THREE HUNDRED EIGHTY
(I/C)
The group hastily whispered to one another as to what the plan was and how to enact it. There were lots of ideas whispered but the consensus was two things: number of Hobgoblins we had to potentially face, and lure it/them into the hall.
Abraxas seemed pretty stoked about it. "Amigos, let's set up our own ambush. We hide around el corner to el Norte. Llamos a los Roberts y hacemos them come to us. Then, Señor Kocack y yo can hacer los Roberts mas muerte."
Wyn clapped Brendon on the shoulder. “Ok du Lac. You check out de room wit de mirror. We hide in the hallway to the north en stab, sling, shoot what comes around de nord way.”
“I’m on it,” he muttered.
Looking down at the floor, Lannis reached into his bag and withdrew a handful of leaves he had picked up some time ago. "Hey guys I've got a pile of leaves here, do you think that would help?"
Kovid pointed to the corner, “Yeah, Big Brain. Put them down there, anything to draw the Robert’s eyes away from where Brendon will be hiding.”
Sprinkling them on the floor and then moving north, he took out a dart and pointed back at his foliage, "I want those back when we're done."
Shaking her head and sighing in exasperation, Lyra hissed, “Wow, who decided this was a good plan? It’s like I wasn’t there when it was agreed upon.”
“If you’re not going to pay attention and moan about being an adult, you will miss out on these powwows, Princess,” Lannis informed her.
Brendon snuck forward, his light coin tucked into his shirt, hand over it to further mute its glow. There was a decent amount of light coming from the Hobgoblin chamber, though. He crept low and withdrew his mirror, turning it slowly at an angle to get a view of the room and its contents.
The front portion of the room was definitely set up for sparring. Wooden dummies, blunted poles and staves, crude practice shields and the like. The back half of the room had a 4 count of triple bunkbeds on the east wall, a large fireplace dominated the center wall, and on the west corner were some long dining room tables that had been moved to the corner, giving Brendon the thought that the size of the room and some of the furnishings let him think this was a dining room during the Ispan’s time that the Hobgoblins had repurposed for their needs. The fireplace was lit, and there were 4 torches lit in sconces around the wall.
The door to the west, leading to the goblin area and Smallpox was closed and Brendon thought it was closed all the way but could not tell for sure. Also, there were only 4 hobgoblins in here. They had removed the 2 doors from the hinges and had some hammers, saws, and planes, and were working on the 2 doors at this time. Even though they were working, they still wore their chainmail armor and each of them was sporting a well worn broadsword.
He stepped back and let the group know what he found. Getting the nod in return, he stepped further south and drew his short sword, back against the wall, head turned and looking north. Wyn had taken out his empty flask and the vial he had of oil, and clanged them together a few times, making a pinging repetitive sound. Pitching his voice a half octave higher and speaking goblin (Cha check, <Orange 1 – aced it), he called out in surprisingly real accurately sounding facsimile of their voice, “Ah! .... Hey strong ones!”
From the Sparring Room, the sound of hammering stopped and a hobgoblin called out, “Yeah?!” a bit curtly.
“Can one of you strong ones come up with me with this! Can't carry it myself... Don't want to be in this hallway alone... might end up like Starin!”
“Ugh.” The sound of a tool being put down followed and then the hobgoblin said, “Be right back. Take the plate off here and we should be able to remove the entire lock.” Raising the voice, the hob said, “Hang tight, Shrimpy. I’m on my way.”
“Cuff him in the back of the head for me,” one of the hobs called to the departing one, the entire group of 4 laughing. Without any concern, the hobgoblin sauntered into the hall and said, “I’m coming, I’m coming. What heavy assed thing are you moving about…What the fuck are these doing here? Clean this shit up.”
That was as far as he got as he glanced down at the leaves on the floor and then rising out of the shadows behind him, Brendon stepped out and lead with Alha’s sword (>+4 to hit, +4 backstab, Red 9), the enchanted blade slipped through the gap in his armor and pierced the hobgoblin in the kidney (1d6+1 x2 damage, Red 2+1=3x2=6 Damage!). “Ahh.. Fuck!” it gasped.
And then Abraxas stepped forward, the Morrigaan Scythe swinging at a downward angle (>+8 to hit, Blue 10), ripping the hobgoblin’s face wide open, followed by the sound of bursting chain links as the silvered weapon tore the armor apart, burying itself in the brute’s chest (1d8+4 Damage, Blue 5+4=9 Damage and killed!!) and stealing his voice as he fell over dead.
(Sense group/Trouble? White 1 – hell yeah!) From the room we heard, “Trouble. Plan Charlie. Execute. Let’s go ladies!” then the sound of drawing weapons and jogging feet. “Alerting Smallpox and his contingent?” one of them asked (1-3 yes, 4-6 no: Red/Black 4 – no).
“Negative. If we need them, we’ll call them. Could just be one of Dragongirl’s Walkers, or it could not be. Step to it.”
(Potential surprise?: Blue 4 – no)
Time now is Day 9, 10:00 AM
(OOC)
Ok, 3 hobs coming, on alert and ready. They opted NOT to knock on the adjoining door, so you have that going for you. What’s the plan people?
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