The journey back to Burgtonburyville was not a pleasant one for Brazen Blusterfuss. She'd immediately realized that walking with her normal exaggerated bounce would cause an intolerable amount of chafing, as she wore nothing beneath the very tight chainmail shirt she'd borrowed from Blacksash. But as it was the only clothing available, she walked slowly and measuredly, and bore the discomfort.
The next morning, after she'd used a healing surge to counter the chafing, and stolen a bedsheet from their inn room, she returned Blacksash's armor. Eventually, at a local seamstress, she managed to exchange one of her daggers for a hastily tailored black muumuu. It wasn't armor, but at least it wasn't bloodstained paisley.
While she was shopping, Ominous brought Blacksash and Pothole to the Drunken Beholder. "Okay, Blacksash. What's your Charisma?"
"Eleven. Why?"
"Okay. Mine's thirteen. Guess I'm doing the talking. Our opponents are way higher level than we are. The only way we're going to get through this is by working together." He took a deep breath, and stepped into the barroom.
The Drunken Beholder was still crowded with PCs. Ominous took a moment to survey the room before speaking. He didn't see the druid Tarbo GreenThinger or any of his men anywhere. He cleared his throat.
"Adventurers!" he said, in his loudest, deepest, most mysterious voice. "May I have your attention, please?"
The room quieted as people shifted in their seats or stood to see who was speaking.
"We have a problem in this town."
"No shit!", shouted a shrill-voiced Tiefling from the back of the room.
"I think I may have a solution." With that pronouncement, the room quieted further. They might not believe in him, but they were willing to listen. These PCs were desperate.
Ominous explained the situation. He told everyone that they'd found the kobolds, but that they had 20 or death poison, and were guarded by some very high-level ogre warriors. He then asked everyone with a 17 or higher intelligence or wisdom to join him in the back room for some strategizing.
After hours of planning and negotiation, they were finally getting somewhere. The planners, besides Ominous Buttcrack, consisted of four clerics, five wizards, a druid, and a paladin. At first, they were interrupted constantly by the three drunk barbarians, who took turns knocking on the door to ask where the kobolds were. Eventually, they decided to have one of the rogues lead the barbarians on a goose chase in circles around the city for a few hours so the rest of them could talk.
The plan was to have the five rangers and the bard approach the keep on horseback, and lure the ogres away. They would lead them a mile south, to where the two druids would be waiting with entangle spells. Two other wizards on-site would offer assistance with grease spells or expedited retreats if necessary. While the ogres were occupied, a party of eleven rogues would sneak up from the side and scale the keep walls, trying to get in through the windows. Once the rogues were able to get the keep doors open, the three barbarians and the monk would rush the gates, holding it long enough for the bulk of the war party to arrive. It wasn't a bad plan, except for the fact that no one had yet come up with a strategy for countering the kobolds' poison. But it was getting late, and the barbarians were returning, their buzz having worn off. Perhaps they should sleep on it.