The Watcher

Avon keeps continuing through the passage, on his guard for possible traps.   He takes but a few steps, then quickly flattens himself against the wall, behind what cover he can find.  He hears a female voice talking to a male voice.  It is in a language he does not understand -- probably Orc, he guesses.  It sounds like she is choking on a handful of pebbles, occasionally spitting and clearing her throat.  But there is a note of command in her voice that is unmistakeable.

Then a small light appears around the corner of rock where he is hiding.  He sees a small, agile figure in a dark brown cloak.  It is holding a hooded lantern to light the way.  The figure appears at the spot on the map marked X, travels along the far wall (which Avon can see from the light of the lantern) to point X1.  The hooded person looks carefully out, around the corner, and then runs back down the passage, and finally disappears from around the corner -- where it came from.

Avon hears the female voice issue a few short sharp commands in Orc and then her voice and the sound of her footsteps get farther away.
Slowly Avon lets out the breath he was holding and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

[OOC : The outline of the corridor where the figure walked is marked also in yellow.  The approximate path taken from X to X1 is marked with a thin green line, but the exact path is not important.  But I'll keep the passage area black, to indicate just the small area that Avon can see from the light of his Theif's Candle.]

Myr squeals in fright at first sight of the burning L, seemingly convinced that he's going to sit up and wrap his arms around her in a feiry embrace. Visions of her long gray hair igniting and flaming it's way up to her skull send her screaming hysterically, and some primitive part of her brain kicks into high gear as she clenches her fist tightly around her nearly lost dagger.
"AAAIIIEEEEEE YAHHH!!!!!"   With her robe sleeve held back with one hand, she stabs at the orc over and over, letting loose with a string of elven and common curses (and some that even she doesn't understand), continuing until the orc stops moving.

Ven curses as his "acid" ploy fails to deliver a strike. But, at least, the Orc wasn't able to drive in and give Tav another blow. Ven realizes that he's probably going to need to use his magic right now or risk getting stabbed before the chance even presents itself. Ven looks about quickly for the best targets, noticing Myr first. That decided he casts magic missile--sending one bolt into Tav's opponent and one into Myr's.
        "Magic missiles please come forth,
        do my bidding, show your worth
        by striking down these two Orcs,
        skewer them with magical forks!"
With that, Ven unleases the spell. "A little more eloquent than the last spell, at least," he mumbles to himself as he watches the effects of his power.

Myr bends over the burning figure as Veneron's magic missile slams into the writhing beast.  She stabs and stabs, ignoring the flames that lick at her hand when the dagger plunges into the beast.  Finally, out of breath, her hand covered with minor burns and orc blood, she stops.  It is dead.  She looks around, wild eyed and shaking, as adrenalin courses through her.

Veneron's magic missiles, of course, strike both L (now dead) and N.  The MM hits him N directly in the chest.  His body shakes and flops for a moment, then goes into spasm.  His bowels empty in the death spasm, and the foul odor of Orc Dookey [!!] is in the air.

[TAVARAK] With his enemy not attacking at the moment, the Bard takes a few seconds to try and put his now-useless left arm somewhere.  He tucks the left hand into his belt, and notices that the flow of blood from the arm in his armpit has not lessened.  Not knowing how much longer he can continue, he vows to himself to do what he can, as long as he can.

Picking up his sword in his good arm, he advances carefully and sideways toward the back of the orc that Sandros is "chatting with".

Quill is glad to see that she's drawn the orc away from Myr, and continues her attack. She cringes slightly as Myr again lets out a
scream, and she smiles wryly. Kinda ironic, she thinks...Myr acting like the stereotypical woman in distress, while a woman comes to her defense...
 
Now that she's managed to get into the fray, and she doesn't have another orc crawling up her back (at least so far), she gets more into a steady rhythm of battle. Her sword becomes a part of her as she moves to engage her foe, determined to see him dead as quickly as possible.   Quill quickly puts aside all thought of writing a sharp letter to the Women Adventurers International Federation [WAIF] compalining of Myr's screeching in mid-battle, and refocuses on the task at hand -- which is one nasty looking, largish orc.

Orc O is not fast, and his clumsy, but dangerous, swing with the spiked club is easily sidestepped by the half-elven Ranger.  Quill's return blow misses entirely, and only by the narrowest of margins does the Ranger avoid slipping to her knees as she loses her balance momentarily.

"Last chance, buddy..." Sandros says with a hiss, still pushing the orc back as well as he can. If he can keep him tangled up with the orc that's fighting Tav, it'll improve both their chances of surviving the battle, at least. "You toss down your sword, I promise I'll let ya live..." He grins.

The orc takes a very fast look around.  He hears Myridian's fierce war cry [!!!], smells the burned flesh, the eau d'Dookey.  He looks back at Sandros and throws his spear to the side.  He sits down quickly, and puts his hands on top of his head.  The orc is small (probably young, guesses Sandros) and frail.  He looks up at Sandros and says, trembling, in common, "No kill Dek."  He says it over and over, his orcish mouth struggling with the words and strange sounds of common.


Praying that he's not backing into a waiting blade Andrew desperately fights for his life. Knowing that he is overmatched worries him a bit but he draws a little hope from the fact that he's managed as well as he has. Also knowing that to be seperated from his friends will probably mean his death Andrew stands firm this round. Sending a flurry of attacks at the giant orc in order to push him back a little(he hopes) Andrew battles with all his heart. Attempting to trick his oversized foe Andrew begins glancing over the big beasts shoulder as though someone is right there about to help him out. Giving a quick nod to his imaginary partner Andrew presses extra hard to builds on the impression that the orc is about to feel a blade in his back. "Dear Goddess I hope that one of them is free soon", is the thought running wild in Andrew's mind.

[DAGGDA]  The dwarf looks down at the clumsy orc (I) collapsed next to his now-dead companion (J). "I'll have to slit his throat later," thinks Daggda. The acrid smell of foul orc-blood both in the air and splattered on the dwarf's chain mail is as intoxicating as the most delicate of elven perfumes. Daggda bellows, "Sargh wurgym! Now you know I am Daggda, daul of Grim the Orc-Mauler!"

With frenzied blood the Acolyte of Moradin scans the development of the battle for brief seconds that appear in blurry slow-motion to the dwarf: Quill and Sandros engaging an orc apiece; two sleeping orcs and one burning orc in front of Myridian; Veneron and Tavarak fending off another as Ven begins another chant. Spinning downhill to face the seaward passage, the dwarf sees the backside of a very large orc (G). As Daggda makes a vicious swing of the pick aiming between the shoulder blades of the orc, a glimmer of cogent surprise enters the warrior's battle-dimmed brain: one would swear that Andrew had glanced over the orc's shoulder from within the tunnel beyond and nodded right at the dwarf.

The Giant Orc continues to press his attack against the Druid, towering at least 2 1/2 feet above the slender, 5-foot tall elf.  Andrew slashes and thrusts against the armored Orc, but he parries all those blows with such ease that Andrew judges his chances as very slim if the battle continues one-on-one.  But for all his skill in fighting, the oversized Orc is unable to get past Andrew's desperate swordplay.

Daggda has a chance to time a blow and swings the mighty pick-axe.  But the blow glances off the metal of the Orc's armor, doing no real damage.

Avon will carefully follow the agile woman figure. He is intrigued by her.  But of course, he will remain careful of traps and danger.  His first thought, as always, is to make sure he is not seen or attacked.

After waiting a few seconds, the figure, who Avon assumes is the female-in-charge, disappears down the corridor.  He goes around the corner and for the first time, his candle illuminates both sides of the corridor.  There is a  faint breeze blowing into his face, making the Theif's Candle flicker, and Avon can smell the distinctive odor of burning tar or oil.  He's sure someone has a torch lit up upwind of him, but he cannot see any light.

Tav looks around, and sees there really isn't much place for him to fight, at the moment.  He sits wearily, and begins to try and get his pack off his back, so he can get to his first aid kit.  He hates the idea of leaving orc O to be dealt with by Quill and Myridian, but Tav knows that he wont be of much use to anyone if he can't get the bleeding stopped.

With some difficulty, Tav wiggles his right arm out of his back pack and then clumsily maneuvers it over his numb left arm.  "Damn that orc's lucky shot!" He thinks.  But, never one to bemoan battle wounds, Tav sets to work to try and get himself into some sort of condition to help himself and the others survive this cavern.  He finds it surprising how unfamiliar and clumsy it is to do ANYthing with just one hand.  He braces his pack between his knees and gets the few first aid supplies that he always puts on top.

He considers trying to take off his chain shirt, but quickly realizes that he'll never be able to do it alone... and he's not sure that removing his armor in THIS situation would be a good idea.  He takes some of the clean cloths in his right hand and tries to get under the mail shirt and reach his left armpit.  It strikes him for the first time, that the fact that there is no real pain from this wound is *NOT* a good sign.  As his good hand gets to his left side, he is shocked at the amount of blood.  He manages to put the cloth in place and then holds his left arm against his body as tightly as possible.

Tav's mouth is starting to feel dry and he's starting to feel cold.  Both, he knows, are bad signs -- shock and blood loss.  No sense  trying to ask anyone for help at this point -- best to deal with the orcs first.  He'll be fine, he knows.  He leans back against the rock wall and tries to follow the action of the battle.

Ven doesn't waste any time to admire the power of his magic missile. He knows the tide of this skirmish is turning their way, but he doesn't want to let any of the sleeping or wounded rise up and change the odds. As he hurries toward M, drawing his dagger, he calls out to Myr, "Myr, if you're finished turning that one into a fine puree, get the other one there," he points to K. "It's only sleeping." Ven then turns his attention to slitting the throat of the Orc. Once finished he checks to see what Myr has done, afraid that she might still be pounding her dagger into the same Orc

Panting with the exertion put forth in her mad murdering spree of one, Myr looks around wild eyed until she sees Quill fighting with O. Trying to repay the woman in kind for saving her arse a short while back, she attempts to slip around (quietly this time!!) and stab O in the back with her dagger.

Quill growls slightly with frustration, and continues to press her attack. Her focus is only on her opponent now, as he mind sets aside the surrounding battle.

No matter how many times she used her sword to survive, she never did quite remember just how chaotic these battles could be. But more and more, she found it easier to keep her mind on the task at hand, instead of letting the distractions of combat get in her way.

Myridian slides with her back to the wall and approaches the fighting pair: Quill and Orc O.  She tries to get around behind O, but -- by luck or skill -- the orc stands in a narrowing of the cavern, and she realizes she'd never be able to sneak around him.  Thinking quickly, she realizes that it would take several minutes to go all the way around.  And then she wonders about the presence of the "others" who -- at the start of the combat -- let loose with a war cry from behind orc O [OOC: from the general direction of the green * on the map.]

Ven's sharp words cut thru Myr's ruminations.  She backs away from Quill's fight with O with a sigh.  Stepping gingerly around the still-burning corpse of L, she leans down, and slices through the neck of K.  It's hard cutting!  There's fur, muscle.  Finally the job is done and she looks down at the hacked throat of K with disgust to find her hand covered with orc-blood.  She shakes it, trying not to spatter *everything* with blood, and notices for the first time that she's managed to burn her hand slightly.

Orc O swings his spiked club at Quill,  and it lands heavily against the Ranger's upper thigh.  "Damn," thinks the Ranger, "I was just getting rid of the hideous bruise from the last fight."  Quill is staggered momentarily, but her instinctive counter thrust against the Orc is effective.

Effective may be too mild a word, actually.  Quill brings the sword in a great circle, counter clockwise, and chops down at the orc's arm.  She is amazed at the result and the feeling she gets from the magic blade.  When it fails to inflict damage, Dragon's Claw feels like any other sword -- perhaps more balanced, but nothing particularly special.  But when it strikes, it seems to become almost weightless in her hand -- or even like moving a stick through water --- effortless.

Dragon's Claw slices neatly through the heavily muscled upper arm of the orc.  Thru the leather of the armor.  Thru the muscle.  Thru the bone beneath.  It leaves a clean, almost surgical, stump as the amputated weapon-arm falls at the orc's feet.

She had hoped for a telling blow, but Quill is astonished.  She stands, watching, as if in slow motion, the arm falls, and bright red, arterial blood spurts from the wound.  In a corner of her mind, she hears the hissss as the spurting blood lands in the still-burning oil, some 10 feet away.

If Quill is shocked, imagine the orc's reaction.  He looks down at his arm, stares with empty eyes at the Ranger, and then topples slowly to the ground.  The blood pours from the wound, wetting the ground around him and puddling quickly.

Sandros does his best to keep a grim look on his face, instead of grinning in triumph. Reaching down, he grabs a hold of the orc by his bicep, and pulls him back to his feet. "Get up, Dek. I accept your surrender. Just get up, and do exactly what I say."

Keeping his sword held close to the orc, Sandros hazards a glance at the rest of the combatants. Quill looks to have everything well in hand, as did Myr and Ven. Avon was nowhere in sight, which wasn't a surprise. Tav was heading towards him, looking quite peaked, obviously wounded. Andrew and Daggda were having the worst time of it...but it looked to him that the two had things under control.

"Get up against the wall over there..." Sandros demanded, pointing with his blade. "And keep your face to the wall. I see you even looking my direction, you're dead."

Orc H stands, his left hand clutching at what seems to be a rather slight wound on his chest.  He seems to be in agony from the pain and wobbly on his feet.  He turns, as Sandros instructs, and faces the wall.

Knowing in his mind that he's been lucky thus far, Andrew thanks Najela for the help that finally arrives in the form of Daggda and the pick-axe the warrior wields. Facing off against the brute doesn't seem quite so intimidating given the time that has already passed and the help he is now getting. Forcing himself to keep his concentration high, Andrew keeps on the way he has been, a combination of hard attacks and fast footwork. Sooner or later the giant orc is bound to either slip up or notice that he's all alone against far superior numbers. Working in tandem with Daggda and keeping the monster between them they should each find openings comming easier and more often now.

The sweat is pouring off Andrew now as a testament to the energy he is expending fighting the behemoth Jarg. Hoping that the orc has a little more respect for him now Andrew continues to hack and stab and the large form in hopes of finding a way through the defences.

Unfazed by the luck of the orc's armour and encreasingly enraged that the attack did not merit the giant orc's attention, Daggda is pushed to try even harder. With undivided attention, the dwarf attempts again to bury the bloody tip of the pick into the orc's back, like some sort of giant can opener.

Jarg half-turns, placing his back against the wall and tries to deal with both Daggda and Andrew's attacks at the same time.  As he sees that it is a dwarf attacking from his back, he turns more of his attention that way.  He thrusts quickly at Andrew -- a feint that has the Druid jumping back in defense and then swings a mighty horizontal slash against the dwarf.  At the same time, he expells a large gob of spit aimed at the dwarf's face.

Seeing the Giant Orc turn his back, Andrew lunges forward.  After having fought the huge opponent for so many exhausting minutes, Andrew is bouyed by Daggda's presence and his scimitar lands between the bands of the orc's metal armor.  It is not a serious wound, but Andrew is gratified to see his scimitar tinged in red.

Daggda is concentrated on the task at hand.  The heavy pick is difficult to wield rapidly and prohibits a lot of fancy footwork.  The brute's dual attack is partially successful as the fetid gob of spittle lands on the dwarven warrior's cheek, drooling down into the beard.  Daggda's long hours of training pay off now, for the acolyte is not fazed by the attempted distraction.  The heavy pick pierces one of the metal bands, and as the dwarf jerks it free, it, like Andrew's weapon, returns with a bloody tip.

Wounded twice almost simultaneously, Jarg's vicious attempt at decapitating the dwarf misses wildly.  His eyes go up to the conflict beyond Daggda for an instant.  He turns suddenly, and rushes directly at Andrew.  Issuing a mighty cry, he bulls into the slight elf, knocking the Druid to the floor and runs past him, down the passageway. 

As he leaps over the sprawling Druid, he cries, in common, "Second wave.  CHARGE!"

"Where are those fools when you need them", he thinks, "you always have to do the hard work by yourself. No doubt that Tavarak is just sitting doing nothing." He sighs.

Avon realizes that he needs to keep his candle burning if he wants to survive this little adventure. As he holds his hand before the flame to protect it from the wind visions of him wandering through dark passage ways until he dies of starvation flash through his mind. But these mental projections are pushed aside rather swiftly by somewhat romantic and slight erotic visions of this leader type woman figure he saw earlier.

Carefully Avon continues in the direction of the smell but makes sure not to rush into any meeting. Also he walks slowly enough to turn back if the person with the torch is coming his way.

"No way, he is going to share any treasure with that bunch of losers this time. No he is going to sail the oceans with the beautiful blond half elf. Well maybe not sail, he didn't like the boat ride over here that much. None the less they will....", at this point his mind focuses on his surroundings again as he continues his exploration.

Myridian wipes as much blood as she can from her dagger onto the orc's still warm remains, and then stands shakily, her mind still whirring with her two recent kills. She realizes her hand hurts a little, but before she can inspect it, she hears the call of a second wave, and realizes with great horror that she doesn't even know where Flybreath is.

Twirling from side to side, and looking all around her, she cries out to the little fellow with her mind. "Flybreath! Sweetie, baby - where are you? Oh please, answer mama!" Altho there is no answering lizard thoughts, Myridian is sure that Flybreath is OK.  If he were hurt, she would *know* somehow.

"Corl ek!" Daggda shouts furiously as Jarg shoves Andrew aside. "Bluffing again...get him..." the dwarf repeats while passing the floored druid. As the dwarf chases down the passage after Jarg, a strange combination of common and what must be dwarven eminates in a furious procession from Daggda's mouth.

"Thought me a soft little rinn, did you? Um sargh-kul turned runk, HAH! Dok-orr shove my pick in your dongliz, ai!!!"

[OOC from Daggda: dongliz= dwarven for "parts of the body that are impossible to scratch."]

Daggda quickly passes out of the zone of clearly torch-lit cavern and into the darkness as the warrior chases the fleeing Jarg.  The dwarf can see the huge heat signature of the 7.5 ft Orc/Giant as he runs from the Acolyte of Moradin -- almost half his size.  But Jarg is not looking back.  He dodges to the right, disappearing around an outcrop of rock.  Daggda's short legs do not cover as much ground as Jarg's much longer ones.  And tho the doughty dwarf determinedly dogs the deserting desperado, the departing  devil disappears from view.  [OOC: His path is traced by the dotted green line on the next map, up to the point he disappears from sight.]

In the distance, Daggda can see the glow of torches from another room, and closer, while running past an opening to the right, the glare of golden sunlight from the setting sun accompanied by the pound of surf.   Looking quickly around, the dwarf can see no "reinforcements" lurking in the darkness, but the details of the cavern are dark -- black, cold rock walls against black, cold rock floor against black, cold rock ceiling.   Daggda can make out no details in those areas where no light falls.

"Second wave? Oh, now that's just great," Ven mumbles as he hears Jarg's cry. Realizing that he has strength for only one major spell left and maybe a few minor tricks, Ven starts rummaging quickly over the fallen bodies searching for knives or daggers. He tucks any that he does find under his belt to be thrown--probably poorly--later.

Veneron finds that each of the male orcs carries a dagger and a small coin pouch.  He scoops them up quickly and without further examination.

An amazingly happy look comes over Andrew's face, given the circumstances, when finally his blade bites into the giant orcish warrior. It doubles as he sees the dwarf's pick strike home too. So overjoyed in fact that the orc's charge at him catches him completely off guard. As he picks himself up from the ground to go after the beast he hears the threat of a second wave and hopes with all his heart it's a bluff. The he hears Ven call for help and turns that way. Not wanting Daggda to be caught alone he calls loudly over his shoulder as he hurries to Tav, "Daggda! Not now and not alone! Let me tend to Tavarak and we'll all go after him!"

Not entertaining much hope that the dwarf will listen Andrew hurries to Tav. After a quick look Andrew can't help but blanche at the sight. Wiping any sign of worry that crossed his face away and apologizing to Tav with a look he quickly begins to cast.

"Najela Mother to us all;
I cannot let this warrior fall.
Give me the strength so I might save;
not many a warrior is this brave."   

He casts his healing spell a second time, and is relieved when Tav indicates that feeling is returning rapidly to his arm. [OOC: CMW & CLW]

Tavarak sits almost helplessly watching the end of the battle, nodding his thanks to Ven for taking out the Orc with the magic missile. He struggles to his feet as Andrew arrives and begins his casting. Tav holds off until the druids spell is cast, patiently waiting for the healing warmth he knows will come from the spell. Once done Tavarak works his own words of magic looking at the fleeing Jarg as he begins his chant...

"Filthy beast you made me bleed
Now my magic you must heed
Lay this beast upon his death bed
Bolt of magic seek his head."

The words are formed in his mind...the spell ready to cast.  But the time required for Andrew to reach Tav and cast both healing spells has been more than a full minute.   Tav looks around... the fleeing Jarg now out of sight... and probably out of range for his spell.

Quill takes a moment to finish the job, stabbing the orc through his chest. She marvels at how easily the sword does it's work, and how little resistance the blade seems to meet when it strikes home.

At the yell for reinforcements, Quill raises her eyes toward the passageway where the other orcs are supposed to be, and she moves that direction, ready to take on anyone that steps out to meet her. She winces, but manages to keep from limping as she makes her way across the chamber.

Quill steps over the dead and bloody orc bodies scattered in the chamber, as she heads down to where Andrew and Daggda had been fighting Jarg.  Reaching a point near Sandros and Dak, she pauses looking down the passageway as Daggda dashes into the dark, running after the Orc/Giant.

Sandros, his sword still held ready, looks around frantically. Damned if they didn't use all their rope getting into the place; he badly
needed something to tie up his prisoner with.

Seeing Ven and Myr nearby, he debates on whether or not to leave the orc with one of them...but then decides that they'd probably just slit the poor fellow's throat. Sighing, Sandros tries to find enough cloth on his prisoner to slice away and use as a makeshift rope, glancing upward every so often to make sure no other orcs are charging into the fray. Sandros notices a coil of silk rope tied to the back of Andrew's pack as the Druid works on healing Tavarak on the other side of the cavern.

  Tavarak curses his luck as he watches the fleeing Jarg round the corner. Flexing his shoulder and arm he looks at Andrew "My thanks friend". Tav quickly gathers his backpack and reviews his options in his head. Silently debating Avon or Daggda, the choice isn't a hard one to make as he sets off at a run in Daggdas direction. Noticing the prisioner for the first time tav shouts out, "We need to question him about the whereabouts of the prince."

 Daggda curses and stops before the outcropping of rock where the tunnel  bends to the right. Obviously, there is a chamber beyond, and Jarg is in  there. But the orc is faster, and the dwarf is alone. The dwarf, panting  slightly, returns to what must be the main entrance to the caves where the  sun is now setting, and looks past the entrance for any sign of orcs or  dinghy boats. Daggda hopes Andrew told the others about the dwarf's charge  after Jarg; perhaps someone is following so Daggda can go back after the  over-grown piece of offal.

 Quill steps over the dead and bloody orc bodies scattered in the chamber, as she heads down to where Andrew and Daggda had been fighting Jarg. Reaching a point near Sandros and Dak, she pauses looking down the passageway as Daggda dashes into the dark, running after the Orc/Giant.

Knowing that Daggda might end up in pretty serious trouble if he truly is running into the second wave of orcs, Quill doesn't hesitate long. She rushes right after the dwarf, hoping to catch up with him before it's too late to help.

"Andrew!" Sandros calls out. "I could use some rope over here...I've got a prisoner." He waits to see if Andrew will bring him over the
rope so he can tie the orc up.

Really wondering where her little green friend is, but trusting her instincts that Flybreath is okay, Myr ambles over to where a portion of the group has gathered around the orcish prisoner.

She peers at him curiously while sticking out her tongue at Ven's squealing remark, giving him antler ears for good measure as he walks away."I could charm him," she whispers to Sandros, "But I really hate to use a spell with our not knowing how many more of his ugly relatives might be lurking about."

Sandros mulls this over a moment, and waits for Andrew to finish tying the fellow up. "I think you're right...better not waste it. At least not until we know what's going on for sure." He gave her a quick smile. "You alright? You screamed a few times..."

Ven watches as Tav follows Daggda, wondering whether the group is being divided only to eventually be conquered. "Well, Andrew," Ven states, shrugging aside his apprehensions, "I'm not exactly an intimidating sort of guy and I'm afraid that Myr here will squeal the poor Orc to death. I think that one of you more fearsome folk should handle beating the information out of him. Where's Avon when he could be truly useful?"

While not wanting to necessarily charge into disaster, Ven still has some energy left and there doesn't seem to be anything useful for him to do here. "I think I'll go see if there's anything I can do to help the others," he announces. Without further ado he trots cautiously in the direction that Daggda went, mumbling to himself: "Well, I'm sure that I can find somebody who needs a pot of scalding oil poured over their head, if nothing else."

Before he gets too far, he stops and picks up three stones and shoves them into a pouch. Then, with a dagger in hand, he continues on after his companions

The feel of magic coursing through his body momentarily exhilarates Andrew and he revels in the fleeting feeling. Nodding to Tav's offer of thanks and brushing it away as it to say "no problem", Andrew makes to follow Tav. Knowing that Jarg is one tough customer he begins to head that way when Ven grabs his attention with talk of interrogation. While he is very interested in the whereabouts of the prince he figures now maybe isn't the best time.

When Sandros asks after his rope Andrew heads that way and gladly ties the hands of the prisoner. Then seeing that everyone else is headed that way Andrew does too dragging the little bugger with his hands tightly tied out in front.

At the enterance to the tunnel Andrew pauses, sheaths his sword and gathers up his spear. He assumes that part of that lengthy spell from the dark tunnel was a dispel magic to render his trip trap useless. Andrew grins at how well it worked initially though and only shrugs that it wasn't more effective. After grabbing his spear he turns on the prisoner with the tip only inches from his throat and warns in common, "Don't do anything stupid or you're dead!" after which he pulls his finger across his throat. Then motioning the orc to stay quiet he heads down the tunnel in search of his friends.

Tav follows Quill down the passageway, the ranger holding Dragon's Claw aloft like a brilliant, white, glowing -- well... like a magic sword, actually.  Following a few yards behind are Sandros, Veneron, Andrew and the Dak, whose hands are bound by one end of Andrew's 50 ft coil of rope.  Bringing up the rear is Myridian, looking high and low for some sign of her wandering lizard.

Around a bend in the otherwise-dark cavern, they bump into Daggda, who is walking slowly back toward them.  "Gone into another room, I think.. over there." And the dwarf gestures behind.  "I was going to look outside."

So saying, Daggda takes a turn in the cavern and sees the setting daylight once more.  A dozen yards further on, the group finds itself at the opening of the cavern.  Daggda looks out to the sea, and runs a few steps forward, and then issues a stream of curses that are new even to Tavarak the Bard.  Tav is impressed with Daggda's familiarity with equine, bovine and orcish anatomy, and somewhat surprised at the combinations suggested.  Daggda was certainly not the peaceable, kindly, softspoken priest that Tav was used to. 

Out in the water, just beyond the edge of the breakers, rowing hard in a small boat, is Jarg,   alone and  heading down the coast and away from them.  At this point, he's only 20 yards out into the water, but it might as well be a league, thinks the disappointed Dwarven warrior.

From deep inside the cavern complex, the group hears a loud *GONG*.

Avon raises an eyebrow and scratches his head. Moving his hand first through his hair, recreating it to the usual mess, then along his chin. He tries to listen for any voices as he wonders where every one has gone. Suddenly realizing the situation he is in. Making sure he isn't walking into a trap he carefully moves towards the lighted area to have a look.