FH: The Waterworks Caper

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 5 AM – The Waterworks]

> “I think Laquendi would be the first to volunteer to be part of the
> Strike Force against Ecru, Cap’n.” Tramma pointed out. The silver
> haired elf nodded her emphatic agreement.

However, the Foreman barked a rather nasty laugh. “Fancy pants elf is
not listening. This is short term goal. Which means… right NOW. With
EXACTLY the team that you have, right here.”

“Here and NOW?” the elf asked incredulously, one eyebrow raised. He
glanced at the selection of the Abbot’s escort, and observed dryly,
“This is not the team that I would have hand picked for a subterranean
Dungeon Crawl.”

The Foreman waved away the objection, as well as the obscure military
term of art. “But this is the team that you have NOW. Upwinders are
wanting to be certain that Tall People really ARE committed to this
task, and want to see Tall People put skin in the game. By heading out
right NOW, and begin clearing the way to the exits Upwinders will need
to quickly carry Intelligence about SJE concentrations and movements.”

“After we see that map…?” Lomi asked hopefully. She was NOT going to
neglect a chance to explore new maps.

“After that,” the Foreman agreed. “And map will be yours to keep. So are
Tall People willing?”

“Can we see the map first?” Finfin interjected.

“Fancy pants elf is picky,” the Foreman sighed, and nodded to an aide
who presented Lomi, not Finfin, a rolled up map.

Carefully, the tall scout unrolled the new treasure on the nearby map
table, giving everyone a chance for a look.

“What’s the scale?” Lomi asked.

“IS no scale!” the Foreman replied breezily. “Will take Tall People half
a day to walk from here, at far southwest, to entrance to other Prison
Camp in far northwest. Or to last Ecru sighting in far northeast. With
many exits all needing to be cleared.”

“TWO Ecru’s?” Laquendi asked archly. “Surely one is more than bad enough.”

The Foreman shrugged. “Upwinders THINK and HOPE there is only one Ecru,
but has been seen recently in two places. Kobolds did not hang around
long enough to be certain.” All around him, his troops shuddered at the
thought. “So HOPEFULLY there is only one, at one or other location.”

“Crumble?” Lomi asked, peering at the map.

“Very nasty, very large Rust Monster,” was the Foreman’s reply.
“Annoying for shipping weapons to remote locations. Upwinders can
provide Tall People with stone clubs so you do not hurt your pretty
swords. Tall People armor,” he added dryly, “is where you are on your own.”

“Dhulokk?” Laurelin asked, her appreciation for maps and navigation no
less than Lomi’s.

“That accursed – literally – troglodyte high priest and his fanatical
congregation, All worshipping some two bit servant of the Fallen named
Kroll. Could just be a minor demon, and not an actual Maia.”

Laurelin frowned, and glanced towards the Abbot, and together they shook
their heads.

The Foreman merely shrugged. “Could be we have name wrong,” he added
indifferently. “They think it is some gross swamp monster that will let
THEM rule over Waterworks once the SJE project is finished. So
troglodytes hate ALL kobolds… and all hate them right back. But their
infernal church is too near a major access way, and needs to be cleared.”

“Gnarkill?” Finfin asked, pointing out another spot on the map.

Again, the Foreman cackled. “Saving that one especially for YOU, Fancy
Pants. BIG Troll Hunter. VERY bad news. And most ESPECIALLY hates elves,
though that not quite right. He considers himself a fine cook, and elves
his favorite delicacy. You will have fun with HIM.”

Turning back to the Abbot, the Foreman asked pointedly, “Well? Are Tall
People willing to head out right NOW and try to tackle some of this mess?”

All eyes centered on Abbot Kenobi. However, there was another
potentially awkward moment while the Holy Man withheld his wisdom.
Possibly wanting to fill in the unexpected void, the Keeryte Team’s
commander, absent her Ladies in Blue, stepped forward.

"I should scout ahead of the main group,” Laquendi stated plainly.
“Among my skills and equipment - and given the environment - this is
firmly in my areas of expertise."

Finfin frowned. “A deep scouting run is not worth the tactical risk,” he
opined. “And it would need to be a DEEP scouting run, given that over
half of the expedition are humans, needing light, and one in particular
is a tank.” Here he looked sideways at the still silent Abbot. The
Belmakian High Priest might be quiet now, but clanking about in his full
armor in an underground passageway would be another matter entirely.

“So the core team,” the elven officer continued, “will be both visible
and audible to any local denizens for quite a ways out. Any scout would
need to be CONSIDERABLY far from the main group, which poses challenges
and risks not worth any incremental gain. Now, you most certainly DO
seem better versed at underground travel than certainly I am. So I would
instead recommend keeping that expertise back with the main body, where
you might be able to spot risks ahead OR behind us that I might miss. Or
even risks from above, or below, that might well let a leading scout
pass on by to better ambush the main group.”

The Foreman, perhaps irritated at his guests’ lack of commitment, was
inclined to be considerably more snarky. “There are things down here
that would eat EITHER Silver Hair up in one bite, if they travelled on
their own,” the kobold pointed out nastily, reading from a sheet one of
his attendants had handed him. “And would even give Strong Silent Holy
Man, fancy pants elf, and sinisterly smiling elven priestess a hard
time, if they were so foolish to wander off alone.”

Finfin blinked at the news. He knew that there was a “people oriented”
skill that would allow someone to get a, quote unquote “read” on a
potential opponent, and to determine a rough assessment of their
capabilities before the tedium of entering actual combat. Like most
“people oriented” skills, it was one he knew he lacked… but clearly
someone on the Foreman’s team possessed in abundance, and had slipped an
assessment of Team Kenobi to their Boss.

Finfin, himself, had already come up with a rough guess at the
Upwinders’ capabilities, though not based on any “people” skills he
lacked. Just from the degree of Arcane and Divine magic they well
understood, and had been operating on a rough ballpark guess at their
hosts’ considerable abilities. And whatever was down there was something
THEY did not want to tackle.

Lomi, however, had a much more practical question. “Are we talking just
the big nasties you’ve given names on the map? Or the incidental stuff
your patrols could NOT handle when they were clearing out what you
called the ‘yard trash’?”

“Both!” the Foreman exclaimed.

“Uh… do you have any of your scouts’ reports?” Lomi then asked.

The Foreman stared hard at the tall Yelti lady, and found himself
nodding. “That,” he agreed at last, “is a VERY reasonable request.” He
snapped his fingers, and another attendant placed a scroll on the table
in front of Lomi.

Carefully, the tall scout unrolled the scroll, and then looked
helplessly up at her fellows. “I can see it’s in two columns, but
otherwise, I can’t make head nor tail out of it.” Nor could she, as the
scroll was, of course, written in Iokharic.

Silently, Lomi offered the scroll to Laquendi, who could read the local
language. And as the dusky elf read the contents out loud, Finfin
pinched the bottom of the scroll between a thumb and forefinger, nodding
as his eyes took in the writing at a glance.

“Scouting report,” Laquendi read aloud. “First column is ‘yard trash’.
It begins with troglodytes.”

“Trog patrols,” the Foreman growled. “Acolytes or disciples of that
Damned Trog priest, Dhulokk. Kill on sight.”

However, Laquendi was struggling a bit with the next item listed under
‘yard trash’. “What,” the silver haired elf asked heavily, “in the Name
of All That Walks, is a Rowing Wolf?”

Finfin had much the same question, even as he imagined a crew shell full
of Huntress Pilinde’s favourite creatures, all with the end of a mighty
oar in their jaws, all working together in perfect cadence to propel
their craft through the water.

The question caused some confusion and just a little bit of
consternation among the kobolds as well, as they jabbered perplexed
questions amongst themselves. The Foreman stepped forward and peered
intently at the first column of the scroll.

“Typo,” he cursed bitterly, and those with Tongues spells running had no
choice but to assume that the curseword was a concept so vile or obscene
that it lacked translation. The kobold leader snatched a quill pen from
a helper, and carefully edited a single character.

“ROVING wolf,” Laquendi read the corrected list.

Lomi sighed “I hope we don’t run into any of THOSE down here. Pilinde
will be SO cross if we can’t manage to rescue any, and wind up having to
kill them instead.”

“You won’t see any,” the Foreman replied sharply. “Not if you leave
SOON. Our last patrol put down or chased out any just yesterday.”

Laquendi, by now, had moved on to the last two entries in the ‘yard
trash’ column. “I see lots of oozes, slimes, and puddings,” she commented.

“Which is also why you will want stone clubs,” the Foreman warned. “Do
NOT be making the Waterworks WORSE by chopping them into lots of pieces
with your pretty swords.”

“And the final entry,” the silver haired elf concluded, “is just one
word, all in capitals. With an exclamation. THEM!.”

Lomi and Tramma exchanged glances. “Uh, oh,” the tall scout muttered,
even as the kobolds echoed the word “THEM!” amongst themselves.
Curiously, though, they did not seem nearly as alarmed by THEM! as they
were, say, spiders. Instead, they seemed rather amused.

“Uh oh is right,” Tramma agreed. “Pilinde is always going ON about the
Military Industrial Complex creating these, and THEM! always finding
refuge in sewers, somewhere.”

The Foreman had no notion of what Druidic Lore the two Wild Women of the
Woods might be discussing, but his words confirmed their hypothesis.
“Ants,” the kobold leader stated flatly. “Giant ones. Though usually
showing up no more than a handful at a time, which our patrols
frequently handle, and would give Tall People here no trouble at all.
Just… do not be having a picnic out there.”

“That sounds like reasonable advice,” Finfin agreed.

Meanwhile, Laquendi had moved on to the next column. “Unsolved
encounters,” she began, reading off the column heading. She then looked
curiously at the Foreman as she stated, “The first entry simply says,
‘The Lost Patrol’. Could you elaborate?”

That also caused a fair amount of consternation among the assembled
kobolds, though this time, there was no amusement. Instead, several were
speaking at once, most lamenting the names of noble scouts who had once
been a part of this Lost Patrol.

The Foreman cut off the jabbering with an abrupt wave of his claw. “They
are NOT lost,” he growled, glaring at a collection of his aides who were
the likely authors of this list. “They have been found. Most of them, at
least. As wraiths, coming back to attack US. Very sad, having to put
down companions who are now life suckers.”

Abbot Kenobi and Galdis Laurelin exchanged glances. If there were undead
out there, the Tellic High Priest and Priestess would be ready.

Laquendi’s eyebrows, meanwhile, were furrowed. “This next to the last
line. Is it poetry with some inner meaning? ‘The sound of a hundred
marching feet’?”

One kobold stepped forward, and ducked its head towards the silver
haired elf. “No, Silver Hair,” it stated quietly. “Best literal
description I could manage. I heard the sound of possibly a hundred
feet, all tramping together in time.”

The Drow looked sceptically at the kobold. “That hardly seems likely
down here,” she mused. “Given how echoes can propagate underground, it
would make any sort of accurate count by sound alone most difficult.”

“Kobold KNOW about sounds and echoes,” the scaly creature returned
hotly, and started to babble off several detailed facts and figures
about echo propagation based on interior cave volume and composition. He
clearly DID have, in Laquendi’s knowledgable view, a well trained grasp
of at least this aspect of dungeoneering. Ben, too, nodded. He prided
himself in being well versed in MANY academic efforts – including
dungeoneering. And this kobold’s grasp of the skill exceeded his own.

“Best guess,” kobold concluded, “is STILL a hundred feet, and not tiny
ones. With the POSSIBILITY of more behind, as synchronisation not
correct for other footsteps being an echo of the first. But with slight
disturbance of the still air suggesting that something BIG – or more
likely several somethings smaller – were approaching, we did not stick
around long enough to find out.”

“Any tracks afterwards?” Lomi asked.

The kobold gave a toothy grin. “That is what we are hoping Tall People
scouts will tell US.”

“And this final entry?” Laquendi asked. “Simply the word ‘ooze’ underlined?”

The kobold scout nodded. “As you are knowing, oozes and puddings leave a
trail.” Both Laquendi and Ben nodded their agreement. “But in one corner
off western northwest corridor, saw black pudding trailsign not like
normal. Whole floor covered in black pudding trail. Which means there is
one VERY active black pudding pacing about. Or several, weaving together
again and again.”

“A black pudding mating, or fission spot,” Laquendi mused. “Or…”

The kobold nodded. “One really BIG black pudding. Kobold scouts did NOT
hang about to see which.”

“Can’t be,” Tramma stated, perhaps more to herself than to the whole
crew, but her words were heard by all. And next to her, Lomi sadly
nodded her agreement.

At the looks of enquiry sent her way, the bard explained, “It’s one of
our buddy Pilinde’s statements again about refugees from the Military
Industrial Complex. But something’s not right here. Yeah, giant ants
would be perfectly at home down here. But something like The Blob?” She
shook her head, and added, “Pilinde says those go for something called
Bowling Alleys, and I’ve no reason to doubt her.”

Lomi cocked her head curiously. “Was that The Blob? Or Son of The Blob?”

“Does it matter?” And both Wild Women of the Woods shook their heads for
“no”.

“If there are no more reports to intake,” Laquendi stated bluntly, on to
marching order.” Nods all around greeted the dusky elf’s topic change.