No thug worth a pint of his own blood believes himself to be the baddest motherfucker in all the world , and getting your ass handed to you is merely a lesson to a wise thug. So we should not be surprised when the our protagonists reentered the castle the very next day. This time straight to level three, but in the opposite direction; away from the stone figures, away from the semi-functional elevator.
This was the direction of the animal headed foes, jackals, wolves and obnoxious cats who prowl upon the overhanging walk-ways. The thugs walked the long edge of what seemed to be the outermost wall of the castle until they came to a long corridor stretching back in towards the center of the castle. Down this path they come upon a familiar figure, so familiar mages often call them their familiars, a planar servant. This one in the form of a crocodile headed beast and cleaning some statues. Upon seemingly being spotted the thugs retreated to the head of the corridor to regroup and set-up a plan.
Soon thereafter a gigantic jackal-headed beast came charging down the corridor. Lug and the nameless half-orc with his grand glaive spotted it and propped their weapons to prepare to face the charge. The brute thrust himself unerringly on the uplifted weapons and was immediately rent in two equally lifeless pieces. If the beasts were so tactically unsound this would be a cake-walk, a phrase most the thugs believe means to be as easy as walking upon the cake of a child to ruin said child’s birthday.
There was here some scouting, some back and forth and a minor skirmish. To the best of the thugs knowledge they were contending with another jackal-headed beast and two of the pesky catkin. They waited for the brutes to come to them, meat fed into the phalanx grinder of spears, glaives, spells and one golden priceless mace.
This was not to be the case however, instead a crocodile headed beast showed its face next. It shuffled slowly into view seemingly seeking to communicate. Red Hand understood him to mean that by a simple spell they could speak to each other, but he did not know the intricacies of the spell. Through further hand gestures and crocodile yelps it was communicated that the spell would be taught to Red Hand, scribed into his spellbook if he would hand it over. Red Hand has of late become obsessive about acquiring new spells and agreed without hesitation. The transaction was done and the party waited for the beast to return.
Now dear reader, you may be thinking, ‘Well that’s a fucking obvious trap, why would a mage hand over his spellbook? These guys are crazy or they have an excellent plan set in motion."
Hint: They’re just crazy and they are in fact about to have a trap sprung upon them
END OF PART 2 – To be continued