bald_headed_yeti wrote:

[ wip ]

Turok shoves the torch in the assailant's face hoping for a distraction, giving him time to 
put space between the wildman and him. 

[1d20+1]=11+1=12

Pointing to the wildman, Turok barks an order to the pair,

"Get behind him if you can and knock him out, I have questions."

Turok reades his club for when the man gets closer.


 

Iron Ranger wrote:

The strange assailant ducks away from the flame jab! Moving deeper into the dark room.
The naked and freezing mutes grunt behind Turok, fanning out along opposite walls.
The unknown man's low voice begins muttering from the shadows - a pattern of dialect unknown to Turok's ear.
 

"Spellcaster" These words slip from Turok's mouth... 

Turok rushes forth knowing that to interrupt the spellcaster's attention might ruin the spell...

He enters the cabin torch first and attempts to batter the strange man.

[1d20+1]=5+1=6

[or not...]
 

The man manages to twist away as Turok trips over the bodies in his lunge. 
The mutes move quickly to pounce upon their cornered prey, but Ferrand is stopped dead in his tracks by th=9ptick, sticky strands of web streamed from the man's fingertips, holding him fast to the wall.

[ that'll never happen again ]

"Only if you stop using magic against us ... Are you ready to parley?" 

Turok lifts his hand to stay the mutes ... at least the one that's still mobile.

"What a revolting development this is..." Turok out loud to no one in particular.

Turok wraps the shivering mute in whatever is available ... [ I belive the bodies were covered in a blanket? ]

Carefully he uses the torch to burn some of the strands away from Ferrand after trying to cut them with his knife.

He then looks for someway to build a small fire and close the doors to try and warm up the shed.

Once that is [ or not ] accomplished he will search the bodies and the shed while keeping eyes and ears open for the possible return of the stranger.

Last edited by bald_headed_yeti (1/12/2026 1:56 pm)

[The bodies are clothed in leather armor.  The mutes are clothed in shredded underclothes.]


The webbing burns away easiest under the torch and Ferrand falls to the hard cold floor, now shivering as hard as Akeley.
Outside the back door the old man moans.