>>5440009The ghouls must emerge from opening like this—once-plugged, now-reopened entrances into the raw and unformed darkness outside of elven settlement. Anxious dog-heads skulk about, peeking out uneasily from behind pillars and from holes in the stone, ducking away from your banishing glare. As you and the Drow fan out and pursue them, they flee, often leaping with agility and athletic ability which their thin limbs should not provide.
Yes, you think you understand now…
As you proceed, you come upon increasing evidence of the Ghoul Supreme’s presence. There are piled bones, scattered effigies and broken-open containers which might once have held grave-goods. As you grow closer, you find the one-time contents: a small hoard, assembled into small pile or curious and haphazard displays and dioramas. The freshest bones are piles near to these, where the newest owner of the plundered treasures could eat while savoring their stolen wealth.
And there, at the centre of all of it, stands the Ghoul Supreme.
The creature is much like any other dog-headed ghoul, honestly… But for the size of the cranium, the massive saber-teeth, and long claws. It is now towering behemoth, such as you have faced and bested in the past. It is a small thing—barely taller than an elf, perhaps a BIT larger than a typical human man—and thin, except for its bloated pot-belly. It lingers in an uneasy half-crouch, and wipes some blood and other meal-filth from its gnashing mouth… And grins.
You recognize this grin-of-threat. You think you understand now why the elves and dwarves sometimes shrink from your own well-meaning smile.
“Monster,” the Ghoul Supreme barks, in butchered mockery of the derived elventongue spoken among the Drow. “Invades! Takes! Thief!”
The Ghoul Supreme slides down its pile of treasure, and the other dogbolds lingering nearby scatter to give it wide berth as it approaches you, standing up at its full height with confidence which seems, frankly, ill-founded.
“You not belong,” it snaps, and smiles again as—you the horror of your allies—a host of defleshed-but-fresh, still armed-and-armoured elven skeletons lumbers awkwardly from the shadows nearby, to surround you.
“You die here,” the Ghoul Supreme declares.
What will you do?
>Attack the Ghoul Supreme with your sword, and attempt to end this immediately>Attempt to negotiate this thing’s departure—there is no need for further bloodshed, and your force can EASILY handle its own>Get some distance by flying up, and draw your bow and arrows for aerial archery>Call out to the Junior Novice, and have him relay an offer of clemency—and food, and coin—to whichever dogbolds turn now against their doomed master>Light the area up with fire—damn this thing, its fellow dog-heads, its ghoul slaves, and even whatever elves are too slow or stupid to escape>Write-in 