Phaendar's Market Festival is off to a rousing start. The first day of the seasonal celebration featured rousing entertainment, delicious food and spirits, and copious trading as people from all of Nirmathas arrived to celebrate the coming of spring. Any levity comes as a welcome reward to the rough, earthy souls of this riverside trade town.
As the sun sets outside, dozens of people head towards the welcoming glow of the Taproot Inn--"the Root" to locals. The two-story inn's walls are made of hewn timbers stained a dark green, all capped with a pine shake roof. A wooden statue of a rearing grizzly bear guards the front door.
Inside, a massive fireplace plays host to a warm fire. The walls are decorated with the horns of two dozen elk, and the bartender, a woman of mixed Shoanti and Varisian descent named Jet, greets her customers with a warm smile, an iconic teal scarf wrapped around her waist. Many people gather around Aubrin the Green--the retired Chernasardo Ranger-turned-Caydenite cleric--as she recounts bawdy tales of adventure from her youth. Outside, the celebration continues, as raucous shouts carry on the night air.
"So there I am, thinking, when will I ever be able to talk to a bear again?" Aubrin says as she moves about the room animatedly. Though the lower part of one leg ends in a wooden peg, it does little to slow her down. "So before the grizzly can stand back up, I turn to it and say, 'All I need is the honey. You can keep the bees!'" The room erupts into laughter as Aubrin finishes her winding story and takes another draught from her tankard. "But it's fine now. All's good. She named a cub after me. Someday I'm going to have to check in on little Ow Oh Gods That's Too Many Bees."
Aubrin gives a little mock bow before heading over to the bar. Other members of the crowd begin to share their own boasts and jokes.
Aramant applauded Aubrin and her story. He felt good in this little town - Phaendar had shown itself surprisingly tolerant with him, so far. As much as he could never avoid the side eyes and prejudice from one citizen or another, yet he was served in the inn and even able to banter with some of the locals.
For a moment he stopped to wonder if he'd ever settle down - ever find a place like that to call home. Maybe raise a family, chop trees for a living. He smiled at the thought but, in truth, it was something that seductively would pop in his mind and make the duelist consider his options.
For now, though, he was hearing the happy claims of a fulfilled cold tankard of good ale. He wasn't a devout of Cayden Cailean himself, but Desna - as a constant traveler, the Monarch was an obvious choice - but yet their morale was very much aligned and he went to the bar to try to pay another round to Aubrin and potentially hear another of her good jokes.
Rogar leans back in his seat, drinking a deep draft of his ale. He was incredibly thankful for this town, having taken him in so recently, after his own home was destroyed. It was good to have a place to recover from after his near-death experience, but he'd have to move on before long, hopefully with a tracker, to find the hobgoblins that had been responsible for so much devastation....
"Now remember what we talked about, Pele," Wulfram said to the red fox, which eyed him inquisitively. "No going in the fireplace at the inn! You're not allowed!" The fox looked away, avoiding his eyes. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, he thought to himself. During the last Market Festival, Pele had caused quite a commotion by going into the fireplace at the Taproot Inn and lying down amidst the flames. She was a fire spirit animal, and was quite happy in the hottest fire, but other people had a hard time understanding that. He could do without another round of questions and and talk behind his back.
Pele jumped into Wulfram's pack and curled up in her usual spot. It was no good telling her to stay home: she would just follow him anyways, and this way he at least knew where she was. Wulfram walked over to the Taproot Inn, which was close by, as was everything in Phaendar. This was a village where everyone knew everyone else, and talked about everyone else.
Wulfram was a bit uncomfortable in Market Festival social gatherings, where there would be quite a few people he didn't know. He was obliged to go, however, since this was when the smithy got a good deal of business, as farmers and hunters came into the village with implements to be repaired and new tools to buy. Kining Blondebeard, the Blacksmith, was less inclined than he was to observe social niceties, so it was his job as her apprentice to go to these gatherings.
Wulfram entered the inn and laid down his pack inside inside the front door. "Be good," he said in a low voice, bending down over his pack. He went to the bar and ordered an ale, then found an empty chair at one of the tables. Some visitors who weren't familiar with him stared briefly; he was used to it. At 6'6", with red hair and a full beard, and massive arms and shoulders from long hours working in the smithy, his unkempt appearance gave a bit of a wild look to him.
Eustoma enters the Taproot just as Aubrin finished her story. Her entrance would have gone largely unnoticed except for the large wolf who tried to follow her in the door. "No Sia. We've talked about this before. You aren't allowed. You scare people. Go hunting or something. I'm going to get dinner and something to drink. I'll visit before I go to bed tonight." The hafling trapper takes a seat where she can see through the doorway as it opens and closes, and waves for some food and drink.
Sia lays outside in full view to the door, and watches as Eustoma orders food. She sighs every time the door opens, and tries her best to look depressed and completely miserable in hopes someone will take pity on her and let her into the Inn.
The duo has been to town often enough the locals aren't concerned about a large wild looking animal in the village. At least I hope they aren't too concerned.
Jet smiles warmly as she serves up another round of cold ale on Aramant's coin. Aubrin raises her tankard to the tiefling in salute, and the crowd applauds as she gets to her feet once more. A few of the more bold patron push the retired ranger back into the center of the room.
"All right, all right! Don't shove," she slurs a bit. "Okay, Cayden strike me down if this isn't true—"
The front door explodes into flinders. A cry of agony pierces the chaos. Aubrin lies on the floor, gasping and clutching at the blood gushing from a wound in her chest. A ballista bolt still quivers in the wall behind her.
Two muscular, gray-skinned hobgoblins in military dress stand beyond the shattered door, blades drawn. Behind them, lit by the glow of burning homes, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of hobgoblin soldiers march the street. Phaendar burns, shouts of celebration now replaced by the panicked screams of the frightened and dying. Behind them, above the flames and humble rooftops, rises a tower of black stone.
Rogar: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Wulfram: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3
Eustoma: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7
Sia: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18
Hobgoblins: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11
Sia barks frantically outside the inn. She bares her fangs at the hobgoblins, awaiting commands from her master.
The soldiers brandish their longswords menacingly. "Surrender, you lousy wretches, and we will spare your miserable lives! Resist, and we will gut you like pigs!" one bellows.
The hobgoblins spend their first round making Intimidate checks. Sia delays until Eustoma's initiative. Everybody can go ahead and post their first round actions. You're all about 20-30 feet from the hobgoblins. Aubrin's sudden and violent injury has left her in a state of shock. She is effectively stunned and is suffering bleed damage.
Wulfram watched in horror as Aubrin fell to the floor, terribly wounded. His mind hadn't processed what was happening, but he understood one thing: his friend lay bleeding on the floor. He rose from his seat, knocking the chair over in his haste, and moved to the fallen ranger. He called upon the spirits of flame to heal her wounds.
Cure Light Wounds, Frontier Healer: 1d8 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 + 1 = 8
Sensing her master's alarm, Pele burst out of the backpack and raced across the room. She dove into the fireplace, instinctively seeking the safety of the crackling fire. She looked out from the flames, trying to see what was happening.
As a Flame Spirit Animal, Pele is immune to fire damage.
Aramant's eyes got consumed with rage. The Ironfang Legion!, he thought. Instinctively, his tail pulled his dueling sword and armed his hand while he pulled his shield from the back.
Oh, the Ironfang Legion, one would say? - he said, acting as he popped his sword to touch the shield - Such a mess, such a disorder. They fail in each attempt. A legion of weakling overgrown goblins!
Swift to arm weapon, move to get shield, standard to perform Inspire Courage; +1 morale vs. fear and charm, +1 competence on attack and damage
Eustoma grabs her hafling sling staff up from the side of the table, loads it and fires at the loudmouthed goblin. "I don't think so. I'm not going to surrender to become a slave. Sia attack."
Hafling Sling Staff, PBS, IC: 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 5 + 1 = 15
Damage: 1d6 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 2 + 1 = 6
Sia comes through the door quickly. She takes a bite at one of the hobgoblins.
Bite, IC: 1d20 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 2 + 1 = 15
Damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
Trip CMB: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18
Rogar roars, "You!" and unthinkingly hurls his tankard at the goblins. As he watches, though, it draws clouds of dust towards it, and by the time it reaches the hobgoblins, it's a decent-sized boulder.
Kinetic Blast: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 41d6 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Unfortunately, it misses the hobgoblins by several feet, crashing into the wall next to them. The dwarf is stunned, "Wha... Wha was tha'? Did I do that? Oh, thank Torag. Tha's wha' he meant?"
Eustoma's sling bullet knocks her foe back a few steps, but the hobgoblin's studded leather armor absorbs the force of the strike. He glares at the halfling, but whirls to face Sia as the wolf lunges at him. The animal's teeth tear at the goblin's greave, but don't quite pierce the leather.
Aubrin gasps as Wulfram's healing spell takes effect. The wound in her chest stops bleeding, but the cleric is still grievously injured. She tries to get to her feet, only to abandon her efforts with a cry of pain. "Have to fight," she groans.
The Root's patrons begin to flee in panic, running in every direction. Several follow Jet through the back door into the kitchen, while a few jump out of windows. One unfortunate man tries to rush past one of the hobgoblins, only to be cut down by a casual slash.
The first hobgoblin slices at Sia, trying to get the wolf off his leg. She leaps back to avoid the blade.
Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11, Damage: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9
The other one snarls at Aramant's mockery. "I'll show you who's weak, hellspawn!" He closes with the tiefling and brings his sword across in a horizontal slash, but the bard catches the attack on his shield.
Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18, Damage: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10
Everybody has +1 to attack and damage from inspire courage.
I will extend the performance for one more round. As a swift action, arcane strike
Aramant deflects with his shield and smiles.
Now that you blatantly missed, I can see clearly. Thanks for showing me who's weak! - and he laughs, as he adopts a typical duelist posture and advances towards the enemy with his dueling sword.
Attack (Sword): 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 3 + 1 = 20 IC
Damage: 1d8 + 3 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 3 + 1 + 1 = 11 IC, Arcane Strike
Attack (Bite): 1d20 + 3 - 5 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 3 - 5 + 1 = 13
Damage: 1d6 + 1 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 + 1 + 1 = 4
As the enemy passes close, he tries to bite as well - but misses.
Wulfram roared and moved forward to assail the hobgoblin fighting Aramant.
If Wulfram can reach the hobgoblin with a 5' step, he will draw is morningstar, step up and attack with his weapon, flanking with Aramant if possible:
Morningstar, IC, flank, 2-handed: 1d20 + 4 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 4 + 1 + 2 = 16
Damage, IC, 2-handed: 1d8 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 6 + 1 = 11
If the hobgoblin is further away, he will move up and attack with Touch of Flame
Touch of Flame, IC, flank, touch: 1d20 + 4 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 4 + 1 + 2 = 19
Damage, IC: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
Eustoma fires another sling bullet at a hobgoblin. "Everyone go out the back way if you can. Running past them is a very bad idea." she calls out to the other patrons who are not engaged with the enemy.
Hafling Sling, PB, IC: 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 5 + 1 = 13
Damage, IC: 1d6 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 2 + 1 = 8
If firing into melee -4
Sia moves to get between a hobgoblin and Eustoma. Then attacks with a growl. She misses snapping at the air.
Bite Attack: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
"Okay. So, mebbe..."
Rogar jumps up from his stool, landing fist down on the ground. He springs towards the hobgoblins, miming throwing a rock at the hobgoblins, and.... nothing happens. With a grunt of frustration, the dwarf tries again, and dust from the air coalesces into a stone arrow, launched directly at the hobgoblins.
Kinetic Blast: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 3 + 1 = 171d6 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 7 + 1 = 13
Aramant's blade slices deep across the hobgoblin's belly. The soldier bellows in pain and clutchees at the grievous wound.
Eustoma and Sia focus on the other hobgoblin still in the doorway, but neither manages to land a solid blow.
Rogar's blast is more accurate this time, but his foe manages to just barely avoid the attack.
Wulfram brings his morningstar down on the injured hobgoblin's head with a satisfying crack. The goblin groans and falls to the floor, blood pouring from his head.
The remaining patrons scramble through the back door, leaving the taproom empty except for you, Aubrin, and one angry hobgoblin.
"Get off of me, mangy cur!" the remaining enemy growls. He drives his sword deep into Sia's side, eliciting a pained whine. The wolf slumps and collapses, bleeding heavily.
Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24 Crit Confirmation: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
Damage: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10 Crit Damage: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Yikes, critical hit! Sia takes 15 damage, dropping her unconscious.
"You made a mistake, fouling this inn with your presence!", Wulfram bellowed at the remaining hobgoblin. He strode forward, making sure to leave his allies a clear line of fire to shoot. He aimed a powerful blow at his enemy, but swung wide.
Morningstar, IC: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 4 + 1 = 9
Damage, IC, 2-handed: 1d8 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 6 + 1 = 9
"I'd run if I were you!"
"Sia! How dare you hurt her!" she runs forward and strikes in melee at the hobgoblin. On the way she takes on the animal focus of the Bear. The tears in her eyes keep her from getting a good hit on the hobgoblin.
Hafling Sling Staff, IC, Bear +2 Strength: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 4 + 1 = 13
Damage: 1d6 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 3 + 1 = 5
The Hafling Sling Staff can be used as ranged or melee.
"Okay... Ah think ah've got tha hang of this now...."
Rogar breathes deeply, and rivers of dust and pebbles stream towards him. With a flick of his wrist, they stream towards the hobgoblin.
Kinetic Blast: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 151d6 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10
Move action to gather power, standard action for pushing infusion. If it hits, Pushing Infusion: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24 to bull rush, 5 feet only.
Aramant stops performing, and the effects don't linger. The good bard feels the need to help the wolf, yet he quickly prioritize things in his mind - he needs to deal with the other hobgoblin first. And so, he five-foot steps and tries to attack with his arcane strike again.
Attack (Sword): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23
Damage: 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 3 + 1 = 5 Arcane Strike
Attack (Bite): 1d20 + 3 - 5 ⇒ (11) + 3 - 5 = 9
Damage: 1d6 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 1 = 5
Confirm Crit: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
Extra Damage: 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 3 + 1 = 12
Aramant steps up to the remaining hobgoblin, his blade glowing with arcane power. The warrior turns to face the tiefling just in time to see a sword driving straight towards his neck. It slices open his neck, and he gurgles blood before collapsing.
Aubrin weakly raises her flask and whispers a prayer, stabilizing Sia and stopping the wolf from bleeding. She manages to get to her feet this time, then hands Eustoma a couple potions. "Get your friend to drink these."
They are two potions of cure light wounds.
The cleric squints towards the splintered remains of the Taproot Inn's front door. "My eyes aren't what they used to be, but it... it sounds like there's an army outside the door. How did they fall on us without being seen? These damn plains are so flat you can see an elk from two days off, let alone an army!" She winces and presses her hands against the bloody hole in her chest. "They sound large. Too large to fight on the ground like honest fools. We need to gather what we can, cross the bridge, and hide out in the Fangwood. I—I know a few secrets that may keep us safe. Should probably figure out how to take down the bridge while we're at it, else they'll just march themselves across before we have the chance to hide."
Each hobgoblin has studded leather armor, a light steel shield, a longsword, and a longbow with 20 arrows. One is carrying a masterwork backpack stuffed with a heavy crossbow (with 20 bolts and 10 masterwork bolts), eight clearly labeled potions of guidance, a magic wand, a scroll with three spells on it, and dried goat meat, sheep's cheese, and a jug of sheep's milk worth 5 Provision Points.
1 Provision Point is enough food and drink to sustain a person for 1 day.
A door leads into the inn's kitchen, and a staircase leads up to the second floor.
Wulfram looked out through the gaps in the front door to assess the situation outside.
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
He then looked through the hobgoblin's equipment to assess what was usable. Recognizing the quality of one of the backpacks, he transferred his own gear into the superior pack.
"I'm going to see what food I can find in the kitchen," Wulfram said. "We're going to need everything we can carry. We should gather the survivors and prepare to make for the bridge. Can someone check upstairs in case anyone took refuge there?" He headed into the kitchen to see what foodstuffs he could collect.
With his high strength, Wulfram will gain the most extra carrying capacity from the Masterwork Backpack, so I suggest he use it for now. He is planning to load up to a Heavy Load (350 lbs), carrying as much provisions as possible.
Careful, Wulfram. We probably should all stick together. - then, turning to Aubrin - I'm afraid for the people across the village. Maybe we could quickly navigate the houses, in the shadows, and try to free as many people as possible before crossing the bridge.
With that said, the Tiefling didn't bother about Wulfram using the backpack for now and smiled towards the Varisian. He showed the crossbow around, checking if anyone was interested in it, and if no one manifested he'd pick it up to use as his backup weapon for ranged attacks.
Finally the duelist kept his weapon drawn, but kneeled down to identify the wand and the scroll.
Detect Magic / Read Magic
Eustoma takes the potions of cure light, and moves to Sia, and feeds her both potions. Then she quickly starts to gather supplies. Things like water, food, and alcohol. Too bad there weren't any goblins with longbows. I could use those." she says holding up one of the bows.
CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8
Wulfram looks out of the ruined front door and sees chaos outside. Hobgoblins battle with townsfolk in every direction, and from the sounds of battle, the whole of Phaendar is under attack. Bodies lie on the ground everywhere, run through by hobgoblin blades and left where they fell. A wolf howls in the distance, its eerie cry echoed by the screams of the dying.
A huge tower of smooth, black stone rises from the town's market green. An ominous archway at its base seems to descend into the earth. Troops fill the green, a hundred soldiers of various races--mostly hobgoblins, but Wulfram also spots some bugbears, goblins, worgs, and even a minotaur!
Aramant's cantrip reveals the spells on the scroll: calm animals, cure light wounds, and magic stone. The bard is unable to identify the wand, however--he'll have to try again later.
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
Aubrin nods towards the tiefling. "Yes, we should at least check out the town's other primary gathering centers--Oreld's shop, the Trading Company, and the Riverwood Shrine."
When Wulfram opens the door to the kitchen, he sees the room in disarray. The back door to the inn hangs open, and a young, wiry hobgoblin soldier is tossing supplies off of shelves as he searches for hidden valuables. He turns to peer at the smith, his lip curling up into a snarl.
Rogar: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Wulfram: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
Eustoma: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12
Sia: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16
Aubrin: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22
Hobgoblin: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
Aubrin touches Wulfram's shoulder, granting him a minor surge of strength.
The hobgoblin eyes a nearby keg of water. He kicks it over and rolls at Wulfram, the keg smashing against the smith's legs. Though the impact rocks him back, he manages to keep his feet under him.
Improvised Trip: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (13) - 1 = 12
Wulfram has a +1 enhancement bonus to melee attacks, combat maneuver checks, and Strength checks for 1 round.
Wulfram yelled, "Die Scum!", and moved up, smiting the intruder with a powerful blow.
Morningstar, strength surge: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 4 + 1 = 25
Damage, strength surge, 2-handed: 1d8 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 6 + 1 = 9
Crit Confirm, strength surge: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 4 + 1 = 14
extra Crit Damage, strength surge, 2-handed: 1d8 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 6 + 1 = 10
Rogar, though he only has 8 strength, is still a dwarf, and can take a heavy load without affecting him. Granted, that's only 80 lbs, but it's something.
Rogar does his best to take the armor and weapons from the fallen hobgoblins, and follows Wulfram into the kitchen. When he sees the hobgoblin, he tries his newfound powers again, sending a massive rock at the hobgoblin.
Move into range, kinetic blast. I also forgot the bonus Hatred provided me before, so maybe this will actually hit for once!
Kinetic Blast: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 3 + 1 = 91d6 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12
Or maybe not. Then again, Wulfram likely 1-shotted it. I couldn't survive that blow, and I'm basically made of hit points.
Since the crit didn't confirm... Not sure if I can move to the kitchen too, after hearing the commotion - but either way I go after the enemy :)
Flexing back to when Wulfram looked out through the door (I posted in a bit of a hurry this morning).
"What in blazes is that?", Wulfram said as he looked out on the Market Green. "There's a great stone tower in the middle of the Green!" This made no sense; there was just grass there earlier today. "Hobgoblins everywhere — the town is overrun! We can't stay here."
Returning to combat in the kitchen.
"One more in here!", Wulfram shouted.
Sia bounds into the kitchen in an attempt to take a bite of the hobgoblin.
Bite: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22
Damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3
Trip: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10
Bite Crit Confirm: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
Damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
As Sia gets a solid bite on the hobgoblin, Rogar calls out to the others, "Le's go! We've got a lot o' ground ta cover, spli' up and find survivors an' supplies!"
Aramant moves into the kitchen and slices the hobgoblin's arm, landing a solid cut.
Attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Sia bounds forward and chomps down on the soldier's leg, worrying the wound.
Wulfram follows up with a powerful smite, cracking the hobgoblin's skull and dropping him to the floor.
The hobgoblin has the same gear as the previous two.
Wulfram looked out the back door, checking for more enemies.
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
He returned and started sorting though the mess in the kitchen, gathering up food for the difficult times ahead.
Much of the foodstuffs have been ruined, but there is still some that can be salvaged. The keg of fresh water might have been useful before the hobgoblin smashed it.
You are able to recover 5 Provision Points.
There don't seem to be any immediate threats outside the back door. Searching through the shelves in the kitchen, Wulfram comes across a dusty box containing two wands, two elixirs, and a set of juggling balls.
There's a trap door in the adjoining pantry that seems to be barricaded from the inside. However, Aubrin moves over and raps on it with her peg leg. "Jet! If you're down there, girl, the coast is clear. We've got to get a move on!"
After a few moments, the door opens and Jet emerges, along with four other scared-looking men and women. "What's happening? Where did those goblins come from?" the bartender asks worriedly.
"I don't rightly know, Jet," Wulfram replied. "There's a building in the Green that wasn't there a couple of hours ago! Some sort of evil sorcery is afoot! Gather what you can — we're making for the forest." Seeing the fear in their faces, he continued, "The Hobos don't know the area like we do. I know something about the woods, and Eustoma here is at home in the wilds. We'll be OK." He didn't know the halfling well, but he'd seen her every few months when she came into town.
"Maybe we can even look up Ow Oh Gods That's Too Many Bees," he added with a wink.
Rogar recovers the weapons from the hobgoblin, then jogs outside, trying to make his way quickly but quietly to the next place (whichever is closest of the Trading Company, the Shrine, and Oreld's), trying to get the others to follow, "Come on! We don' have any time ta waste!"
Going clockwise, next is the shrine
We should go upstairs, first, before moving. - says the Tiefling, organizing the stuff they previously found and identified - Unless you know it to be empty...
The last question went towards Jet and Aubrin.
"There may still be people up there," Jet replies.
"We should do a quick check," Aubrin agrees.
The Taproot's upper floor consists of a half-dozen rooms for rent of varying sizes. All of them appear to be empty, save for one, the door of which is locked.
"G-go away!" comes a frightened voice from the other side. "We're not going out there with those monsters about!"
Wulfram went upstairs to check if anyone had taken refuge there. When he received an answer from the locked door, he replied, "It's safe to come out. The monsters in the inn are dead! It's me, Wulfram, the Smith's Apprentice. It's important for us to leave so we can find a better hiding spot in the forest. I will protect you, I promise."
Can I take 10 here? If not:
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15