The Witchlight Inn is doing a roaring trade tonight. After hearing that famed local-boy-made-good Dagen Bandrift is asking for volunteers, many have packed into the local landmark. Few are interested in following the old fool on a jungle adventure, but all know he is good for a story (and the barkeep is likely selling the ale cheap tonight).
So the people have crowded in, longshoremen from the quiet evening docks, honest tradesmen from the outskirts, poor people from rafts, shacks and hollowed out trees. Even some finer folks, the local merchants, clergy and artisans have joined in the holiday like spirit. The Witchlight hasn’t been this full for dog’s year with even busy adventurers stopping in to see the rousing spectacle.
Huge, sagging and old, the massive Inn is carved out of the local mangrove (like most of the rest of town). A weathered two-storied building it is the first stop of nearly every visitor, trader and traveler that enters Bloodcove. With a slightly sinister reputation, it is the subject of many spooky stories that past the endless hot summer evenings. Tonight however, you could never guess this background as the barkeep has dressed the place in lace and banners to announce and celebrate such a momentous occasion.
Your feet sink slightly into the sticky mud outside the Inn, and the warmth of the night is already causing you to sweat. Insects whine in the night and the river gently ripples past you. The night river sounds of frogs, jumping fish and squeaking bats fill your ears. These sounds are increasingly drowned out as you approach the Inn, teeming with crowded humanity shouting for more stories.
Sborki stood outside the Witchlight Inn, about to enter, when he saw a large, tasty-looking moth flying about 10 feet above his head.
Snap! His long pink tongue whipped out, sticking the tasty morsel and slamming it right into his mouth.
Yum!... Grok!
A woman standing nearby stared at him, a look of disgust on her face. He didn't understand why people stared at him so much. He'd never been in a real human settlement before, or had much to do with big folk in general, but he was a curious grippli, and the tavern offered a new experience. He wanted to try this “ale” they all drank.
He went inside, found an empty barstool, and climbed up and stood on top of it. People saw what looked like a 2 foot tall tree frog, with mottled stripes and colors on his back and limbs, with a blueish-white mottled underbelly.
He wore a simple, sparse leather outfit with a backpack and a small shield strapped to his back, and a belt that held a small scimitar and a dagger.
Ale, he said, once the harried bar wench got to him. He didn't really understand how all this coin stuff worked, but he laid a gold one on the bar, hoping it would suffice.
These people were certainly worked up about something. Sborki wanted to see what it was. He tasted the ale. The foam tickled his nose, but he found it agreeable. This could be fun!
Olaff was outside the Witchlight Inn, deciding if he would step in or not.
This is certainly the a** of the whole world. And Is even hotter than I ever feared… and inside this inn might be even worst. But I need something to drink. Olaff thought about his keg that he brought from the north. Nah, that is for emergencies.
Olaff stepped in, trying to find any space to fit his bearish frame. The only spot available was besides the frog.
"Is dat a f***ing frog? A giant f***king frog..." he noticed he said it aloud.
Whatever, maybe the Ynhalthis is in his pond.
"Hey froggy, vill yah drink dis or are yah vaiting for de flies to swim on it?"
He turns his attention towards the barkeeper.
"Hey, mate, two mugs of yourr best ale! No, tree!"
He drops two silver pieces and when the barkeeper brings his drink, the drinks two of them in less than a minute.
"Dis is de best? Dis is horse piss!" He then starts his third mug.
Sborki looks at the big man sitting by him. This well-armed fellow could certainly slaughter him in an instant, yet seemed oddly amiable.
He puts another gold piece on the table.
You're the yellowest human I've ever seen. You're not from around here, are you?
The grippli pushes his ale to the big man.
You can have this. I'll buy another one.
"Thank you my little frriend!" Olaff looks at the gold coin the grippli.
"How much are yah paying? Dis is enough for like two dozens of these!"
Olaff puts the coin back in his hands and look at the barkeeper.
"Hey you! Better yah keep filling our mugs... dis fellow already payed for de hole night, rright friend?"
Olaff looks into the barkeeper's eyes.
"You are my friend aren't yah? My frriends do... not... get... hurrt."
"Vell, de name is Olaff, son of Olaff, the Cursed. Vhat is yourr name my greeny friend?" Olaff gives a genuine smile.
I am Sborki. It's nice to meet you, Olaff the Cursed.
Unsure of how to relate to this new person, S diverts. This creature could do the same to him.
What's going on in here?
"No, no... you missunderstood... Olaff the Cursed is my father!" He pauses then continues. "Vell, actually I am cursed too, but I am not 'the Cursed'... makes sense?" He lughs widely.
"Good to meet yah Sborrki"
To the barkeeper. "Another mug frriend"
"I am here not to die, or at least die trying!... Here, drink vith me!"
The wizened, hunckbacked bartender gives the Grippli and the Ulfen long hard looks. Then he looks at the gold, then at the crowd. After a long moment he shrugs, pockets the gold and starts dishing out the house ale, a pale watery substance long on price and short on flavor. He ignores the varied abuse from Olaff. He has heard worse in running the Witchlight Inn for over 30 years.
I'll drink, but look how small I am. I can't finish this!
Sborki just saw what happened, then he realized the power of gold. All he had was gold coins, taken from a number of creatures that messed with him. He knew it was valuable, but not its value.
Will it get even better if I put down another gold, Olaff? These folks seem pretty happy.
Sborki literally doesn't have a clue about how coins work in any place where they work.
Landon peers about the town from beneath his deep hood, though it does little to keep him out of sight of the locals. There is only so much that simple cloth can do. Despite how carefully he does his best to keep to the shadows, his bright red hair hinders those efforts significantly. Fortunately, he is very much used to this sort of difficulty and bears it with... Well, maybe not grace, but certainly skill.
Well, this place is still dismal. Nice to know nothing really changes.
He steps into the inn before much of anyone in the town can recognize him, only to realize his logic is flawed. Everyone in the town is here, so any attempts to hide here might not work. At all. At least he can try to get a drink? Settling himself down at the bar beside what looks to be an overgrown toad with odd fashion choices, he quietly orders an ale. He pointedly neglects to drop his hood back away from his head, just in case. From his perch, he does his best to get the lay of the land here without arousing any suspicion.
Adelaide's finely made boots stick in the mud, making a disgusting 'shlurp' as she wrenches her feet up with each step. Ugh, the joys of the Garundi landscape, she thought as she made her way towards the Witchlight Inn. It was an appropriately named place to begin her venture in her opinion. Ironic. She liked that.
The decrepit building seemed to almost sag under the weight of its current occupancy levels, but she'd seen worse hold up more. A few sticky steps later, she found herself in the entrance, looking into an overcrowded common room. The smell of sweat laid thick in the air along with the smell of ale and stale wine, the heat of the night only made worse by the heat of bodies in close proximity. She very carefully made her way in towards the bar, keeping an eye out for the man of the hour, Degan Bandrift.
"A wine. Elven white, if you have it," she said when she made it to the bar.
She had to do a double take when just to the left of her she saw what appeared to be a giant frog. She blinked twice. She did see a giant frog. She'd heard of such humanoids before, but never actually seen one. He appeared to have brought a drinking buddy, too. A loud, bearded man of the North if she pegged the accent right. Fascinating. Like polar opposites...
She's staring. She should stop staring. Oh, but she can't look away...
Olaff was already in his sixth or seventh pint... just starting to feel the so familiar dizzy of the drink, when he notices the elf.
"Look Sborrki!" He points out to the elf lady, no maners at this point. Then whispers at his...ear?
Where will I speak? This guy has no ears... hum, will just speak close.
"Looks like you got a girrlfrriend... she is surrely into you! She can't stop staring at yah!" He laughs widely.
The overworked bartender, who doesn’t have time to recognize his own mother, gives Landon a mug of the nasty local brew. He snorts at Adelaide’s request for a wine and slams yet another dirty glass of ale on the bar.
There are a few low mutters about a Grippli (and a few positive ones about the female elf), but soon this is all washed out by the steadily growing cries of “Ban-drift! Ban-drift!” The well-lubricated crowd chants louder and louder, some pointing at the ceiling. Then, just as the cries reach a fever pitch, a door opens at the top of a staircase, near the back of the inn's taproom. A door is flung open and a man steps through it. Roars of approval and laughter greet him, and he bows clumsily.
Dagen Bandrift may have once fulfilled the expectations of a brave jungle explorer but those days, if they existed were far behind him. He was a short pudgy man, with a decided stoop in his step. A wrinkled face was mostly hidden behind an immense bushy white beard that started just below his bright blue eyes. His arms and legs were flabby, but showed signs of once being well-muscled. He was surrounded by a bevy of eager men begging for stories.
Bandrift acknowledged the crowd with a wave, as he descended the stairs. He grinned as the crowd called out for stories, tales, to see his riches, or (the more serious) to see the map he bragged of. He nodded knowingly at the last. A chair was drawn up for him and a foaming tankard placed in his hand.
“Where shall I start? With a story of the mad apes of Usora, and their endless treasure? Or maybe a tale of the time I wrestled with two crocodiles and won? The Finding of the Jewel of Jahla and Bounded God? Or perhaps,” And a twinkle entered his eye, “a tale of the strange beauty of elven women of the northern jungle would satisfy?”
The crowd shouted for all these and more. A hundred suggestions were raised, shouted down and re-shouted again and again. Finally, one demand rung out, “Show us the map! Show us the map!” and it drowned out all the others.
The old explorer raised a hand and an expectant silence fell. Reaching into a pocket he lifted out a large wad of yellowed paper, wrapped into a tight packet. It was well-worn and stained from travel. No one in the audience spoke or moved a muscle. “What I have here, is more valuable than a rod from Holy Xatramba, a vial from the Fountain of Tabis or even...a barge full of jungle gold. What I have here is a map to the lost city of Jahla...”
Suddenly, breaking the expectant silence, the main door crashes open. Three armed men crowd in, pushing others out of the way roughly. Any cry of surprise or anger is quickly hushed as a new whispers runs through the crowd. 'Consortium men...Aspis'. After they clear a space (a number of people simply flee the tavern), another man enters. Unlike the rough looking men of before, this new man is tall, well-dressed, almost elegant in his movements. His pale, long face is split by a neat scar running from hairline to jaw. He takes a lit bit of tobacco out of his mouth and drops it to the floor, crushing it with his tooled leather boot.
“Dagen Bandrift,” he says in a surprisingly high voice. “You are hereby arrested in the name of BloodCove. The charges against you are as follows....” The man makes a show of remembering a long list. “Treason, sedition, disturbing the peace, breaking contract, desertion and theft... The last in regards to that map, in your very hand. Will you come peacefully?” He says the last with an air of indifference. The men about him grip their cudgels tightly.
Bandrift's face grows pale with fear then red with anger. “Why I...I never....breaking contract....years ago....” he sputters looking for support among the crowd. Many however, file out past the pale man, who moves aside to let them pass. Finally Dagen gathers his thoughts.
“I won't be taken in, by the likes of you Vicard Inck! Lickspittle from Aspis, dressed up in your own uniforms!” He gestured angrily at the dirty red/green strips that most of the dirty men are wearing.
Vicard shrugs, and puts his hands behind his back.
“Men, take him.” And the cudgel bearing men begin to push towards the weakly protesting old man.
Initiative-
Sborki, <- UP
Olaff, <- UP
Landon, <- UP
Adelaide,<- UP
Vicard
Thugs
Olaff hears all the attention that the old man is getting from the crowd.
If this man has traveled and explored this hellish jungle only half of what these folk believes, he might know something about the Ynhalthis.
He looks towards the men that arrived.
If they get their hands on the old fellow, I am pretty sure no one will ever see him again.
He rests his mug on the counter, looks at Sborki while cleaning his mouth with his sleeve. He gets up while readying his heavy wooden shield.
"Vhy don’t yah let dis old fellow stay herre telling his nice tales?" Olaff says while he puts his hand at the hilt of his longsword.
Sborki knows the type of men who just walked in. He may not have heard of the Aspis Consortium per se, but he hates cruel thugs. They will hurt that harmless old man.
He moves 5' and readies an action to cast a spell if the men advance. He hopes there's a back door to this place, so Bandrift can get away.
Olaff stands up, imposing and huge, armed with shield and sword. His words echo in the suddenly quiet room. His thick northern accent mixes oddly in the sticky jungle heat.
Next to him Sborki quietly prepares himself for action, feeling compassion for the old man.
There seems to be no backdoor out of the place.
Initiative-Turn One
Sborki,
Olaff,
Landon, <- UP
Adelaide,<- UP
Vicard
Thugs
Adelaide looks into her mug with distaste and set it to the side. Maybe i should have ordered water... Wait, what did that fellow just say? Girlfriend?
Adelaide was just about to open her mouth to retort, perhaps apologize for staring, but stopped when Dagen Bandrift's name began as a chant on the lips of the waiting crowd. She turned up her eyes just in time to see the grand entrance of the adventurer himself. He wasn't exactly what she expected, but hey, humans don't stay young forever. She couldn't hold it against him. She watched as he made his way to the stage, eyes as eager as any other in the overflowing tavern.
But before any stories could be told or merriment had, the festivities were abruptly interrupted by the arrival of, if the hushed whispers were right, members of the Aspis Consortium. She'd heard rumors of these folks, nasty ones.
Beside her, both the Grippli and the Ulfen man stood as if ready to defend Bandrift. Oh, here we go... Adelaide stood and started to move her way towards the stage as other filed past her in an attempt to leave. These people's reactions certainly suggested the rumors were true. Bandrift would need help, that was certain, and if it came to blows she wasn't about to let an old man take a hit. She set herself in the direct path between the Consortium thugs and Bandrift, ready to give him the evil eye should he come any closer...
At all of the commotion, the half-elf chances a glance back over his shoulder toward the door. At the sight of the infamous Dagen Bandrift, his eyes widen a bit and his brows raise. He leans over to nudge the frog beside him without thinking, only to realize halfway there that he is about to poke a frog. Landon promptly thinks better of it and straightens again. It is only once people start shouting out requests that he adds his voice to the clamor, in favor of those trying to see the map. After all, if this man is to be his ticket out of the hole he has dug for himself, he will have to be genuine.
He straightens up in his seat to try to peer over the heads of those in front of him, only for the door to slam open and silence to fall. At the whispers of the Aspis Consortium that begin to circulate around the room, he has to stifle a strangled gasp. And the ensuing choking that results from gasping into his ale.
One arm lifts to cover his mouth as he coughs into a sleeve and it takes a moment or two for him to recover his composure. When he finally does, both hands slide to his belt to retrieve his twin saps. For the moment, he stows the both of them back in his wrist sheathes with no real intent on using them. They are for if things should go horribly wrong, just in case.
"Gentlemen, come now. There's no need for violence," Landon calls out in a sickly sweet voice that reeks of an overly friendly demeanor. At least he is trying, though. The same cannot be said of some of the other bar-goers. As he speaks, he slides up closer to the men armed with clubs, but keeps addressing Vicard. "Let's just talk this out and we can all go home happy, yes? If he were to give you the map, would that settle your lust for conquest?"
Vicard looks undaunted at Olaff’s barely veiled threats. “And I am not accountable to you, Outlander. Mind your own affairs and do not hinder when the authorities make an arrest. I need to give you no explanation, go crawl back into whatever foreign land you crawled out of. Men, disarm and arrest anyone who tries to stop you, looks like we have some foreign riff-raff here.” The cudgel wielding men move forward, carefully edging around Kaouz’s strong frame.
He doesn’t even note the Grippli leaving his stool. His quick dark eyes do note Adelaide though, quickly sizing her up. ”Just stay clear as well, Elf. Trust me, you don’t want to get in my way.”
But the Aspis man stops short when Landon speaks and turns towards him, ”Of course I want the map but I am also taking in this criminal for justice.” Then a ghost of a smile crosses his face, ”Wait, I recognize you. Landon Ninefingers. The little thief…I’d love to bring you in too.” Then he stops and looks at Bandrift and the assembling crowd. ”Tell you what. You help me bring in Bandrift and maybe we can have a talk that doesn't end with you in chains?" Whatever the anser, Vicard turns back to his men and shouts harshly.
"The time for talking is done. Men, I’m getting tired of this rat-hole. Take him!”
As the men move forward Bandrift yells, ” “Anyone who defends me, I’ll offer them this map and all its secrets!"
The three thugs move forward, setting off a chain of spells….
Initiative-Turn One
Sborki- Waiting on Prepared Spell
Olaff
Landon
Adelaide- Waiting on Hex on thugs (?)
Vicard
Thugs
Initiative- Turn Two
Sborki-Up
Olaff-Up
Landon -Up
Adelaide -Up
Vicard
Thugs
The moment that Vicard gets that little smile on his lips, Landon immediately hates the man. Sure, he might be one of the only chances he has to get out of this situation free. But he was a smug jerk and that grates on the half-elf to no end. It did not take more than a moment of considering for him to realize which side of things he wanted to be on. A decision made that much easier by Bandrift's shouted offer.
The rogue waits a beat until the cudgel wielding men pass by him, feigning a look of deep consideration. The moment they are level with him, though, he steps aside to flank with the shield-bearing foreigner.
"Y'know, you really have got to work on your negotiation skills, friend," he calls out to Vicard. With a flick of his wrists, he lets the saps drop into his palms and sweeps both across the back of the unfortunate man's skull.
Olaff sees his atempt to intimidate the man failed, but he noticed Landon's intention. He nods to him discretly.
He looks in the thugs eyes, takes his right hand of the hilt and then shows his palm in a sign of peace.
"Alrright lad, just cause yah asked nicely..."
Adelaid looks side to side as the thugs advance towards the stage. "As a matter of fact, I do want to be in your way," she said more boldly than she felt. If even half the rumors she heard were true... well, then it was likely the man she was putting her neck out to save was an innocent man. Or at least more innocent then the people trying to arrest him.
But, she wasn't above being concerned for herself, too. Though she maintained her position between the thugs and Bandrift, she did take a few steps back then uttered an incantation that conjured a quasi-real mage armor to protect her from the worst of their attacks. It looked like some of the others had already come to blows...
Sborki casts Fog Cloud, centering it to obscure the vision of the thugs, while we only have to cut to the south and feel our way out the door.
Sborki points at the south wall. Go this way, then out!
He moves 30' to the wall and into the fog. Sborki beckons to the old man to get moving.
The fog of war is always kinder than the result.
As the thugs move forward, Sborki suddenly calls upon the mystical powers of the jungle to raise a blinding fog. In the hot, steamy air of the Inn this isn't hard and there is soon a white cloud surrounding the thugs. In the silence of the advancing cloud all can hear Vicard curses foully and say, ”Just push through men!Just damned jungle trickery.”
Undeterred Landon attacks into the misty fog. Despite the bright white miasma his blows strike true on the head of the nearest thug. The thug takes the blows and roars in rage, as a huge lump grows on his scalp.
As the thugs reel in confusion, one gets too close to Olaff and the barbarian lashes out with his shield. Olaff manages to strike in the fog but the nimble thugs manages to avoid the hit.
Adelaide backs up, avoiding the whirling mass of fog and pain, as the thugs start yelling about 'attackers in the fog'.
Sborki moves to the wall beckoning Bandrift to come. Confused and afraid he seems paralyzed on the stage by the grippli's hand motions.
The thug whirls at Landon with his club but the rogue easily dodges the clumsy blow. The other two thugs, with much cursing of their own, inch through the fog, trying to avoid the hulking barbarian.
Vicard, still cursing, moves around the dense fog. Spotting Adilaide moving back, he pulls a bag from his pouch and weighs in in his hand. He shouts ”I can still take you alive Bandrift but my patience is running out..” he shouts over the sounds of fighting.
Initiative- Turn Two
Sborki- Waiting for where he moved to
Olaff
Landon -
Adelaide -
Vicard
blue Thug
red thug
yellow thug-
Initiative- Turn Three
Sborki-Up
Olaff-Up
Landon -Up
Adelaide -Up
Vicard
blue Thug-8HP (nonlethal)
red thug
yellow thug
Ok, I moved him.
This round, he's going to beat feet towards the door. Double move from K 11 to C 8. He'll be in the fog, so there's a chance he might run into someone or something.
At the end of his move, he'll shout Out this way!
Olaff sees the fog cloud involving him but, according to the guards reactions, the effect was caused by his team. Then he misses his bash, even though not sure if because of the fog.
This does not make things easy, but perhapes they have a plan... Better to play along.
"Ahh mates, have you hearrd of de grreat linnorms of de mist, and how de death moves vith it? Might be your unlucky day fellows."
Olaff sees the two other tugs trying to pass by his side.
"Carreful not to fall, mates!"
Sborki runs, shouting to everyone. He runs into the mist as fast as his long legs can carry him. He runs right past Vicard who attacks but misses him in the fog . The Grippli bounds past everyone, quick as lightning.
Olaff’s freighting words are lost on the thugs who can’t understand his thick accent and are too busy jumping at shadows. His shield makes an impact though, slamming into the thug with the force of a laden wagon. The thug spits out broken teeth and blood onto the tavern floor, but remains upright. One of h is friends, barely seeing the interchange through the fog shouts, ”They are playing for keeps boss!” A note of fear enters his voice, and it quavers through the thick fog-laden air.
Initiative- Turn Three
Sborki-
Olaff-
Landon -Up
Adelaide -Up
Vicard
blue thug, -8HP (nonlethal), -10 HP lehtal
red thug
yellow thug
Sborki keeps truckin'. He gets outside of the fog and gets his shield out.
Sborki keeps truckin'. He gets outside of the fog and gets his shield out.
Adelaide continues to move her way towards the stage. She needed that man, and his map preferably, safe and sound.
"Popular, aren't you?" she says to Bandrift as she finally makes it to the base of the stage. She keeps herself squarely between him and the thugs she assumes are still hidden within the fog. "I'll admit this isn't quite what I was expecting when I came here this evening," she added with a frown.
With that, she begins conjuring a mudball, holding the charge until she can see a target.
Once his apparent new friend steps up before the thug in question, Landon repeats his previous efforts to put the thug down for the count.
Once again, he makes sure not to overdo things, should the thug go down before he is finished swinging. If the thug does go down, he will step over behind the other thug. If not, he will stay put in the hope that next round he can finish what he started.
Adelaine pushes herself between Bandrift and the oncoming fog cloud. Bandrift eyes her warily as she speaks to him. He speaks with a panic edge in his voice, ”Miss, Vicard is bad news. I certainly didn’t expect him to come here. If he is after me…” he pauses and looks at the cloud. ’We really should be getting out of here.”In one hand is clutched a battered old paper, presumably the map.
Still in the fray, Landon lashes out again at the flanked, reeling thug. His sap’s land with sickening force and soon the thug drops to the floor senseless. Another thug shouts, ”Theo!” and curses Landon furiously.
The thug lashes out with club at Olaff’s head but the swing goes wide as the Viking doges it skillfully. The other thug simply keeps moving out of the fog and right into Adelaide’s spell. The mudball flies from the witch’s fingers with dizzying speed and instantly clings to the thug’s face and he is blinded in wet, goopy mud.
Vicard emerges from the fog and sees his ally coated in mud. Careful, he dodges behind a table and some shaking citizens. In his hand he still has the bag and in the other, a shining sword blade.
Initiative- Turn Four
Sborki- UP
Olaff- UP
Landon -Up
Adelaide -Up
Vicard
red thug, -10 HP lethal
yellow thug, Blinded
Sborki gets outside and gets his shield out.
Why don't they just get out of there?
"Vhere arre yah going lad?"
Olaff steps in front of the other thug and stares him maddly.
"I. Vill. Kill. Yahh!" He laughs.
Ahhh... how I missed a good fight!
A bright, wicked grin of triumph splits Landon's lips as the first thug flops to the floor limp. But there is no time to celebrate for the moment; three are still up and questing after his hide. And the hide of who will hopefully be his savior. Or at least the one to lead him to all the gold he could ever dream of.
With a hasty shout of, "Handle this one," to Olaff, he breaks off into a run toward the thug that had just exited the fog. Landon takes the wide route around the one that his new viking friend is dealing with, before beelining it out the way the thug had gone. He manages to break through the cloud just in time to see Vicard's sword catch the light and grinds to a halt behind his quarry. Taking quick stock of the situation, he gestures toward Vicard as he tries to catch the elf woman's eyes.
"Whatever you just did, him next!"
Adelaide holds her arms out to either side like a roadblock to Bandrift. She wasn't strong, or sturdy, but she'd do her best.
"If you know a decent way out at this point, I'm all ears!" she shot back at Bandrift. "You kind of missed the chance when the frog dropped the mist!"
As trouble seems to be closing in all around her, she begins casting an intricate, modified spell.
Sborki leaves the Inn and stands in the humid night air. The street is quiet with a few people running away from the fight as fast as they can. As he straps on his shield he wonders why everyone didn't simply flee.
Olaff tears to smash a thug again but misses with the clumsy weapon. His evil laugh and deep booming voice piece the thug with fear however, and his spirit breaks under the strain. ”Please, please don't kill me. I surrender!” and he sinks to his knee, and drops his weapon.
Landon speeds to a place behind the raging thug. Due to being blinded he has no idea the craft rouge is just behind him, saps in hand.
Bandrift seems to have gained a bit more confidence. ”Hey, you guys are winning” then he thinks at Adelaide's question. ”I think we can escape out of one of the second story windows. A mangrove tree grows right next to my room's windows. But why do we need to run away, we are winning lassie!” he says triumphantly.
Adelaide begins conjuring a powerful spell.
With surprising skill the blinded thug wipes the mud from his eyes, flinging it to the floor with a wet thunk. Suddenly face to face with Landon he swings his cudgel at the rouge. The bits of mud baffle him however and he misses by a mile.
Vicard looks around, curses mildy then says, ”Can't find good help these days. Worthless pack of..”[b] The he turns and runs along the wall shouting, [b]”I'll be back Bandrift. I'll hunt you down if it is the last thing you do, and next time, it'll take more then some jungle trash to save you!”
Initiative- Turn Five
Sborki- UP
Olaff- UP
Landon -Up
Adelaide -Up
Vicard
red thug, -10 HP lethal , surrendered
yellow thug,
Sborki hears the fighting going on, and people running out of the fog, but spies neither friend nor foe among them. He hears the shouting and the threats of the intimidating humans, particularly the unmistakable roar of Olaff. He's glad the big yellow man likes him. He'd be a terrible enemy!
What the hey? If this is a typical night in Bloodcove, I'd rather take my chances in the jungle!
He lingers at the edge of the fog, ready to dip back into it if any of those mean men come after him.
Olaff was ready to gut the man with his sword when he surrendered. Instead, he spited on him.
"On your knees? I vas vrong... dis is no good fight! You are vorms, and a linnorm from de north do not care forr vorms… get lost, maggot!"
Saying this, Olaff gets out of the mist, following Landon. When he moves out, he sees the other thug, as well as Vicard running.
I hate when they flee… but this fight is not my goal… the old man is.
"Hey boy, both of yourr friends are on the grround and that covard boss of yourrs is running like a filthy rat, so vhat vill be, dropped knees or dropped teeth?"
Landon wastes no time in bringing both saps up to sweep at either side of the thug's head. If he can take this one out quickly, maybe Vicard won't be able to get far. Then again, maybe the mage's spell will do the work for him, considering. She has been taking her sweet time about casting. Sadly, he had not been able to get to the thug in time to capitalize on his blindness, but this will have to work.
Adelaide frowns as the leader of the pack runs just as her spell had finished charging up. Waste not, want not, she thought, eyening up the thug closest to her.
She shrugged and let the blast fly.
Sbokri hovers near the door, watching and waiting. Suddenly he sees Vicard running like a man possessed. Prudently, the little frog slips back into the fog, vanishing into the pearly mist.
Olaff roars his threat to the thug. While the frightened man thinks it over, Landon suddenly attacks him, swinging his saps. Only one connects, cutting him above the eye. Bleeding, faced with many armed combatants he too breaks down and begs for mercy from Landon. ”Please, don't kill me. Just let me go out that door and you'll never see us again.” he blubbers.
He is lucky as Adelaide's spell goes wide, arcing a terrifying blast of electricity through the room. It only confirms his views and he starts to cry and beg for mercy.
Vicard, with one last glimpse over his shoulder, vanishes into the inky night.
Combat is Over!
Bandrift turns to Adeliade ”You are something in a fight. Ain't see lightning like that since an old fashioned jungle storm!” Chuckling a bit he turns to the group , ”So, my glorious protectors. Now what? Vicard is going to be back faster then jungle rot, and backed with an army. Got a plan for getting out of this place alive? I recommend a boat, but I ain't got one. Any of you?” he looks at the disparate group of men, Grippli and half-elves.
The two surrendered thugs grab their unconscious buddy and hustle out of the Inn, as everyone else flees too. The mist slowly fades away.