Rolled 15, 2, 11, 14, 17, 3 = 62 (6d20)
>>5342558>>5342602>>5342618>>5342629>>5342736>>5342889>>5342915You stand up, fixing your gaze upon each of the conscious survivors—the two Drow, the two Bogbarri. To your consternation, the bugbears are continuing in their looting—their former ‘friends’ and the dwarves. You suspect they’d have looted the Drow and Reptilians as well, had not the two remaining Drow Rangers been standing guard. You have half a mind to banish the spiky bastards back to the rock they crawled out from under… But then, with seven dead Bogbarri laying around you, having paid the ultimate price for this victory specifically FOR the right to loot and feast on the dead, you suppose condemnation may send the wrong message.
“You all performed excellently,” you instead say, loudly enough for all to hear—not that the Bogbarri can understand you. They throw you a strange glance, warily shielding their stolen aces and decorations from you as if you might take them.
“Good,” you say sighingly, in Dwarven—the only language they speak which you know any words in. They smile uncertainly, and nod.
“Stay,” you tell them. “Get help.”
To the elves, with whom you can more easily speak, you explain more fully: “I’m going to bring the Novice Fleshweaver. She is a capable healer. Do NOT move the Thief. He takes priority, but we will attend to you all.”
Without another word, you bound back up the way you came, to the surface once more. There, you find the Novice, attending to the minor minor injuries incurred by your kobold allies and other melee combatants in the fray.
“Come,” you command her, and so she does—without even any snippy comment. It must be in your expression, or your tone.
Despite the urgency with which she attends to your command, the Novice is no athlete, and the same thick rear which you have found yourself appreciating is no asset in trying to climb down the long shaft of the dwarven passage. Instead, you take her in your arms—something that DOEs elicit a surprised and affronted squeak—and <Jump> down to save time. At the bottom of the shaft, she sees the need for this hasty reassignment, and without the need for instruction she hurries to the side of the unconscious and brutalized Silkscale male. You resist the urge to pace, simply crossing your arms and willing you tail to dignified stillness rather than anxious lashing-about.
All you can do is wait
[3d20 for the healing effort
and 3d20 for other events, elsewhere, which will be touched upon next]
>>5342928[Paeris and Olu were Degenerates; Olu yet lives, and is actually doing pretty okay. The Thief is
/was a Silkscale, just one who has been dishonoured and branded]
