DM Shisumo's Linear Fighters, Quadratic Hobgoblins Ironfang Invasion (Inactive)

Game Master Shisumo

While Jeb distracts the warrior, Bunko circles around and swings his hammer at the hobgoblin's knee.

Attack, flank, hatred: 1d20 + 5 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 5 + 2 + 2 = 13
Damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

Nothing doing. Lysander and Aerel?

The refugees continue to sprint for the north end of the bridge.

I'd like to retcon an action. Instead of stopping to pick up the heavy's weapon, he readies his bow, holding his shot to see how the heroes fare. Seeing the hobgoblin somehow blocking and dodging the attacks, he draws back. "Forget him! Let him follow us across the bridge if he must! Get across!"

Even so, he moves to the wrong end of the bridge himself, closer to the scrum, and calls out to the goblinoid in his tongue.

Hoping the hob stops moving to look at the one delivering the insult, but even if not...

Attack: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 4 + 1 = 16 Including Point-Blank Shot

Damage: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2 Sadness...

Taking Aerel's advice, Lysander sheates his rapier, then turns and runs across the bridge, yelling encouragement to the townsfolk. "Hurry everyone, as fast as you can! We have to go where they can't follow." Reaching the far end of the bridge, he turns back, ready to draw his bow and provide covering fire if necessary.

Aerel's arrow takes a small piece out of the hob's leg, but the last legionnaire is still standing.

From the south, a lone arrow flies out of the darkness and falls to the flagstones in an empty stretch of the bridge. It is an eerie harbinger of what is about to descend upon the bridge in just a few seconds' time.

The Ironfang warrior tries to deal with the obnoxious dwarf so he can be free to pursue the refugees without the reach weapon threatening him. At long last, the dwarf fighter falls.

longsword: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19, damage: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

T minus 3. Gareth stabilizes. You guys.

"Desna weeps, we are so close to free!"

He draws and fires again.

Attack: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 4 + 1 = 10
Damage: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9

Groaning in frustration as his arrow sails into the darkness, he moves to the fallen dwarf in hopes of dragging him across the bridge.

Bunko tries to block out the noise and confusion and doubt and focus on bringing the final guardian low, spinning his hooked hammer around, tearing the hook across his foe's gut.

Attack, flank, hatred: 1d20 + 5 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 5 + 2 + 2 = 19
Damage: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Bunko's hook spills the hobgoblin's entrails over the bridge stones, and he stares for a moment in utter confusion at the gnome before collapsing.

Jeb and Aerel scoop up Gareth and begin to run for the far side of the bridge, even as the last of the refugees step off of the stones and onto the dirt road beyond, Iteb and Aubrin still being carried as well. Lysander, his bow at the ready, fires a few random shots into the darkness to the south, hoping to provide some covering fire; he is answered by a similar scattering of shafts from the south, all landing well short of the fleeing Phaedarites. Bunko has enough time to grab a few valuable-looking items from the fallen foes before he, too, flees over the bridge.

For a moment, all is calm.

Then, like a nightmare suddenly remembered on waking, from out of the gloom to the south of the bridge the Ironfang Legion appears. A dozen - no, two dozen - no, more, more than a quick count can take in, they rush toward the bridge with weapons ready to hand, swords flashing in the torchlight and bows nocked and only waiting for a target. Officers deep in the ranks cry a charge, and they surge forward with a fearful yell, ready to fall upon the fleeing villagers like starving wolves on limping fawns.

Just as their boots find the stone of the bridge, though, there is another roar, this time like thunder up from the earth, and the whole bridge heaves and ripples like a cloak in a high wind. Dust pours out of the western side of the bridge in vast billows, and with a terrible groaning shudder the whole bridge suddenly drops to the west, the broad flagstones tilted at a steep angle. Stones from the bridge plummet into the angry river, and choking dust pours upward. The hobs, full of fury moments before, stop and tremble at the bridge's base. Their prey awaits across the treacherously-tilted bridge, but it is clear the fighters in the van are much less enthusiastic about the pursuit.

Another call to advance is heard, along with an order to "Loose!" Arrows loft upward, falling among the Phaendarites at random, but though there are a few cries of pain, no one falls. Kining breaks off a shaft from where it lodged in her left arm and sneers. Much slower now, a double handful of the Ironfang warriors begins to cross the sloped bridge.

Their caution does not save them when the bridge goes down entirely a moment later. There is another massive billow of dust and a second groan, far louder than the first, as the whole structure gives away. Several hobs are crushed by falling rock, and others are pitched headlong into the whitewater 80 feet below.

Needing little encouragement, the refugees flee north, toward the edge of the Fangwood from hundred yards away. The flights of arrows nip their heels as they go, but no more injuries are taken, and for now, it would seem that you have safely escaped Phaendar.

Epic description, very nice. I would like to request that Bunko's haul of items includes the scimitar I retconned back onto the heavy's corpse, pretty please.

Reaching the edge of the woods, Aerel pauses to look back and exhale loudly. To his fellow dwarf-carrier, he says, "I wish we'd met under better circumstances. I am Aerel Truthseeker, hunter and acolyte of Erastil. I have seen you in Phaendar before, so I take you for a local. We need anyone with knowledge of the Fangwood to share their knowledge to keep our little gathering safe. I know some, but mostly game trails and not really much for an extended stay..."

"Let's find this fellow a more comfortable position and see if we have healing available."

Aerel moves among the refugees as they huddle just out of view of the fallen bridge and, more importantly, the hobgoblin army, catching their breath. He tries to bolster spirits and get an idea of who made it across. He is heartened at the number of familiar faces he sees, but one in particular is missing and he grows concerned. Finally, he finds Rhynna and gets the answer he fears. His friend Noell of so many years, of so many wonderful conversations about their faith, has fallen. At least his killers paid for their crime quickly.

Finding the apparent leaders of the exodus, he offers, "I assume we will move farther into the Fangwood before we camp. Doing so in the dark will be treacherous, but once we have retreated from the edge of the trees, I can provide some light to guide our way. Let me know if there is anything else I can do to help. My blade and bow are yours to command. May Old Deadeye watch over us."

If there is nothing asked of him, he will return to where Gareth breathes painfully in his unconscious state and sit down. "I have no way to heal you, warrior, not yet. Thank your dwarven blood that you survived being drug across an exploding span."

Sunset was more than two hours ago, and the forest canopy lets little starlight or moonshine through. How long do you want to travel before you decide to stop for the night?

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

Aerel considers what he know of the woods nearby and where might be a reasonable spot for them to hold up tonight.

Aubrin still has 3 channels remaining, and uses them to heal you​ all 6d6 ⇒ (3, 5, 1, 4, 2, 1) = 16 hit points. Although this heals Gareth's wounds, it seems that his injury became infected, a malady beyond Aubrin's skills to treat.

Waking up out in the forest, Iteb recovers herself and stands up, seeing many others also licking their wounds. Wounds mostly mental now, as Aubrin seems to have offered them more of her divine energies. "Thanks again, for the strange trick." She offered, Aubrin having more than earned her gratitude by now. She could offer at least that much sincerely. She brings Mako close, offering an affection rarely given but under the circumstances, warranted.

Looking amongst the more combat-viable of the group, and then back to the city she shrugs, "We ought get further into forest, at least couple hours, then camp. I suggest after, we travel another day and set-up for long-term survival."

Aerel nods, "This area of the Fangwood is lacking any good cover that I can think of. We will need time to set some shelters up and everyone is already exhausted. Let us get away from the edge of the forest and make camp for the night before we move deeper in."

Bunko nods in agreement. "Once we've got a few hours distance between ourselves and the front, we can set about making real plans."

The refugees are generally pretty happy with the idea of putting more distance between themselves and the horrors they witnessed in Phaendar. It is shortly before midnight when you finally call a halt, and although exhausted, those who can help make shelters for the group pitch in to do so as best they can.

Jet's Survival for a shelter: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24
Kining's Survival for a shelter: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20
Netthias' Survival for a shelter: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
Fiosha's Survival for a shelter: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11
Harvel's Survival for a shelter: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

That's 13 people they've covered.

Iteb makes her way around the others, assisting and setting up makeshift shelters herself. She directs some of those not making such shelters to set up the two tents they'd looted back in town both small tents offering shelter to an additional two people. She then gets to work herself.

Survival for Shelters: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

We have two gnomes and a halfling, so it think our actual need is just 35 shelter points. With the tents, that'll be 15 people of the 35. My own result kicks that up to 17 covered. We'll need another 18 still.

Making successful Diplomacy checks to try to improve the two merchants' attitudes would allow their Survival skills to be rolled as well...

"Say, gentlemen, my name is Aerel. I've noticed you seem to be standing apart from the others as we travel - is everything all right? Is there anything I can do to help? We might be able to share the load you are carrying, for example - that must be getting heavy."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22

Aerel's Survival check: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Whoa! I wondered which roll was going to be the stinker, 'cuz there's always one.

"Oh everything's just peachy," snarls the younger one. "Dragged from our rooms like criminals, now trapped out here in the woods without shelter, our stock confiscated without so much as a by-your-leave... Those 'leaders'" - and he points angrily at Iteb, Bunko, Lysander, and Jeb - '"may have Aubrin and the others fooled, but we've seen up close what their compassion looks like! It's just about indistinguishable from the Ironfangs!"

That Survival roll is good for another 5 people sheltered. Still need 13 more.

Aerel nods, showing his sympathy plainly. [b]"I hadn't heard of your specific hardship - as you probably know, my small group only found this group as the bridge skirmish was happening. The dead on the bridge - those were recipients of Ironfang mercy. Not how I hope to go, personally. Anyway, crises like this make people do things they would not otherwise, but I'm sure these folks meant well. Can I aid you in setting up a shelter for tonight? I know you're angry, but it won't keep you dry warm, maybe, but not dry. Tomorrow, we can see about longer-term plans."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Clidon's Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Farrow's Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22

"No, no," the older man replies, waving away Aerel's offer of assistance - but there is less spite in the words than might have been expected. He seems to be staring into the distance for a moment, perhaps thinking of the dead bodies who were cut down by the hobs and then fell into the river, before shaking himself free of the momentary reverie. "Thank you, but no. We'll make do." After a pause, he goes on, "In fact, we'll probably have room for one or two extra. Send 'em along if you've need. We don't want anyone else freezing out here if it can be avoided. We're surely no hobgoblins, you can seal that in the Vault."

Four more points of shelter for the night, meaning you need 9 still. Also, Farrow and Clidon are UNFRIENDLY to most of the group, but are INDIFFERENT to Aerel.

"No, you surely are not. Thank you both - and if you find something that I can do to help, please ask. Rest well." He moves away, seeking to aid others.

We have PCs who have not had time to roll their checks, I believe. Beyond those checks, can I assist any of our untrained survivalists or make a second check of my own? Aerel is likely to make sure all are sheltered before he turns in, actually. Seems appropriate for a believer in the teachings of Erastil. Were his 'cousins' among those with Survival ranks? He might try to guilt them into helping with a second shelter before calling it a night. Only if other PC rolls make it necessary.

Survival: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

At home in the forest, Lysander easily creates a sizable shelter.

Space for four more people. You have five left. Bunko and Jeb have yet to roll.

If you want to go for another hour, and make a second roll, you can, but you'll be looking at possible Con checks to avoid fatigue tomorrow. Of course, that's the same risk anyone not sleeping in a shelter takes, so...

If there are unsheltered refugees after Jeb and Bunko make their rolls, Aerel will try to cover the gaps by aiding where a shelter wasn't quite enough or building a new one. He will give up his spot and take the last one available. He will deal with the fatigue if he must, but these folks are in a bad spot and keeping their spirits up is important. He is not foolish or prideful enough to believe others could not do the same, but he won't ask - having the leaders fatigued isn't good, either.

Untrained Survival: 1d20 ⇒ 4

Jeb's player noted in another thread that their computer is busted, so I will bot her for now.

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

That leaves you exactly one short, and as Aerel has already volunteered to stay up a bit later and make himself a shelter if everyone else is taken care of, your refugee band is covered for the night. Aerel wakes up the next morning a bit more tired than the rest of you, but not enough to actually suffer any penalties.

The night is cold, reminding you that winter is still not that far away; your shelters keep the worst of the chill away, but those who stand awake and on watch are grateful for the small fire you have built. The forest night is largely quiet, but the occasional sound drifts through the trees from Phaendar, just two miles distant - and the sound is inevitably one of screaming.

Finally, dawn arrives, crisp and pale, the breath of the watchers on guard misting the sparkling air. With the new day, the band of Phaendarite refugees have a chance to assess their situations, what they have brought with them - and what they have lost.

First order of business: the refugees have to be fed from your Provision Points. Do you want to give everyone a full ration, a half ration, or nothing? A character who eats only a half portion takes a –2 penalty on attack rolls, damage rolls, ability checks, skill checks, and saving throws until she consumes a full portion. If a person eats half provisions more than 3 days a week, she doesn’t have enough body fat to endure starvation for long, and must begin making Constitution checks each day to avoid taking nonlethal damage.

If a person eats no provisions in a day, she takes the –2 penalty on all attack rolls, damage rolls, ability checks, skill checks, and saving throws listed above. Typically, a character can go without water for 1 day, or food for 3 days before making Constitution checks to avoid taking nonlethal damage. Remember that a character who takes any nonlethal damage from starvation or thirst also becomes fatigued, imposing additional penalties.

And once you make that decision, you'll need to decide what your plans are for the day, both for you guys and for the followers.

Aerel wakes, grateful that he did not pull watch after working on the shelter late into the night. He strolls amongst the displaced townfolk with a smile and an encouraging word for anyone he meets, aware that attitude is not only a product of the situation. A kind word and offered hand can do much to improve morale in a bad situation - and good morale can keep a man or woman working for the common good long after logic bids they stop.

He especially makes a point of greeting Clidon and Farrow, "Thank you both once again for sharing your shelter last night. I can make no promises, but I will speak to the leaders about your treatment yesterday. I hope you can see clear to staying and helping the townsfolk until the crisis has passed."

Eventually, he comes to the de facto leaders of the militia. "Good morning. Morale could be worse. I think we travel with a relatively plucky bunch. Have you plans for distribution of food for the group? It would appear that until we establish a routine, we may need to husband our resources closely."

On the loot list, may I claim the masterwork buckler? The cold iron scimitar doesn't appear on the list - or I overlooked it, a distinct possibility - may I claim that, also? I will contribute non-masterwork models of each to the kitty in exchange.

Iteb awoke with an elbow to the face, apparently Mako had shifted around as people started stirring at the makeshift camp and caused her crude awakening. She smacked him lightly, causing him to also wake up in a startle, wondering what he did to deserve the treatment. Negan was already mostly up, and simply sighed at the Orcish bonding of the two. Everyone was collecting back what they could from the shelters to take with them for further travel of the day.

Later, finding her way to regroup with the other three that had led their retreat from the town, the male dwarf under the weather. They were soon joined by the elf, that helped them cross the bridge. She'd seen Aerel before but honestly couldn't think of the name, but didn't care enough to try too hard anyway. "First things first," she began, "Don't know half your names. Some familiar faces, but don't know most of you or can't remember." She really needed to be able to talk to them without calling them female dwarf, gnome, etc. "I am Iteb Ral-gri, Negan Kusk is my husband, son is Mako Kusk. I run one of the two smithy in Phaendar... or ran, anyway. If we encounter a fight during travel, I respond with a flurry of weapons. Out here, i may help with survival in the wilderness as i still remember experiences from many years ago with my clan."

.

She would honestly not budge from going further with everyone without knowing who they were. Afterwards, though, she would continue with Aerel's logic, "I say first day we should eat normal, will need strength for full day of travel. Temporary shelter when we come across a large stream of river, and then set up for long-term survival near there following day. Those setting up shelter then get full meal only. Everyone else get half. Rest split between scouting area, watching for pursuers, or learn how to get food. Maybe those good with animals find some to bring back to butcher-- not worth trying to keep animals out here."

"Name's Bunko Derwerrid,", the gnome says shortly after Iteb introduces herself. "I'm a cobbler, but before that I was with the Nirmathan irregulars. Did my best to train the youth of the free nation to fight against Molthuni oppressors, and eventually joined them on the front. That's where I got these." He gestures to his horrible burns that cover half his face, his melted features unsettling to look at. "I was lucky. My squad was not. Left the army that day, and hoped to never pick up a hammer again except to place hobnails in boots. Fat load of good that did."

"You've seen what I have to offer. I'm probably one of the best you'll see with a hooked hammer, and I still can summon up my drill sergeant days if I have to. I wanted to spend the rest of my days in Phaendar, didn't really care if I died or if I just bleached away. Now? I'm going to make every last one of these hobs bleed for ruining that plan."

.

"I'll take your word on these plans for survival, Iteb. My familiarity with the natural world is more due to what I've read. Otherwise, your plan seems as good as we're going to get. Put as much distance between us and the hobs. If we were all soldiers, I'd recommend a forced march, but we've got civilians here, so we need to move a bit slower."

Can I get Knowledge (geography) rolls please? You can attempt this untrained, since there are DC 10 and lower results available.

Knowledge (geography) untrained: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10

Aerel offers a wave in greeting. "Aerel Truthseeker. Lots of water under the bridge I won't bore you with. Came to Phaendar because I heard I had family here," he gestures toward the half-elves from Kining's forge. "And stayed because I had no place better to go. Found a very good friend that has helped me see the light of Erastil's gifts..."

He doesn't continue and appears to be lost in thought, pain evident on his face.

Knowledge (geography), untrained: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

Knowledge(Geography): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Lysander stands next, reluctantly unfolding his long, thin limbs from a seated position. I suppose this is what we must do to reassure the mayflies. He manages not to roll his eyes. "My name is Lysander. I come originally from Kyonin, though I've lived in Nirmath's land since..." he pauses, gazing off into the distance, before shaking his head. I miss you, old friend. What would you make of this now? "Since before Nirmath led the rebellion. I have studied a bit of everything, though I suppose I'm probably best with Alchemy and the lore of the forest."

Lysander's brief speech brings Aerel from his reverie. "Ah, yes, sorry. At any rate, I am an adherent of Erastil's teachings, but no priest. I have a strong belief that it is one's duty to contribute to the town or city or band they are a part of, for the good of the group. So I offer my services - I'm a fair scout and hunter and I have a bit of a knack with devices. Not that I'm a tinker, mind you, but an ill-spent youth decades ago left me with some lasting lessons." He finally steps back to allow another the center of attention.

"Can you tell me... Did Noelan suffer? I heard he was killed, but not how he died."

Knowledge Geography: 1d20 ⇒ 18

Noelan... she remembered hearing that name around town, and Bunko mentioned it around the shrine... ah right. She remembered. "Can't say i know how he died. Saw him being 'et by a wolf when we came across him." Iteb offered, very little sympathy and no real effort to ease Aerel into hearing how they found the man dead. "Then the male dwarf... uh..." She thought for a moment not remembering whether she'd heard his name during the fight. "Rammed the mongrel with a hammer, treated the head as a ball playin' ball and stick."

Primer on the local geography, thanks to Lysander:

There aren't very many surrounding towns; the closest town is Cavlinor, founded where the Marideth and the Deepcut Rivers meet, about ten miles to the south and on the wrong side of the river from the hobgoblins at the moment. It's not really much of a town, either; a permanent population of two dozen elves tends the grove of trees being cultivated into living elven structures, while another two- to three-dozen visitors investigate the region’s elven ruins and artifacts, and work to make new diplomatic inroads with the fey of the nearby Fangwood Forest.

Beyond that, the next closest settlements are Folarth, a small dwarven village at the headwaters of the Deepcut, and Longshadow, a decent-sized town about forty miles up the Marideth from Phaendar. There is also a tiny hamlet - really just a logger's camp - called Gristledown on the edge of the Fangwood, about 14 miles north of the bridge.

No rivers actually flow through the Fangwood, although there are the usual assortment of smaller creeks or tiny ponds here and there. Some of the latter do include quicksand patches. In terms of long-term shelter, there's nothing any of you are aware of that would encourage any kind of settlement above ground in the area. The Fangwood isn't replete with caves - the local geology isn't particularly friendly to them - but you do know there are at least a few that might be large enough to support your refugees: some years ago, the Chesnardo Rangers were being attacked, and indeed feasted upon, by a tribe of troglodytes who lived in a cave complex somewhere at this end of the Fangwood. You're not sure where it is, but it's most likely east to northeast of your position by several miles. Aubrin might know more.

While you ponder your morning's plans, Aubrin limps over to your group. Though pale from pain, she seems in better spirits, if not necessarily better health, than last night. "I don't know what you're thinking of doing," she begins, "but whatever is on your list, I'd like to suggest finding the Chesnardo Rangers. There's a small redoubt about ten miles straight east of here; we'd be wise to make contact as quickly as we can. I'll be honest, though, I'm worried - rumors have said the Rangers have been missing from Nirmathas' roads for a week or two. They might already be engaged with Molthune or these Ironfang wretches elsewhere and we haven't heard. I'd like answers about the fate of my friends, and they have the only organized military force in the area right now. Between the two, I think finding them is important."

"Aubrin, my dear, you look like someone shot you with a ballista." He smiles, hoping she sees something amusing in the gallows humor. "If they hadn't, you would have kicked them into the river single-handedly. Seriously, how are you after a night's rest?"

After giving her a chance to reply, he asks, "Lysander was just sharing a tale about troglodytes and their caves. I guess the trogs were making life difficult for the Rangers, but I'm more interested in these purported caves than the history lesson. Can you share anything about them or their location?"

Aubrin blinks in surprise at the topic change, but her expression grows thoughtful. "Yeah, I know them. Twenty miles or so from here, I'd say. North-northeast. It was a large cave complex, from what I remember - plenty of space, if you could get rid of the current residents. Bloodthirsty beasts, the lot of 'em, so I wouldn't shed a tear if you decide that's worth doing. I lost friends."

Fangwood map updated.

"Perhaps your wish and our needs might be in alignment, then. Caves might provide us shelter we need. Checking on your friends could give us insight into how to clear them out. Of course, that's only one idea."

"Originally was thinkin' to find a spot near the river. We may treck that way. We could get a good 16 miles of the way today, then tomorrow morning we head out to see what we can do about the caves. Might make setting up a long-term shelter a much easier solution, as you say." Iteb agrees, "We could even head East today, then more northward to that location since this way we might see some signs of rangers might be on the way."

"I think Aubrin's idea of finding the Rangers' fort would be the best first step. They must surely have invaluable knowledge of the region's geography, far in excess of my own, that could be vital to us. They may also be able to shed more light on the layout and inhabitants of the caves."

In trackless wilderness, you'll be able to make 8 miles a day. To make 16 miles you would have to be able to follow roads, and the Fangwood is notoriously lacking in those.

Do you want to move your whole group or scout ahead first?

Rewinding a bit...

"Lysander. Finally, a name to go with the face," Bunko says with a growl, not bothering to hide his displeasure. "I'm not familiar with the armies in Kyonin, do they make a habit of ignoring mission parameters regularly? Because we barely escaped Phaendar and might have had the whole of the Ironfang at our heels if you had continued to delay setting those charges. Hell, we're probably lucky we didn't get caught in the explosion and blown to smithereens. If these folk, these civilians, are going to have the slightest chance of survival, then each of us needs to know what our roles are, and what role we play in the mission. And you, Lysander - you almost got us all killed. Got them all killed."

Flash forward...

Bunko does some quick figuring in his head. "Heading towards the Chesnardos won't delay us too much in making our way to the caves. And if we're lucky, they can spare some men to help escort the civilians. That'd be my vote."