imp

Dolen Rask

Dolen sets the pole like a bier on a downhill corner — ferrule first, both hands, no wobble. He does not wait for the others. "On three. One. Two." He drives the bronze end into the nearest gloop.

DM

The bronze ferrule punches through the nearest guard. Its black, boneless shape folds around the pole, slides free, and lies still. Gloop guard 1 is dead.

DM

The three surviving guards recoil from the skewered corpse. Their nerve breaks; they bound out of the prison together, shrilling an alarm into the shrine.