Seeing Beegred loosen his tied-together chain and realizing it was a good idea, Narstin separates his own chains again, leaving about 2 feet hanging from each wrist.  He grabs the end of each chain in one hand for now to keep them from swinging around freely.

Xilyra rubbed her wrists where her manacles had started to chafe. She produced an iron rod what could be used as a club, that she had managed to hide from the guards. "Ready when you all are. I'd rather not be here any longer then necessary."

Are we still trying for the guard station and weapons storage first?

Narstin's question is one that has nagged Tozer for hours. He sees the two standard drow guards in the tower and is very tempted to make an attempt at grabbing weapons and armor. He looks at Sarith and asks, "What do you think? What are the chances of overwhelming those two guards and fetching the weapons stored above them?"

Waiting for the drow's answer, Tozer puts the idea before the whole group. "If half a dozen of us charge those two guards, then we might stand a chance..."

Ferriman shoots a dirty glance at Beegred. “It’s The Nameless One. It’s not a nickname,” he says indignantly.

Ferriman moves to the chamber pots. He approaches one with arms held out as far as possible, his face turned away and his nose wrinkled, and pours the clumpy contents into the neighboring pot. He moves from pot to pot, consolidating the “liquid treasure” into one or two pots.

As he works, he says, “If we had fire, we could burn the webs in a spot above the river.” The halfling’s eyes move to Narstin. “I don’t need…” he pauses, and the disgust-contorted face yields to a stoic, expressionless one. “The Nameless One needs no weapon,” he says. “But if there are a pair of Tanbō in the stores--very short halfstaves--my efforts would be much more effective.” After the pots have been consolidated, Ferriman grabs the full ones and places them near the gate. 

He rubs his hands in the dust to clean them, moves near to Tozer and begins stretching his legs and arms. “I think we have no choice with those two guards. They have crossbows. I doubt they would come to us, at least not before help arrives.”

"Then we'll have to try to overwhelm them," Narstin says.  "Once we break down the gate, we'll have to rush them.  Anyone with magical abilities can attack from afar while the others try to overwhelm them."

"Wait," whispers Ferriman. "What if we get them to come here? Before we try to bust the gate down? Maybe even get them to open it?"

"We might be able to get one of them to come over, by how do we get both to come instead of one staying behind with his crossbow ready in case something happens?" Narstin replies, just as quietly.

Beegred smiles mischievously. "Sorry, Maneless One, I'll try to get it straight.

"I agree with Narstin. Any attempts to lure them over will give the guards a chance to shoot us with their crossbows, or yell for reinforcements. I think our best chance is to rush them.

"I do like the idea of dropping torches. Maybe burn a path clear of webs, discourage any oversized spiders."

The Nameless One tries very hard to suppress a smile as he glances to one of the brimming-full chamber pots. "I have just the thing," he says to Narstin. "Jimjar, can you translate for me?"

The halfling goes to the clay pot, and squats next to it, extending his arms, preparing to lift it. "Tozer, just give me the word." Ferriman tries his best to keep a cold, hard look about him, but there is something creeping in just beneath. Whether it's amusement or disgust, you cannot tell.

The guards haven't responded to all the shackles being broken or unlocked. Maybe they are busy with something else...

Beegred mumbles "strike while the iron is hot." He grabs the metal wire back from Tozer, and tries to unlock the cell door.

DEX roll: 6

(Edit: I'm assuming a 13 is a failure, so no need to roll for disadvantage.)

Tozer, according to his habit when things grow tense, begins whispering aloud. "Xilyra's ready with a length of iron...the young one's prepared the clay pots...the goliath has a flint shard...I have a poison-tipped crossbow bolt...and Beegred's making an attempt on the lock...Narstin's confident that spells can be cast outside this cell..."

He then looks at Xilyra. "Can you ask the prince...I mean the quaggoth... if he's ready to aid in breaking the gate? And, then, if he's willing to charge the guard tower with me? Please tell him the time has come."

Ferriman speaks up in a harried whisper, to Tozer, "No, no! Before we break the gate and alert them, let me try to get them across the bridge first. To our side! I may even be able to get them to open the gate willingly, with Jimjar's help. If we start assaulting the gates, they may just run for help immediately."

He whispers to the gnome, "Jimjar. I need you to translate me. If they don't respond to my actions and your words, I'll pretend to get mad, and you try to convince them to come cut off my toe." The halfling looks around the room. "If that doesn't work, then we all break down the gate."

"We need to pretend we're still shackled, though. All of us," he adds.

The halfling then takes a deep breath, pulls his pants down to the ground--underwear and all--and grabs the manacles from his shoulder and loosely drapes them over both wrists. He stoops again, lifts the brimming chamber pot, and turns very slowly to face the gate. Despite his slow movement, a bit of chunky brown liquid sloshes out onto his hand. After suppressing a gag, he says to Tozer, "Just say when." Then he bites his lower lip to steel himself. 

Tozer nods, looks at Jimjar, and in Gnomish says, "Help this halfling with this little ruse, and I'll cancel that one gold piece you owe me."

Jimjar shakes his head, holding up the shackles around his wrists, "Still wearing them.  I may yet get out without picking the lock.  That wager still holds."

Looking at Ferriman, Jimjar says, "But I like ruses.  Tell me what he's doing and I can maybe help?"

Ferry says, out of the corner of his mouth to Jimjar, “Say what I say. And tell them the new diet is probably to blame. ”

Then, with a face bearing a wholly inappropriate degree of dignity and seriousness, The Nameless One, holding his large bowl of other people’s shit and piss, waddles up to the gate door, pants around his ankles, and begins doing the pee-pee dance.

When he speaks, his voice has raised an octave, becoming timid and supplicant, like a child’s. It seems to come naturally, such a drastic change from the forced deep pitches with which he normally speaks that you suspect this is his actual voice. “Excuse me! Excuse me, guards!” the young halfling squeaks. “Excuse me, but they’re full! The toilets are all full and I still have to go some more! Please, let me dump it over the edge!”

When Jimjar finishes his translation, Ferry squirms his knees together extra hard for dramatic effect, and holds the pot a bit higher in the air to prove the point, tilting it just enough to slop a large amount of the brown soupy contents over the rim. With a loud and sickening splat, the medley hits the halfling’s feet, leaving a large puddle of chocolate-colored liquid and chunks on the floor. The nearby bars, as well as Ferry’s bare shins, are spattered chestnut.

Narstin backs further away from the performance, gagging. 

The drow currently inside the guard tower look at the spectacle Ferriman is putting on and in an uncharacteristic act, they walk up to the doorway,  move and shift things around and then shut a door that was behind furniture and other piles of 'stuff'.  The door is now mostly closed, leaving a little bit of the inner glow through, but it completely blocks sight into the tower from the prison cell, and vice versa.

It appears the drow don't give a shit.

Ferry looks over his shoulder to the rest of the cell's occupants, a confused look on his face. He shrugs. "What now?" he whispers.