We started this week with carnage – nothing particularly new there, but there’s something to thrill the senses about just how cinematic it all was. A large boulder had just knocked most of the party down or aside, and a hail of javelins was launched shortly after by the degenerate drow tribe living in the ruin’s outer colonnade. The joy of this combat was keeping track of the different heights that everyone was at – with the tribal warriors enjoying a significant height advantage.
The tribe were the descendants of the elven slaves of the giants who built this place thousands of years ago. Fully adjusted to living above ground, they posed a mobile but lightly armed and armoured force. They hoped to take advantage of their trap’s impact, but found the adventurers a tougher challenge than expected.
At first, things looked grim. Quilynn’s magic couldn’t overcome the drow’s natural spell resistance, fizzling out without effect. Then Bumperklart sprang into action, moving to intercept their attackers. His heavy armour proved too tough for the drow javelins to penetrate, and his superior training kept him moving quickly. Darmon was able to take out another couple of drow with lightning, while Keil’s efforts were mixed.
The adventurers were able to quickly push back against their attackers, but decided to pull back to the camp to rest afterwards so that they could recoup and their spell casters could prepare new enchantments. Ruin animated the dead troops that they had overcome previously to act as camp guards, and they piled into the flying skiff to sleep.
All would have been well, if not for the attentions of a dire tiger that wandered through the area in the early hours of the morning. The noise of two skeletons being crunched to pieces was enough to alert the druids, who happened to be on watch at the time, just as the tiger climbed up into the boat.
Dire tigers are a fearsome foe at the best of times – with hit points in triple figures, huge bonuses to hit due to their strength, and armour plating – but for a group of sleeping, unarmed adventurers it was a nightmare made flesh. Bumperklart took the full brunt of the dire tiger’s attack and barely survived, while everyone else leapt out of the skiff to the ground twenty foot below. Only their rings of featherfall prevented them from taking any injuries, while Ruin’s undead troops began firing their crossbows at the predator. We left the action there – in carnage, just as we started it…