Hoard of the Dragon Queen [IC. 2014 rules]

***OoC:  what check to see if Draylin recognizes the runes?***

Elk Thislewick would pick his way through the throng to get as close as he can to the cleric's workspace.   A brief wind whips up and where a large elk stood... now stands a wobbley gnome with a goodly bit of blood splashed across his chest.   "I might need a moment with the healer..."  he falls over in a faint.

***OOC: I assume the runes are just in the giant language.***

On the way to speaking to the keep's leadership, Montar looks for any stone or metalwork that needs a quick fix.

Tam gathers herself, ready to talk to the Governor when the rest of the party is ready.

If Thistle is still keeled over on the road Draylin will help him up and make sure he gets the clerical help he needs. 

When all are tended to, Draylin is ready too.

Once you've all gathered your strength, you make your way back to the parapet. 

Governor Nighthill leans against the battlements, looking out at the burning streets. "The raiders have isolated the keep with encircling groups of guards, but they haven’t organized an attack yet. It seems they don't intend to storm the walls. I think they’re only interested in loot for now. The real danger is to the town and the people who didn’t make it inside before we were cut off."

As he speaks, a scout rushes up to the group. "Governor! Nobody from the Temple of Chauntea has evacuated to the keep. Someone must have barricaded the doors, but the temple is a massive target. If the raiders turn their attention there, everyone inside is trapped."

Nighthill looks to the party with a grim expression. "They need help, but the front gates are surrounded."

Escobert steps forward, jingling the heavy ring of keys on his belt. "If ya'd be willing to go, there's an old tunnel in the cellar that leads to the stream. It’ll let ya sneak out of the keep and into the town without being seen by the raiders at the gates."

Draylin 

The monk listens quietly, an expression of deep growing concern on his face.  "Lead the way, Escobert.  If the clerics have anything to help us, it would be most appreciated.  Our small band is formidable, but our healing magic is very limited,"  he adds.  

Tam pinches the bridge of her nose, unsure how she'd gotten herself into this level of adventure. In for a copper, in for a gold, I suppose, she thinks to herself as she checks her gear.

"This is going to make for one great story for the Times," she says, nodding to the team. She'd grown fond of these fellows who had saved her life several times in the span of just a few days. She almost thought that returning to the paper would be boring next to this kind of excitement. Just two weeks prior, she'd been a junior reporter, scraping for stories. And now look at her! Escaping from a raider camp? Defending a keep? Rescuing villagers? And now, sneaking past a siege through a secret tunnel? It was almost too much to believe.

Montar simply nods. "Let us go switfly, then. Is there a way past the Temple's barricades as well? If not, and we need to convince them, is there a surefire way to do that?" It is impossible not to notice the vanishing of his former brogue, as well as the further deepening of his voice and greater smoothness of his speech. Whatever happened to him during his meditation appears to have changed more than the appearance of his maul.

A cleric brings you a potion of healing before you set off with the red-bearded dwarf. 

Escobert leads you down into the cool, dark cellar of the keep, his lantern casting long shadows against the stone walls. He points to the stacks of crates and barrels lining the room. "The keep was built to last a siege. There is enough food here for everybody, provided we aren't here for months."

He stops at a heavy, iron-bound door hidden behind some grain sacks. "This tunnel was made as a way to help with a siege, but it hasn't never been used. Supposedly, it leads out to the stream."

He hands the party a large, rusted iron key. "Well, best of luck to ya."

The iron key grinds in the lock, and with a heavy groan, the door swings open. A draft of cold, damp air from the stream pushes into the cellar, smelling of wet earth and stagnant water.

The tunnel is narrow, forcing you into a single-file line. The stone walls are slick with moisture, and the ceiling is just low enough to make anyone tall feel the weight of the keep above them. Ahead, the lantern light only reaches a dozen feet before the darkness swallows the path.

What is your marching order?

Montar suggests that he go first.

Tam doesn't disagree with Montar. She tries to stick to the middle or towards the back.

Draylin

"I am well practiced in the arts of stealth.  I would offer to scout slightly ahead, working the shadows in silence."  He waits to hear what the group has to say.  If Montar wishes to lead, he bows gracefully and drops back a step to follow the sturdy, well armored dwarf.  Surrounded by friends, with a dagger in each hand, he almost felt sorry for the poor lizard lovers that first crossed their path.  

Guess that puts Thistlewick in the rear.  

Passive Perception: 15

"Can you all see in the dark?  I can but I would not wish to hamper others if they need a candle or torch... or some magical form of illumination."

Draylin

"The darkness is my friend," he says with a slight smile.  "No light is needed here."

Montar replies, "I as well. I have no problems with your scouting ahead, friend Draylin."

Tam shakes her head. "Just a regular human, here. I can't see anything in the dark..."

Montar frowns, briefly slipping back to his brogue as he struggles a bit to adjust to the sudden, magical, change to his mode of elocution. "Ye need ta see, lass, but we need not ta give ourselves away if there be someone waitin' fer us. Perhaps ye ken grasp onto me armor, until we exit the tunnel at least?"

(OOC: In case it is not clear, Montar is suggesting the order: Draylin scouting, then Montar, Tam (holding onto Montar), and Thistlewick. And no light in use in the tunnel.

Draylin

The monk offers a nod of acknowledgment before slipping down the tunnel. About ten feet in he slips slightly in a bit of moss, a word most foul quickly follows, albeit muffled under his breath. 

***Stealth:  9 - super lol   passive perception 15***