As the crew prepared to return to the cat-ridden cave, waiting for our be-hatted dwarven warrior to recover, a motley crowd of a mage and a fighter with their retinue turned up to accompany us.
A good army was needed as we planned to use oil and fire to defeat the feline foes, a retainer loaded with flasks was hired, and we set off, planning to set an oil trap between our rear guard and the barracks.
Our plan went awry at the start as the cat creatures had barricaded one passage and some guards hid behind, but we decided to take the barricade for our own and rush them, a fierce battle ensued with the chapeau'd one taking most of the pain, and our new mage surviving a wicked strike, and again our brave dwarf negated their gong alarm.
Our oiled up retainer descended the stairs and unwittingly opened what would be the chieftain's room with several adversaries beyond, they bravely, or foolishly, flung their sack of oil but this took too long to burst into flame and they were speared to death, but not before avenging the furred fiends by immolation of the highest order.
Once the flames had died and smoke dispersed, further investigation netted a hoard of silver, a shield and an axe of some renown, our brave dwarf, after forming a close association with the gong alarm, decided it would serve the fort just as well and we departed loaded with it and lots of lovely loot.
Sadly, a fateful cry of a prisoner was heard on our departure, the crew wisely kept to the chaotic creed that the gods help those who help themselves, and we made safe our return but not before igniting our carefully laid oil trap, as it would be a pity to waste.