Immersive Ink

waysoftheearth wrote:
Before any decision is made, there comes an echo of a high pitched giggling, which is abruptly cut off by a very loud and solid clang!

As the reverberations of that noise fade, your torch flames flutter for a moment as a brief movement of chill air passes over you from the passage directly ahead.

sulldawga wrote:
Dorgan will silently stand fast, looking and listening down the corridor for a clue as to what those sounds were.

If you could see his knuckles, they would be white from him squeezing the grips on his weapons that tightly.

OOC: did the giggling come from behind us?

waysoftheearth wrote:
Mads cranes his neck, listening for a moment, as do you all.

"Whatever that was, I think it all lies before us," says Percy, gripping his crossbow tighter.

Dorgan is inclined to agree. It could have been the Goblin laughing... perhaps... or something else?

doctorx wrote:
Josiane swallows hard, the knuckles of her sword-hand every bit as white as Dorgan's. But the Vagabond Knight knows her duty and will not shirk from it.

"Onward and to the left as far as we may," she whispers; "Let us see what is so amusing..."

sulldawga wrote:
Dorgan will take Josiane's advice and continue left, on his way to find the door that will allow the party to free the girl.

waysoftheearth wrote:
Dorgan turns to his left and leads Josiane, Percy and Mads down the grim, narrow passageway. It is roughly 6ft wide and slightly taller. The stone work is rough-shod by Dwarf standards, but it looks solid enough.

Mads, at the rear, brings a sputtering torch to light the way in this dark, damp place...

waysoftheearth wrote:
Ahead now, Dorgan thinks that he spies another intersection in the passages, but before he can be certain a shadow in the darkness catches his eye. And then several. A cold shiver runs over his flesh as a repugnant reek comes over him, and the horrid figures lumber awkwardly into the torch light...

There might be two, no three, wait no... more of them. The corpses of slain Men with ghastly, festering wounds, somehow still staggering and shuffling forward, their heads hanging at impossible lilts. By the Gods! One of them has no head at all!

"Sweet Mercy," breathes Percy, behind.

The aberrations ahead moan, rasp and gargle horribly as they approach.

waysoftheearth wrote:
They are 60 to 70ft away, just entering the torchlight proper.

What now?

sulldawga wrote:
Dorgan will immediately sheathe his dagger and dig for a flask of oil.

In a slightly strained voice, he says, "Keep that torch ready, please!"

waysoftheearth wrote:
Dorgan's voice positively quakes when he remembers that he doesn't posses any lantern oil...