrong bank without him letting go. Pulling his knife, he prepares to shave off the fishes that refuse to let go.
The mage barely takes a moment to think before sensing the words of a spell under his breath. Feeling the spell begin to take action, he yells out to his comrades, “I got him! Deal with the creatures.” With his magic, he begins to lift Griffin from the waters and onto the shore as quickly as possible.
As Draven and Marcel begin to pull Griffin back, they stop and stare with surprise as their friend begins to rise up and out of the water. Several of the small biting fish attempt to hold on but quickly fall off and plop back into the water.
 |
| Marcel has not had a shave in a while |
Griffin floats over and is safely deposited on the far bank. He waves to his companions then stops and grabs at his armor, shaking and wiggling frantically. Another fish falls out and flops on the wet bank before he gives it a kick back into the dark water.
