The map in Gwath’s hands show a red-inked line weaving through the foothills, and into the proper mountains of the Baldin Heights. By the look of it, there is no trail in that area, but the plotted path does not go far into the mountains, but it is clear that the hike through the rock will be difficult, and very cold. The journey will surely take two days, perhaps three, if there is heavy snow in the mountain peaks.
“Wait,” the elf answers Quick tersely, not looking up from his parchment. He continues writing for a few more minutes.
WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!
“There,” Moss states, turning the document around for the others to see a neat, spidery hand with the following words:
I, Maurice Moss, agent of the Andal Family, Collectors of Artifacts, am hereby bound to pay the agreed sum of 200 gold pieces to each of the undersigned for services rendered.
PAYMENT: Each of the undersigned shall receive an advance of 100 gold pieces for the cost of expenses during the journey from Port Elam to the disclosed location in the Baldrin Heights. The final 100 gold pieces shall be paid in full by M. Moss (the agent) upon the return to Port Elam, or another location unanimously agreed upon by the agent and the undersigned after the acquisition of said artifact.
SERVICES RENDERED: The services provided by the undersigned include, but are not limited to, guiding the agent and associates (the undersigned) to the site of the artifact, assisting in the search of the artifact or related information, protecting the interests of the Andal Family (including the agent, associates, and the artifact) from hazards natural and unnatural, sharing pertinent information related to the journey or objective of artifact acquisition, and contribution to the completion of the artifact discovery.
The undersigned agree on the above terms of payment and services rendered, and by signing this contract agree that a breach of these terms disqualifies them from the final payment and incurs a debt of 100 gold pieces owed to the Andal Family and their agent, M. Moss. The undersigned are bound to render services by accepting the agreed upon amount of coin and signing below.
Moss nudges the inkwell and quill, indicating where the four should sign.
A few cries of alarm outside the inn draw your attention to the window. The crowded street is full of all manner of folk hurrying down the same direction, north. It is plain by their sense of urgency that they are running from something, not towards something. Only the blind could miss the mass panic building outside.
Quick unlimbers his massive battle axe with one hand, motioning the others to prepare for battle with the other.
"Pray to your gods. You may meet them this day."
”Arms out!” Henry barks as he reaches for his pack. He throws a canvas flap aside and pulls out a crossbow with a black lacquered stock.
”Gwath! Find out what’s going on out there!”
Moss looks up at the sudden alarm in confusion. “Wha…”
Gwath does not need to look far to see what is going on outside. A handful of orcs chase after the citizens in a roaring charge. One man, a fat bumbling baker, is cut down right in front of the window. Igith screams. More orcs can be seen across the street, storming into establishments and rendering anything that moves into gore. These hulking, masses of muscled green skin and long black greasy hair are garbed in furs and leather, wielding crude metal weapons. From their yellow-tusked mouths, a harsh and guttural language spills forth, reveling in battle. For orcs to breach this deep within the city center suggests that this is no mere raid. It is an invasion.
A few orcs turn bloodthirsty eyes to the inn and bare teeth menacingly.
Quick gestures down his own body and a white shimmer forms in the air. Tiny, luminescent scales fuse with the half-orc's skin.
"Il dii karaak kos ol dovah vrii."
"Let my skin be as dragon scales."
Quick levels his eyes on the small band of would be adventurers as he makes his way to stand beside Henry, Gwath, and Gorim.
"Gang up on them. We Orcs are not so easy to kill."
Henry has his foot in the stirrup* and is drawing the bowstring back by the time he spies the orcs. He deftly hooks the bowstring onto the nut and places a bolt into the trough as he raises the crossbow to his shoulder.
After a heartbeat of hesitation, he fires.
"Gwath, belay that order! You two!" he yells as he gestures at the innkeeper and barmaid. "Come with us! We'll get you out of here!"
-Fire at orc (Which one is to be determined when I receive the map)
-Determine how likely it is for the Orcs to be repelled, and estimate how large a force they probably brought.
Applicable:
Rapid reload (Heavy Crossbow, move action to load)
Point Blank Shot (+1 to attack/damage against a target w/in 30 ft.)
Profession: Soldier (5 Ranks)
*
"There is nothing a predator will chase more relentlessly than a quarry in flight. We should stand to these three and make good our escape after. You do not have to like it, but I know more of these creatures than do you, Henry. No disrespect."
"I have no objections to that. We'll fight them if they see us."
[ooc], this attack will go off once there is a clear shot to an orc.
Henry knows that Port Elam’s primary function is trade, and her defenses are suited against sea-borne attacks, not foot soldiers. Battle is chaos, so the city may stand for an hour, or a full day -Henry isn’t sure since he doesn’t fully know the size of the invading force and the readiness of Port Elam’s defenses.
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Gwath stays where he is. In only a few brief moments, Gwath sees a peaceful meal and a calm atmosphere turn into a battle and a state of chaos. Shouts clouding the air from outside and within, Gwath can still pick out the guttural roars and grunts of those outside whose blood resonates with half his own.
He stands straight and readies his old short bow, eyes on the windows and door.
Gorim grabs his backpack and slips past Henry, placing it on the next table back. From this, his eyes flicking between the door and windows, he draws his mace in preparation for combat.
"Here they come. Screw your courage to the sticking place!"
Moss stands and draws a shortsword, and presses himself against the wall beside the door, intending to stab the first intruder.
Suddenly, one orc barges through door and holds a ragged falchion aloft in bloodlust with a guttural bellow. Another follows him in, and without hesitation arcs a vicious chop at the first thing he sees -an elderly elf.
Moss has enough time to flinch before a great jagged-edged blade halves him from the waist down. His legs kick in painful spasms and a mixed look of fear and agony covers his elven face. In seconds, Moss slumps, dropping the sword in his hand. A third orc forgos the door and hurls himself recklessly through the glass with a mighty CRASH.
Scattering chairs as he tumbles, the orc raider sprawls over the wood floors, nearly losing grip of the greataxe in one muscular hand. The window crasher barks a curse in orcish, muffled by the floorboards against his face. The orc standing in the doorway, the killer of Moss, appears to be having trouble pulling his falchion out of the wall behind the elf’s body.
Twak! The snap of a crossbow sounds from near the kitchen door, and the fletching from a bolt suddenly protrudes from the side of the orc spattered with elf blood. The green-skinned beast roars a challenge. Behind the bar stands the grizzled innkeeper, already moving to reload the mechanism in his gnarled hands.
“Back door’s through the kitchen. I’ll help you hold ‘em off for a bit. Igith! Go!” he growls. The barmaid’s small feet scurry through the kitchen door.
Fthwip! Henry's crossbow fires a stout bolt at the orc in the doorway. The bowstring had not yet stilled before Henry lowered the bow and reloaded it.
Henry's bolt buries deep into the wall, inches from the first orc's chest.
Edit: will also be busy this weekend.
And before I forget, do you prefer us to ask questions like the above in the discussion area?
Gorim's face transforms into a brief state of terror as he watches Moss get cut in two. His lips move, silently mouthing a brief prayer to Irori, eyes darting between the various orcs and Moss.
I need ta get over there... he thinks to himself, eyes settling on the elf.
"Fus!"
A bright bead of blue force shoots forth from Quick's outstretched hand to drive the crossbow bolt deeper into the injured orc. The half-orc then steps back to give himself a clear path to defend the innkeeper.
Gwath’s arrow pegs the door behind the first orc.
The orc injured by the innkeeper’s crossbow, and Quick’s magic, still stands despite the bloody tip of the bolt poking out his other side. If he were a man, the wound would have killed him, but the savage orc looks to be very alive as it roars and dark blood splatters on the wood floor.
Henry Southgard, still somewhat piqued that he missed at a range where he and the orc could have communicated by wiggling their eyebrows at each other, shifts targets and fires at the one Orc that has not yet stumbled or been wounded.
,
He then drags a nearby table between him and the orcs.
Henry’s bolt drives deep into the foremost orc’s chest and the beastly warrior staggers back. His yellow eyes flutter and then snap open as he regains his footing. He snarls at the crossbowman as the table slides between them. Heaving every breath, it looks as though only his bloodlust keeps him from falling like a normal man.
The innkeeper’s crossbow hits the orc in the doorway again, piercing his green, meaty leg. By the roar, it is clear the raider still has plenty of fight left.
Coppervein, still focused on Moss, dashes over expecting the worst.
Moss’ blood gushes from where his body is severed, his chest heaving weakly and his skin is paling. Gorim knows he only has moments left before the heart will run out of blood to pump, and then, the elf will be dead. There is little he can do for this poor soul, but comfort his final moments. As the dwarf draws nearer, Moss turns wide eyes to him.
“The S-silver Sc-scale! Find it f-first!” he gasps. His hand closest to his pack twitches. “T-take m-my journal. Others are loo-loo-look-king…” as the elderly elf trails off, Gorim can see that his chest heaves no more. Moss’ eyes glaze over with death, and the blood from his wounds slow to a trickle.
Slowed by the crossbow bolts sticking out from their bodies, two of the orcs labor forward. The elf-killer advances to stand over Gorim and Moss, but is looking intently at Gwath. The other shuffles around the table until Henry is in striking range.
The window-crashing orc stands, greataxe at the ready, and takes determined steps at the innkeeper. He snarls at the easy prey as the old innkeeper hurries to reload his crossbow.
A gnarled finger pulls the trigger and looses another bolt.
The shot pegs the axe-wielder in the gut. The orc howls in pain, but does not fall.
“Make this quick, before more show up!” the innkeeper commands gruffly, reloading his crossbow.
"Snap. Click. Clack."
Henry Southgard reloads his crossbow and considers his targets. To his left is an orc flanked by Gorim and Gwath. To his right is the orc charging the innkeeper. Right before him is an enraged orc with murder in its eyes. The choice is obvious.
"Thwack!"
;
Quick moves toward defending the innkeeper. He sinks into a defensive crouch, axe at the ready.
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Gwath stares into the eyes of the orc directly in front of him , surprised to find that his chain of thought jumps first to how closely related the two might be as opposed to actually figuring out what to do next.
Nothing fancy. He draws the falchion at his side and takes a straightforward slash at the orc.
Gwath’s heavy curved blade shears through leather, furs, and flesh, and the orc falls immediately from the killing blow. The mercenary’s falchion comes away covered in dark blood.
Gorim, free from the once overbearing orc, takes a moment to close Moss' eyes, speaking lightly in Dwarven tongues, paying his respects.
He then grabs the elves pack and stands, turning to survey the room, fists tightening.
The bloodthirsty orc sees Henry raise his crossbow, and springs out of the way, delivering a counterattack.
But a nearby chair luckily gets tangled in the swing and does not connect. The beastly raider grunts and arcs his weapon in a downward chop.
The notched falchion cuts deep into Henry’s shoulder as its wielder roars in the spilling of blood, completely ignorant of his own severe wounds. The other orc turns to Quick, and growls gutturally with a tusked grin, “Jy ruik van die stad.”
“You stink of the city.”
Slowed by the bolt protruding from his gut, the orc closes in on the half-orc mage.
The innkeeper’s crossbow bolt shoots wide, flying through the broken window and into the street.
Eager to dispatch his foe, Henry swings too soon and misses the hulking figure.
Hissing in pain, the REAL Henry* steps back, reloads his crossbow, and fires.
I (5 foot step) to N4 and fire at the orc in P5.
;
* XD
Gorim, turning his head in response to Henry's hiss, eyes widening, rushes over to his aid. He throws his mace to the side , freeing a hand, then placing it gently, loosely, over the bloody shoulder.
"Keep at 'em, lad!" grins the Dwarf, putting his faith to work.
Gorim, turning in response to Henry's hiss, eyes widening, steps over to his aid while sheathing his mace. Coppervein then places his free hand gently, loosely, over the bloody shoulder.
"Keep at 'em, lad!" grins the Dwarf, putting his faith to work.
Henry’s thuds into the orc’s side, and the raider reels back. Gwath easily finds an opening and runs the orc through with his massive blade. The muscled body tumbles to the ground, and more dark blood pools at the feet of Gwath and Henry.
The last orc in the inn arcs a swing at Quick with his greataxe.
The half-orc mage suffers a slice across his chest. Thankfully, the wound is not as deep as the orc raider intended.
“Half-orc! Down!” The innkeeper aims cautiously to avoid Quick while attempting to fell his assailant. The shot flies over the orc’s head.