@Ragoza @Hair @Excession @Sideris @Chaka
Spite seems satisfied in your general competence. "Right. Through here then. Keep an eye out for more of those cloth-wrapped freaks, they're silent as the grave without armour on..."
The tiny clockwork Melody buzzes ahead, scouting, and Spite leads, a solid bastard sword in one hand, the other orc an axe and shield, and the two humans taking up the rear, one with a bow, the other a short sword.
You pass the torture room on your way, probably the first time you've seen it with a clear head. The table is rusty brown with dried blood and various other substances, a rack of cruel implements starkly clean and polished standing next to it. Something you hadn't noticed before was the series of pipes and valves underneath the table, disappearing into the stonework of the walls. There is something beyond the gruesome look and dreadful memories of being tortured here, almost as if the room itself is looking back.
Beyond that is unknown territory, a maze of corridors, halls and rooms. Here and there one of the cloth-wrapped "guards" (Melody refers to them as janitors) tries to ambush the group but they are no match for the almost-dozen of you. Suddenly you find yourself on the battlements, or what's left of them.
The day is grey and overcast, the rain further reducing the view, but you can make out a small group of siege crossbows hammering other parts of the small compound. The bolts sizzle with lightning as they fly, and they hit with explosive force. A few recently dead soldiers and many more, much longer-dead bodies and skeletons lie strewn across the ground, part of what must have been the initial assault. Further in the distance, perhaps mercifully obscured by the weather, lies something very large, vaguely suggestive of a humanoid shape but almost 20 feet long, bristling with siege bolts still crackling with energies. The wind sends the stench of burned, long expired meat your way, and you cannot help but shudder as your imaginations fill in the gaps obscured by distance.
At the far end of the 2-abreast (or a single Orm) walkway, which flares into almost a small courtyard itself, lies the mage's tower, obviously in much better condition than even the undamaged parts of the compound. Perhaps 30 yards across and a hundred in height. A large doorway promises entry, should one get past its guardian- A hulking figure, an impressive Jotun by size and build, but skin sickly coloured and sagging, like someone long-drowned. It is unarmoured but appears to have extra slabs of muscle simply sewn into its already impressive bulk. It wields a great hammer casually in one good arm while the other is withered and atrophied, and possessed of far too many joints and overlong, grasping fingers. Its eyes are the milky white of the blind but nonetheless its head swings to look at the group. The human with the bow hangs back and prepares to empty his quiver into the thing, while the others advance.
Spite grunts and gestures silent orders to his friends, before saying "These things take a hell of a beating before going down. We'll hit it from the front and left, you have the rear and right to yourselves. Good luck."
The undead Jotun regards you without moving, until the first of you steps into the mini-courtyard. Then, it raises its hammer and lurches forward with more speed than you had expected, making no sound except for the clomp of its feet and the wheezing of air from ruined lungs.
@Ragoza
The other orc moves up to his position, but not before clapping you on the back. He makes a sort of clucking sound and opens his mouth- you can see his tongue was cut out, and an imperial brand burned into the roof of his mouth. Must have disrespected someone important. He grins madly and cackles, and is away.
[This is a Frightening creature, Everyone who does not possess the Frightening/Horrifying trait make a Will roll or be frightened for 1d3 rounds. Frightened characters cannot take fast actions and add a bane to attack rolls]