Montar stifles a retort and waits for the raider to leave, watching carefully to see where he takes Tam. Then, as soon as he's gone, he squats, lifts his arms above his head as far as they will go, and jumps with all of his strength straight up (3 1/2 feet from the ground, so arms >6 feet above the ground I believe).
While she’s still on the ground, Tam grabs two handfuls of sand, hopefully without the raiders noticing.
[hopefully I can use deception because that’s higher, but perhaps it is sleight of hand. Either way I rolled a nat 20! That’s 24 for deception or 21 for sleight of hand]
Waiting for the opportune moment when her bonds are untied, she throws sand in the raider’s face and runs.
Amadeus watches, eyes glittering with anticipation, as movements are made, ploys unfolding. He decides to try something himself, a little divide and conquer, perhaps to give the party some idea of where their supplies are stashed.
So he begins crying over his vest again. He makes sure he's juuuust loud enough to fall within earshot of the man cutting everyone's binds.
"All this tarnish and dust! Ugh! All the fashion!" He stifles a chortle, doing his best to keep the act up. What he says is absolutely true, and the vest is a tragedy, but he was ready to lose it, if necessary. This is too important... "300-thread count fine woven silk! And you, you... you brigands have tarnished it!" He shoots the criminal an obstinate glare, playing the angery pampered act as best he can. "Do you know how much of my gold I'll have to spend to get this clean?! Do you?! Not 10, not 15, but 25! At least! Has a worthless mongrel like you ever seen that much? Unbelievable! That's all of my traveling funds! All of it!" Now for the cinch. "...And you bumbling buffoons have it all!" With luck, muses the gnome, he'll head right for my pack... and the missive.
Draylin plays opossum for a few moments longer. During that time, he tried again to subtlety slip his hands free, but to no avail. In a moment of calm reflection two things became painfully obvious to him: 1. He wasn't getting out of those ropes by himself. 2. Being "asleep" was no longer helpful.
With a slightly exaggerated moan and follow up groan, he wearily lifted his head. He squinted and recoiled slightly from the flare of the fire, glancing left and right as he pulled and squirmed against the ropes. He did this for just a moment, turning a bloodshot black-eye to the raider he said weakly, "I'll do my duty, sir." His head lowered again, hair falling over his face, although from exhaustion, defeat, or shame was difficult to determine.
Anyone that really studied the thin half-elf may notice an unusually steady, rhythmic pattern of breathing; not the short, rapid breaths of a person in panic. He hoped the men would not notice, as they seemed to think little of the "peasants" bound to the rough posts.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The raw-hewn pine stake had been driven deep into the muddy ground of the raiders' camp. Coarse, unraveling bindings of cloth and vines sawed at Thistlewick's skin. The snap and crackle of the assorted fires and the droning rhythm of the murmured talking, yelling, and whispers around the camp threatened to drown out his own thoughts. The scent of roasting meat and cheap ale filled the air; alluring and turning his stomach at the same time.
Thistlewick felt time running out as one captor went to saw on Tam's bindings. He thought he might be able to gnaw on the bindings around his ankles if given time -- however, it would be awkward and undignified with his legs and buttocks rolled up in the air while he gnawed away...
With a sigh, he looked about and saw how two captors were practically side-by-side at the moment. Thinking ANY action was better than taking no action, he muttered an arcane phrase and wiggled his bound hands releasing a well used and easily accessed cantrip. Druidcraft In seconds, he could catch a whiff of the skunky musk he had laid over the two raiders.
'Perhaps that will distract them enough to give one of us an opening...,' he thought to himself as he watched for the raiders' reactions.
Soon, the rope binding Tam's feet is cut, and the raider moves behind the pole to work on the knots around her wrists.
The other two raiders try (and fail) to divide their attention between watching their comrade, responding to Amadeus, and nodding at Draylin.
One of them turns his masked head towards Amadeus. "For real? Gold too? We'll offer it on your behalf to the Mother of Dragon, same as all the shiny loot," he snickers and without thinking flicks his wrist towards a large hide-walled tent about 40 feet away, half-collapsed under the weight of sacks, crates, and stolen goods. If your coin pouch survived the ambush, it is almost certainly in that tent, thrown onto the heap with the rest of the spoils (and your equipment), waiting to be sorted.
"That’s what I'm talking about," the other one says approvingly to Draylin as the deception pays off. He draws a dagger and begins cutting through your ankle ropes. Soon, half of the fibres are frayed and loose, weaker than anyone else's. "Earn yer keep and nobody dies. Let's get the half-elf movin' next."
He lifts a hand in a salute, "Praise be to the Mother of Dra–Dra–aaa–" and freezes.
Thistlewicksees the precise moment his druidcraft stench hits. The raider stiffens, then visibly winces. A gagging sound escapes through the dragon mask.
"…Are ya messing with me? AGAIN?!" he snaps.
His companion whips around."WHAT–? That weren't me–" Then he winces too, and you all hear him choking.
"Pickled apples again, eh, ya stink-breathing–"
"Oh shove it! You tryin' to embarrass me in front of the slaves–"
Their voices rise into a full-volume bickering, their attention completely shattered.
And at that exact moment, the final thread of rope around Tam's wrists slips loose.
Before the raider behind her can grab her arm, Tam twists and flings both fistfuls of sand straight into the eye-slits of his dragon mask. The grains pierce through the openings and he recoils with a violent snarl.
"GAH! You little–!"
But Tam is already on her feet.
And the moment she lifts her head, the reality of the situation hits her like a hammer.
Rows of campfires. Dozens upon dozens of moving shapes: kobolds swarming between tents, bandits and mercenaries hauling crates, cultists in dragon masks chanting or arguing, guards sharpening weapons, watchfires that seem to go on forever... Easily more than a hundred enemies. Possibly far more.
A maze of hide- and mud-tents stretches in every direction. 1. To the south, a very large decorated command tent stands out among the clutter. 2. To the east, raiders haul crates and loot toward another oversized tent. 3. To the west, the tents thin slightly, but shadows move there too. 4. Everywhere - firelight, noise, bodies.
And far beyond it all, the black walls of the plateau rise under a faint, creeping dawn.
"GET HER!!!" The blinded raider bellows behind her, clutching his mask. His companions curse and begin to scramble after her, more confused than coordinated.
Tam has one heartbeat to choose her next move.
Meanwhile, Montar has been biding his time. All three raiders are distracted. And the first raider dropped his dagger almost within reach of your boots.
You may attempt: - Break the post with brute strength - Athletics DC 12 - Leap and clear the top of the post - Acrobatics DC 16 - Loosen your bindings further — Acrobatics DC 12 -- If successful, then try to free your hands — Sleight of Hand DC 10
Draylin, you feel your rope have loosened a bit from all the pulling and twisting you have been doing. You can try to loosen it a bit more by contorting your frame (Acrobatics DC 10) with advantage, because the rope around your ankles has been partially cut through, and attempt to slip your hands free (Sleight of Hand DC 10) if that succeeds.
Lord Amadeus and Thistlewick, your distraction worked perfectly, no one is watching you. You are small and flexible enough to shift your shoulders so if you wish, you can try to loosen the wrist bindings too (Acrobatics DC12) and try to slip your hands free (Sleight of Hand DC 10) or attempt to slip out entirely (Sleight of Hand DC 15) if you get lucky. You can also cast another subtle spell to worsen the chaos (Stealth DC 8-10, depending on how flashy the effect is)
Montar takes in the same scene as Tam, recalling Draylin's likely accurate perception that they're all doomed unless something starts going their way. With a strength borne of equal parts anger and desperation, he flexes muscles made strong by countless hours at the forge and pulls violently not the ropes binding him to the post, but the post itself. (Athletics: 24!) The post snaps with a loud crack, breaking in two and freeing him to move.
Montar hopes that the chaos of the situation masks the sound a bit, and makes his way to the dagger. He picks it up as he attempts to free his hands. (Sleight of Hand: 5) Though he fails to free them, he does attempt to saw the dagger blade through them, to cut himself free that way instead.
Seeing quite clearly that the scat has hit the blade barrier, Draylin knew that the time for subtlety had reached its conclusion. He jammed the heels of his soft leather boots into the soil, pushed back into the post, and rolled his shoulders in opposite directions. He looked like a giant had rung him out like a wet cloth. Visually impressive (or disturbing) as it was, he managed to find a bit more room and worked frantically against the ropes binding his hands.
The coarse rope dug into his wrists, rubbing them raw five minutes ago. He could feel blood beginning to leak from the torn skin on the back of his hands. His left thumb popped out of joint, laying painfully flat against the palm of his hand. He was so close...
He forced his breathing to slow down. He recentered himself and tried to pay attention to anything else that could help the others as he continued to wage a long and bloody war upon a bit of rope.
***OoC: acrobatics: 15 Slight of hand: 9 ****
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The ropes bit into his skin, a cruel reminder of capture. Every muscle screamed for release, but Thistlewick's mind remained a calm lake, reflecting a single, burning desire for freedom. A subtle tension settled in his wrists -- a focus so intense it felt as though the very air around them thrummed.
Not with brute force, but with a quiet, persistent will, Thistlewick began his silent struggle. It was a battle fought in increments, in the almost imperceptible yielding of fiber against skin. The raiders, confident in their knots, saw only a bound figure, perhaps contemplating their fate. They did not see the meticulous pressure, the understanding of how rope and flesh could interact, the slow, deliberate work of freedom. It helped it was a mix of cloth and leather and plant fibers... Thistlewick had an affinity with plants of all ilk.
His gaze remained steady, a carefully constructed mask of neutrality -- nothing to draw his captor's attention to him. Meanwhile, beneath that unwavering stare, a different kind of fight was underway. The ropes seemed to protest, then acquiesce, their tight grip slowly dissolving.
With a final, silent flex, the last constraint gave way. The empty loops remained for a breathless moment, a convincing lie. Then, hands that had been captive moments before were free, poised and ready. He hoped he could work up another distraction to free his ankles and aid the others in the mix.
“A good reporter always ducks first and writes about it later!” Tam knew she needed to get away and to hide. But there was no where out here to do that. In the split second she had to make a decision, she ran towards the tent to the east, into the rising sun, and hopefully to a place where she could find some place the raiders couldn't find her. She hoped these other captives could handle themselves -- they seemed capable. And perhaps, together, they could figure out a way out of this.
But first, Tam needed to get to where she couldn't be seen. In a crate or a sack. Anything that would get their eyes off of her.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Middle Grade Author
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Montar stifles a retort and waits for the raider to leave, watching carefully to see where he takes Tam. Then, as soon as he's gone, he squats, lifts his arms above his head as far as they will go, and jumps with all of his strength straight up (3 1/2 feet from the ground, so arms >6 feet above the ground I believe).
While she’s still on the ground, Tam grabs two handfuls of sand, hopefully without the raiders noticing.
[hopefully I can use deception because that’s higher, but perhaps it is sleight of hand. Either way I rolled a nat 20! That’s 24 for deception or 21 for sleight of hand]
Waiting for the opportune moment when her bonds are untied, she throws sand in the raider’s face and runs.
Middle Grade Author
Amadeus watches, eyes glittering with anticipation, as movements are made, ploys unfolding. He decides to try something himself, a little divide and conquer, perhaps to give the party some idea of where their supplies are stashed.
So he begins crying over his vest again. He makes sure he's juuuust loud enough to fall within earshot of the man cutting everyone's binds.
"All this tarnish and dust! Ugh! All the fashion!" He stifles a chortle, doing his best to keep the act up. What he says is absolutely true, and the vest is a tragedy, but he was ready to lose it, if necessary. This is too important... "300-thread count fine woven silk! And you, you... you brigands have tarnished it!" He shoots the criminal an obstinate glare, playing the angery pampered act as best he can. "Do you know how much of my gold I'll have to spend to get this clean?! Do you?! Not 10, not 15, but 25! At least! Has a worthless mongrel like you ever seen that much? Unbelievable! That's all of my traveling funds! All of it!" Now for the cinch. "...And you bumbling buffoons have it all!" With luck, muses the gnome, he'll head right for my pack... and the missive.
(Persuasion: 16)
Draylin
Draylin plays opossum for a few moments longer. During that time, he tried again to subtlety slip his hands free, but to no avail. In a moment of calm reflection two things became painfully obvious to him: 1. He wasn't getting out of those ropes by himself. 2. Being "asleep" was no longer helpful.
With a slightly exaggerated moan and follow up groan, he wearily lifted his head. He squinted and recoiled slightly from the flare of the fire, glancing left and right as he pulled and squirmed against the ropes. He did this for just a moment, turning a bloodshot black-eye to the raider he said weakly, "I'll do my duty, sir." His head lowered again, hair falling over his face, although from exhaustion, defeat, or shame was difficult to determine.
Anyone that really studied the thin half-elf may notice an unusually steady, rhythmic pattern of breathing; not the short, rapid breaths of a person in panic. He hoped the men would not notice, as they seemed to think little of the "peasants" bound to the rough posts.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The raw-hewn pine stake had been driven deep into the muddy ground of the raiders' camp. Coarse, unraveling bindings of cloth and vines sawed at Thistlewick's skin. The snap and crackle of the assorted fires and the droning rhythm of the murmured talking, yelling, and whispers around the camp threatened to drown out his own thoughts. The scent of roasting meat and cheap ale filled the air; alluring and turning his stomach at the same time.
Thistlewick felt time running out as one captor went to saw on Tam's bindings. He thought he might be able to gnaw on the bindings around his ankles if given time -- however, it would be awkward and undignified with his legs and buttocks rolled up in the air while he gnawed away...
With a sigh, he looked about and saw how two captors were practically side-by-side at the moment. Thinking ANY action was better than taking no action, he muttered an arcane phrase and wiggled his bound hands releasing a well used and easily accessed cantrip. Druidcraft In seconds, he could catch a whiff of the skunky musk he had laid over the two raiders.
'Perhaps that will distract them enough to give one of us an opening... ,' he thought to himself as he watched for the raiders' reactions.
Soon, the rope binding Tam's feet is cut, and the raider moves behind the pole to work on the knots around her wrists.
The other two raiders try (and fail) to divide their attention between watching their comrade, responding to Amadeus, and nodding at Draylin.
One of them turns his masked head towards Amadeus.
"For real? Gold too? We'll offer it on your behalf to the Mother of Dragon, same as all the shiny loot," he snickers and without thinking flicks his wrist towards a large hide-walled tent about 40 feet away, half-collapsed under the weight of sacks, crates, and stolen goods. If your coin pouch survived the ambush, it is almost certainly in that tent, thrown onto the heap with the rest of the spoils (and your equipment), waiting to be sorted.
"That’s what I'm talking about," the other one says approvingly to Draylin as the deception pays off. He draws a dagger and begins cutting through your ankle ropes. Soon, half of the fibres are frayed and loose, weaker than anyone else's. "Earn yer keep and nobody dies. Let's get the half-elf movin' next."
He lifts a hand in a salute, "Praise be to the Mother of Dra–Dra–aaa–" and freezes.
Thistlewick sees the precise moment his druidcraft stench hits. The raider stiffens, then visibly winces. A gagging sound escapes through the dragon mask.
"…Are ya messing with me? AGAIN?!" he snaps.
His companion whips around. "WHAT–? That weren't me–"
Then he winces too, and you all hear him choking.
"Pickled apples again, eh, ya stink-breathing–"
"Oh shove it! You tryin' to embarrass me in front of the slaves–"
Their voices rise into a full-volume bickering, their attention completely shattered.
And at that exact moment, the final thread of rope around Tam's wrists slips loose.
Before the raider behind her can grab her arm, Tam twists and flings both fistfuls of sand straight into the eye-slits of his dragon mask. The grains pierce through the openings and he recoils with a violent snarl.
"GAH! You little–!"
But Tam is already on her feet.
And the moment she lifts her head, the reality of the situation hits her like a hammer.
Rows of campfires.
Dozens upon dozens of moving shapes: kobolds swarming between tents, bandits and mercenaries hauling crates, cultists in dragon masks chanting or arguing, guards sharpening weapons, watchfires that seem to go on forever... Easily more than a hundred enemies. Possibly far more.
A maze of hide- and mud-tents stretches in every direction.
1. To the south, a very large decorated command tent stands out among the clutter.
2. To the east, raiders haul crates and loot toward another oversized tent.
3. To the west, the tents thin slightly, but shadows move there too.
4. Everywhere - firelight, noise, bodies.
And far beyond it all, the black walls of the plateau rise under a faint, creeping dawn.
"GET HER!!!" The blinded raider bellows behind her, clutching his mask. His companions curse and begin to scramble after her, more confused than coordinated.
Tam has one heartbeat to choose her next move.
Meanwhile, Montar has been biding his time. All three raiders are distracted. And the first raider dropped his dagger almost within reach of your boots.
You may attempt:
- Break the post with brute strength - Athletics DC 12
- Leap and clear the top of the post - Acrobatics DC 16
- Loosen your bindings further — Acrobatics DC 12
-- If successful, then try to free your hands — Sleight of Hand DC 10
Draylin, you feel your rope have loosened a bit from all the pulling and twisting you have been doing. You can try to loosen it a bit more by contorting your frame (Acrobatics DC 10) with advantage, because the rope around your ankles has been partially cut through, and attempt to slip your hands free (Sleight of Hand DC 10) if that succeeds.
Lord Amadeus and Thistlewick, your distraction worked perfectly, no one is watching you. You are small and flexible enough to shift your shoulders so if you wish, you can try to loosen the wrist bindings too (Acrobatics DC12) and try to slip your hands free (Sleight of Hand DC 10) or attempt to slip out entirely (Sleight of Hand DC 15) if you get lucky. You can also cast another subtle spell to worsen the chaos (Stealth DC 8-10, depending on how flashy the effect is)
Reminder: your ankles are still bound.
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure
Montar takes in the same scene as Tam, recalling Draylin's likely accurate perception that they're all doomed unless something starts going their way. With a strength borne of equal parts anger and desperation, he flexes muscles made strong by countless hours at the forge and pulls violently not the ropes binding him to the post, but the post itself. (Athletics: 24!) The post snaps with a loud crack, breaking in two and freeing him to move.
Montar hopes that the chaos of the situation masks the sound a bit, and makes his way to the dagger. He picks it up as he attempts to free his hands. (Sleight of Hand: 5) Though he fails to free them, he does attempt to saw the dagger blade through them, to cut himself free that way instead.
Draylen
Seeing quite clearly that the scat has hit the blade barrier, Draylin knew that the time for subtlety had reached its conclusion. He jammed the heels of his soft leather boots into the soil, pushed back into the post, and rolled his shoulders in opposite directions. He looked like a giant had rung him out like a wet cloth. Visually impressive (or disturbing) as it was, he managed to find a bit more room and worked frantically against the ropes binding his hands.
The coarse rope dug into his wrists, rubbing them raw five minutes ago. He could feel blood beginning to leak from the torn skin on the back of his hands. His left thumb popped out of joint, laying painfully flat against the palm of his hand. He was so close...
He forced his breathing to slow down. He recentered himself and tried to pay attention to anything else that could help the others as he continued to wage a long and bloody war upon a bit of rope.
***OoC: acrobatics: 15 Slight of hand: 9 ****
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Acrobatics: 10 :(
Sleight of Hand: Nat20 + 3 = 23
“A good reporter always ducks first and writes about it later!” Tam knew she needed to get away and to hide. But there was no where out here to do that. In the split second she had to make a decision, she ran towards the tent to the east, into the rising sun, and hopefully to a place where she could find some place the raiders couldn't find her. She hoped these other captives could handle themselves -- they seemed capable. And perhaps, together, they could figure out a way out of this.
But first, Tam needed to get to where she couldn't be seen. In a crate or a sack. Anything that would get their eyes off of her.
Middle Grade Author