Lonjiku is a middle-aged Tian man, although he looks much older than his age due to lack of sleep caused by recent events with the raid.
He turns to Savarend when he enters and begins to brush him off as a drunk. So, my daughters cliental arrive already drunk. How fitting. he grumbles to himself. Then suddenly he pauses, taking a long deliberate look at the cleric then back to the halfling and his companions. The light of realization crosses his face.
Here are the “heroes” who saved Sandpoint. Of course, where else would such flash-in-the-pans be welcome. Lonjiku approaches the group and starts accusing you of endangering the townsfolk with your ill-advised “antics” against the goblins, implying you should have left the defense of the town to the city guard and other “trained professionals.”
There have been a few smatterings of elves throughout Sandpoint, no more or less that would be expected in this area of Varishia. The most prominent elf, and the only one you have had any real contact with, in Ameiko Kaijitsu, owner of the Rusty Dragon. There is also Lonjiku Kaijitsu, a local nobleman and father of Ameiko who was scheduled to speak at the opening ceremonies yesterday, but as announced, a sudden illness prevented him from attending the ceremony (this isn’t something that surprised the locals, given Lonjiku’s well-known dislike of frivolity and festivals).
1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26Intimidating >: (
Seeing the serious nature of the she-dwarf and knowing when to step aside, three of the sailors take their drinks and step away from the table. The remaining three sit with bemused faces looking between the the carriage driver and the dwarf.
Alaran senses the crowd is neutral yet fiesty. The murmur of wages being placed can be herd above the normal din of the room.
The tall regal elf looks down his noise at Dairkal. Speaking in common so everyone can understand his words Your ignorance is repugnant and inappropriate newcomer. Your use of “sir” was appropriate however. He waives a hand to dismiss you. Now go about whatever mundane business,you mundanes do.
AMEIKO! Get out here at once!
“The Sandpoint Garrison”. Three hours after sunup::
The guards explain that the goblins cloths and possessions were burned due to sanitary concerns. They do recall with disgust that his necklace contained several dead birds, all in different states of decay.
Joining up with Savarend, you are directed back to SANDPOINT SAVORIES where a delighted Alma Avertin welcomes you inside and immediately serves up some of the freshest and finest bearclaw pastries imaginable. All the while doting on you both for your heroism in saving her (and everyone elses) businesses from burning at the hands of those foul creatures.
“The Tip”. Sundown.:
The Hagfiush is one of Sandpoint’s most popular taverns, especially among fishermen and gamblers. Unlike the Rusty Dragon that caters to adventuring types, this sea side inn has a clientele of sea faring folk and ruffians. It’s owned by a gregarious one-legged man named Jargie Quinn, and the inn gets it’s name from the large glass aquarium that sits behind the bar, the home of a repellent Varisian hagfish that Jargie affectionately calls Norah. Hanging from a nail next to Norah’s tank is a leather pouch bulging with coins: prize money for anyone who can drink down a single tankard of “water” scooped from Norah’s tank. It costs a single silver coin to try.
Finding the carriage driver may not require much skill in judging people. A shrill and piercing voice carries through the room from a corner booth. There a thin, tall needle noised man wearing a familiar carriage coat hoist a tankard with a half dozen sailors hanging on his every word. . . .then I was in’a alley, an’a young girl was’a cornered ba’a brutish ugly piss soaked goblin as ya ever did saw. I struks a match on ma teeth, an lit up a plank o’ wood then went afta the gob yellin, "get outa here girl, i’ll save ya” . . .
Alaran steps a few moments behind E’Terah.
Evening at the Rusty Dragon.:
Dairkal, being able to speak Minkaian due to his time spent living at the Rusty Dragon chatting with Ameiko, knows the man’s words to be “Where the hell is my daughter?”
Frustrated by the dim witted creature, and unable to do a proper "hands on" interrogation, due to the iron bars and steely eyes of the sheriff, E'therah stomps off to find fresh air and a bath.
Alaran, more accustomed to observing and listening, remembers tales of how goblins, especially lower status ones, use symbols and objects to communicate instead of words. Perhaps it is attempting to answer the question after all.
The location of the Hagfish across from the garrison explains it's popularity with the town guards. Fortunately, or on occasion unfortunately, it can also mean a fast response whenever trouble happens.
The exterior of this popular destination is clad in salvaged ship planks creating a noteworthy appearance in Sandpoint. A carved sign hangs at the entrance "Home of Norah the Hagfish. Drink if you dare."
Alaran eyesite takes in the entire scene from several paces behind the oracle. A moment later she watches as the she dwarf . . .
Alaran looks at the hot headed man, trying to perceive any detail that may explain his actions. He appears to be well dressed and of Tian decent is all she can make out.
Going to run three vignettes at the same time. I hope that is not confusing for anyone.
Post of PM me if there are any drawback and we can adjust as we go.
Going to run three timelines for the moment. Jump in to as many or few as you feel are appropriate for your PC and/or fun for you.
A moment after Savarend grabbed the goblin, a strong odor of pickles and cabbage whiffs up in light tentacles of steam from the cold stone floor. Apparently it’s bladder is not all that it has lost control of.
Hearing Saverend whisper “speak” it immediately begins squeaking out La Laaaa Laaa Speak’ez speakie speakez. Pickles. Meat’ie pies. Uh, rat chewies. La Laaaa
Looking at E’Terah No steal Blargz namez! No hurtz I! No hurtz I!
Pleading to Alaran it yells out. Blarg no know name. Blarg know Blarg name. It’a Blarg.
DC 10 knowledge local or better to discern meaning.
Come evening you find yourselves having a lovely repast at the Rusty Dragon, thinking over the days questions and planing strategies. Ameiko and Bethana busily go about their work, happy for the business. Although the majority of the conversation still focuses on the raid the mood is greatly improved over the night before.
As E’terah eats and drinks she sees one of the town guards enter the Inn. She recognizes him as one of the full timers on the sheriff’s roster. He looks about and heads directly to E’Terah, moving in such a way to insure his approach is unthreatening, but announced. Placing a hand lightly on her shoulder he knells down to speak in hushed tones.
Mistress Deepheavy, I hoped to find you here. I have news. I have listened ta your tale of the carriage driver you told the sheriff. Just now, I was grabbing some grub at th’ Hagfish, before my shift ya see. Anyways, there’s this stranger boastin’ ‘bout killing gobbies an such. Wiry fellow in a coachmen’s coat. ‘en I starts hearing ‘em spinnin’ a yarn ‘bout defending an entire carriage o’ passengers an such, killing o’er a dozen before be’n overran ‘e says.
Always a hearty meal and good company, the evening turns to entertainment. Drinking, music and stories that the Rusty Dragon is famous for. The place is packed tonight, including Aldern Foxglove ionce again looking his regal best, freshly washed and with a new tailored suit pressed as tight as his practiced smile.
Somewhere between whisky shots and mandolin ballads, the taverns door slams open with a violent rattle and boom. A surly visitor enters shouting sharp-tongued commands a in a strange language. The other patrons of the bar, seeming to recognize him, grow very quiet and interested in their drinks.
Anyone speak Minkaian?
The naked goblin stands with it's feet on cross bars five foot above the floor. scowling and pumping its arms resembling a primate on exhibition.
At E'terah's threat, his face goes pale and fear washes over it. A vile fetid stream of yellow odorous urine arcs from its wrinkled winkie.
DC 10 reflex save for E'terah to avoid the stream. Same for any small folk within 10 feet. DC 8 for and medium persons who may be within 10 feet.
Total oblivious to its bladder control, the goblin cries out. Short long shanks no make bad medicine on blarg! No teef trap'n by ugly man thing.
It climbs down off the bars and cowers visibley shaking in the cells corner.
Wesa all be snetz by weird head long shankz. It no deformed lika'ez youz referring to E'Terah. It be weird head lik'a dat onez it points a dirty wart infested finger at Alaran. only da longshankz not'a be milker but'a banger.
The journey back the the stone fortified garrison follows the same path as the initial trip. People are busy going about their daily routine yet take time to smile and wave to the new heroes. Seeing sheriff Hemlock accompanying the brave adventures seem to have a positive and pride-full effect on the community. Scars of the raid still can be seen, both physical and mental, but are lessoned as your small procession passes by.
The main floor of the garrison is all business. Spit and polished. Function over form. Order and discipline rule here. Just as the no-nonsense sheriff demands it.
The basement level however is an uncomfortable place. Dark, dank and sparse. Although clean, it totally void of any accommodations. Each cell has a flat hard bed, no linens, pillows or chairs. A privy bucket bolted to the corner is all the luxury provided. And event that prisoners have to clean themselves. Hemlocks philosophy is that townies should not want to spent time here, detouring them from casual crimes that will land an overnight stay.
Despite that, a local drunk is sobering up in a corner cell. Sipping on his morning ladle of water and chunk of two day old castoff bread.
The naked goblin occupies a center cell along the opposite wall. His clothing so filthy Hemlock ordered it burned (Not where the gob can see it. It may enjoy that.") Climbing the bars at the sound of entering footsteps, he sings in a raspy voice strained from yelling and screaming.
Goblin rule. Hu-man drool.
Let’s me go, let’s me go.
The sheriff looks a Alaran and thinks about her questions.
As Dairkal look around for details and clues, about the only thing disturbed is the coffin lid, roughly broken and discarded by crude force, then the remains taken, but with more care. Nothing else seem to have been disturbed.
Haley; Casting your spell you detect the faint residual afterglow of magic. The type that is left after an item has expended it arcane energy, generally lasting only a few hours or days at the most.
Dairkal; Looking closely you can see that it is definitely a sewn garment of some type made of rough hewn material.
Alaran; Your eyes penetrate deeper noticing fine details including two small patches laying loose near the garment. They appear to be in the general shape of humanoid skulls.
E'Terah; Cautiously lifting the cloth on the end of your ax reveals it to be a robe.
Masai; As you look about the are for additional threats. You spot. Out of the corner of your eye. Deep into the shadows. As still as morning fog.
The robe has several darker areas where it appears a patch once was sewn on. They are all in the shape of a bone, most being skulls and a few of other misc shapes.
Further into the crypt, the rear center stone coffin has the lid cracked open and thrown onto the floor.
Haley’s fire burns into the bones guarding the entrance way, charing black the ribs with white hot cracks. As the undead squeezes forward it becomes more vulnerable to attack. Taking advantage, Alaren looses an arrow that shatters the charred torso, removing the “un” and leaving only “dead”.
The second mindless (literally) abomination creaks forward only to find the stark knife of life and the hammer of redemption pulverize it to dust and fragments.
These souls are once again at peace.
Everyone looking into the darkened vault can detect no further movement or thereat. There seems to a pile of loose brown cloth not far from the entrance, lying discarded on the cold stone floor. Perhaps a garment or sac.
The skeletons appear to be autonumis creatures with no emotion or motivation other that to destroy all fleshy creatures they encounter.
The bony jagged hands claws at E'terah from the doorframe.
2 claw attack 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13 Damage 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
The slender bony undead then hunches sideways and squeezes between the she dwarf and half elf to gain access to even more meaty flesh.
The second skeleton moves into the space the first just left from, and rips at the mushy flesh of the Hal elf. lipless jaw moving up and down as if making a silent battle cry.
2 claw attack 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14 damage 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
I'm away from photoshop today, so the map will be caught up later.
Instinctively Alaren’s sword strike seeks her enemy’s vital organs to incapacitate her foe. He blade slides between the ribs penetrating the cavity that would hold the lungs. As fast as the action can be performed, she realizes the blade need to be sideways to shatter the ribs. Perhaps on her next attack . . .
As the vault door is swung open (Who’s dong the honors?), long bony fingers reach out and claw at the living flesh of the opener.
DC 10 perception:
It’s an skeleton. Dry bones only, no armor, weapons or clothing.
DC 14 perception:
There’s more than one! Could be two or could be three. Your not sure.
DC 20 perception:
The appear to have been standing completely still, as if awaiting to be triggered by the opening of the door.
Everyone can pick ANY starting point they want. Please use a coordinate (i.e. h7) or a general discriptor (i.e. Max bow range with clear shot of skeleton) and I’ll fill you in.
Skeleton(s) 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8
Alaren 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22
PC average 12
PC's act first!
Hemlock was standing farthest back. He draws his weapon and bellows out What's happening up there!
Dairkal’s keen perception notices that many of the footprints are goblin prints, but some of them appear to have been left by a larger humanoid.
E’Terah survival training can further confirm that about six goblins and one Medium humanoid climbed the wall, then approached and entered the vault.
Sheriff Hemlock listens to the she-dwarf and her observations. If that be th’ case Deepheavy, there may be more ta this than just smiley runt buckets running amuck. But what sensible shoe wearing citizen would cavort with greenines?
He looks to Alaren as she queries to the crypts use. It’s used for housing the remains of previous caretakers, priests, and acolytes who served at the Cathedral. It’s only the one floor, no basement or nothin’. Several tombs lay about, Ezakien Tobyn’s the most noted of late as he was the priest burned screaming alive when the temple went up five years ago. It’s still a debate exactly how many people he saved that day.
Taking a closer look at the crypt, the large and heavy door is opened about three inches. This door has an outer surface panel made of nice stone with decretive carvings, and an inner thicker panel used to make a tight seal when shut. Like a modern bank vault door, only made of stone and not as thick. It’s impossible to view inside due to the thickness of the inner panel.
Leaving the garrison the group curves up tower street towards the Temple. The festival grounds are mostly cleared out now. The majority of burnt material having been hauled off, the grounds raked and scorch marks being cleaned off as you watch. Several of the volunteers wave at the heroes as word of your deeds continues to spread around town. The Sheriff casually explains that most of the debris has been hauled away and dumped from junkers edge(6) where the rocks and tide will smash it up and wash it away.
The doorknob headed man looks to Father Zantus. Perhaps you should retire to the Cathedral and rest while we look into this. The tired priest gives a nod and trods off to speak with a volunteer before heading inside.
As you travel the side fence that leads behind the Temple to what is referred to as the Sandpoint Boneyard (2) Hemlock again expresses gratitude to your group of adventurers for aligning yourselves with his town. He's starting to consider you a significant resource, and hopes today may foster a long standing alliance.
The vault in question is a 20-foot- square stone structure that stands near the wall. Used to house the remains of previous caretakers, priests, and acolytes who served at the Cathedral, the stone door does indeed hang ajar. The ground around the place is churned up as well.
DC 13 Perception Check:
Many of the footprints are goblin prints, but some of them appear to have been left by a larger humanoid.
DC 13 Survival Check:
You can confirm that about six goblins and one Medium humanoid climbed the wall, then approached and entered the vault.
Hemlock looks to E’Terah I’ll have my men make some inquiries when they finish this runt hunt business. But remember His brows narrow and his stare penetrates deeply into your eyes. We maintain order by following the law here. NO vigilantly justice within the town walls. His tone is clear he is not expecting a response.
Since fate has brought me here at this time, I will help in anyway I can.
Much obliged, ranger.
Hemlock listens to Haley’s tale from her (not to distant) youth. Towards the end the light of recognition flickers in his eyes. Haaa. The young Kindle girl. He smiles, before screwing on a serious face. I can neither confirm nor deny your apple theory young lady. A sheriff’s place is the dispense justice and keep order. He pauses, shifting his posture to a conversational stance, as he is known for. I always say however, discipline without a lession only leads to more disciplining. Seems to have had a positive effect on you lass.
He spies Masao entering the garrison. He nods and simply say. Good.
When Dairkal expresses his thought, the sheriff scowls at the halfing.
I'm gonna be around here for awhile for sure, but I think it would be best if we weren't any way official. If there's gonna be more trouble, better for us to handle it on our own. This way, we don't ruffle any feathers. Besides, I kinda hate havin people in charge of me
Listen up. And be clear. There is NO vigilantly justice in my town. Stay far away from my feathers unless you want some ruffling of your own. Clear!
1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20 Diplomacy.
Taking deep breath. Of course, you have all demonstrated good judgement. Besides, more deputies would just cause more paperwork.I welcome any assistance you offer.
In the aftermath of the raid, Father Zantus is visibly fatigued. At an opportune moment he interrupts the conversation to address the sheriff. Sheriff. Last evening you requested we report any unusual activity immediately. When taking my morning constitutional around the grounds I spied Ezakien Tobyn’s burial vault door is ajar.(The door is a jar? What dark sorcery this!?)
The Sheriff, ever diplomatic, addresses the priests concerns, although a trained observer would note he feels it’s of lesser import to other matters at hand.Very well Father. Most likely someone hid there last night during the raid. Worst-case scenario, maybe a goblin got trapped in the vault He pause a moment to take a mental inventory of his assets. I have my full timers already assigned to cleanup and recon. Most of the volunteer militia are tending to their own concerns. Addressing the heroes. I could use a a few hands here, just to be safe. What say you?
Perception Check 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
Alaren’s enhanced elf sesnse see and hear EVERYTHING in the garrison. What sounds like a jumble of echoing noise to most, is clear distinct sounds to the half-elf's pointed ears.
About a half dozen men occupy the cavernous main floor. One conversation has to do with finding dead goblins from their own stupidly. One found hiding in a rain barren. A full rain barrel that it pulled the lid over to hide then drown. Another burned to death after spilling a jar of tar on itself when lofting it over it’s head to trow at the pastery shop.
Others are talking about the best way to dispose of the bodies. Burning is the most obvious choice, but one militiaman voices concern that such an act may be seen as respectful to the fire loving creatures, and word could get back to them about that. He suggests throwing them into the sea to rot.
The goblin prisinor can also be made out screaming and causing a ruckus. It’s grating voice bouncing on the walls from the basement holding cells.
Lastly, Alaren hears the soft foot falls of another visitor trodding up the steps to the garrison entrance. Glancing behind, it’s the familiar form of Father Zantus. Looking tired and raged from the events. It is clear he has not slept a wink since the raid.
Sheriff Hemlock takes in the sight of your group.
The rest of you seen to be passing through. Good fortune for us. He points to the half-elf. Mmmm. Alaren I believe you said your name was. You woodsy ranger types often detest goblins and such creatures for defileing the countryside.
He nods to the she-dwarf. Deepheavy correct. Your kind have been battling the green runts as a matter of course. Just another sporting day for you, eh. HaHaaaa.
Looking the paladin in the eye. Savarend. It was a great thing you did returning those coins to Father Zantus. Some might have thought of keep’n ‘em. You can battle with me anytime.
An' lastly this exotic young lady. Haley Kindel if my memory serves. And it seldom fails me. Your a bit of a mystery ‘ta me. But a good one at that. Sandpoint is glad to have your abilities on our side.
I believe there was one other visiting sword arm here as well. A Tian man. Mao, mmm, Masao. Yep that’s it. Pride me’self on remembering names. Not sure if he stayed of moved along, but his skills could be put to more good use.
He shifts his posture a bit. Turning the conversation to the matter at hand.
I only have ‘bout a dozen full time town guards here. Th’ rest are militia, all with jobs, responsibilities an' families. I can keep ‘em together for a short time, but sure could use same trained warriors ta’ stick around a few days to ease townfolks tensions and run off any green runt straglers.
So. Is that what brings ya here, or am I mistaken?
The journey to the garrison takes you down water street past Valdermar Fishmarket (4), a long open air building where cleaning has begun in anticipation of the days catch arriving mid morning. Turning due north on Main Street you pass the General Store (5) where old Ven Vinder is sweeping away the morning dust. He wavies as you pass, saying I heard what oyu did. Thank you for saving our town and my business from burning. Across the street is Turandarok Academy(6), where the towns youth are gathering for another day of learning. Passing Rusty Nail Alley you spot a business sporting a large painted sign of a wide-eyed goblin reading an upside down book nearly as tall as it is. The sign reads “The Curious Goblin- A Book Shop”(7). Apparently the invaders did not make it to this part of town by the fact the sign has not been defaced or destroyed by goblin rage. Smells of fresh bakery items now fill your nostrils. Bread, croissants, muffins and pastries. As you pass the window of Sandpoint Savories (8), an energetic femail runs out with an arm full of fresh pasteries and shoves one into each of your hands. Thanks you. Thank you all so much. You bravery is.. is. Well. It’s great! Enjoy. She runs back inside, happy to be open for business after the nights events. Passing Cracktooth’s Tavern (9) (not open for business at this ungodly early hour), brings you to a wide grassy crossing. Before you are two stone block buildings. The town hall and the town garrison. Appearing as stone fortresses, these are among the first building layed down when Sandpoint was forming it’s community out of the then wild Verishian coast.
The heavy oak and iron double doors are proped open as you approach the garrison. From inside you can hear the bellowing voice of Sheriff Hemlock echoing around the interior. I want a full report of all activities from the raid! If it happened, I want to know about it!
Claren Fieldsman was orphaned at the age of six when her entire family was slaughtered be rogue bandits. Being a third generation Sandpoint citizen with no know outside ties, the entire town took it upon themselves to raise her as a communal family. Now at the human age of adulthood, fourteen years, she barters room and boarding from Ameiko in exchange for the breakfast and lunch shift each day. All gratuities Claren receives are for her alone, as she saves to become an innkeeper herself one day.
This information you know as she shares it freely with all adventuring types that happen upon the Rusty Dragon. After all, adverting types only stay at inns when they have come upon good fortune. Good fortune means generous tips. Receiving lodging, meals and drinks as result for your heroism would ease the strain from your purses for the next week. The bubbly girl then places her famous tin cup scribed with “Claren’s Future Fund” at the tables edge as she skips off to help the others.
Ameiko gives a small smile to both Claren and your table as she continues about her duties. Sandpoint may be a small town, but it has a big heart she thinks.
Ameiko will take good care o’ya lasses. Speakn’ o lodgings, I thinks I’ll be gettn’a bit o’ bunk time meself. Tis gona be a busy morn. Besides cleaning up the gobs mess, I gota muck out the stables, water and feed the horses, groom out their coats, ‘ol brandy there needs a shoe replaced then .. He pauses, Then bellows out a great guffaw. HaHaaaa. Listen ta me. I prattle like a shopmaid. I envy ya lasses. Your days of adventuring lay before ya. He affectionally pats his pickled goblin prize. Ol’ Hosk days have horses arses laying before him. HaHaaaaa. Stay thirsty my friends.
After a night of drinking, stories, acrobatics, table dancing(?) Haley sounds rather drunk there.. More stories and more drinking the small crowd stumbles back to their rooms or local homes.
On the second floor are a pair of basic rooms adjoined with a simple wooden door. Each square flat has five standard beds with mostly fresh linens. Both have a window overlooking Mud Street, with the corner room having one extra view of it's side alley.
The night passes restlessly with each creak, footfall or stray animal sound alerting senses. Militia patrol and citizens nervously peek out of shade drawn windows, but no further threat descends on Sandpoint.
As the glow of the sun raises over the east, the sweet smells of biscuits, bacon, coffee and pastries waft into the room from the kitchen below. It is a fresh and crisp start to a new day here in Sandpoint.
-How do you greet it?
A warchanter, ya says. Very impressive. The stablemaster puts down his burning tool. Looking from E’Terah to Alaren he adds. Aye lass. I did cut down all these slimy bat rastards me self. Eh, you two come take a’gander at this.
He strolls over to the far side of the stables. In a corner he uses as an office, the ranger waves a hand at a large glass bottle in the corner. This ‘er be me pride n’joy. Inside is a preserved goblin body suspended in brine. It’s was once Chief Whartus of the now extinct Bonegrinder tribe. His chest swells with pride. Due in no small part to me own handiwork. Yup.
As ta a bounty. Well, that never come up before. Ay would be proud ta display your ears along wit’ mine however. Ay guess I could offer ya both a nights stay in the stables, if’n ya got no other digs for the night.
As your table swaps stories the grim thoughts of the patrons are replaced with tales of adventure and camaraderie. As Savarend begins to spin his yarn all are transported to a land fee of goblin destruction. By the conclusion of the tale drinks are flowing and conversations are sparking up.
The elderly halfling woman employed by Ameiko Kaijitsu to run the tavern, who introduced herself as Bethana Corwin when you first entered, gives you a warm soft smile. She is pleased with the diversion you are supplying to the locals.
Earlier in the evening it was mentioned by Dairkal that Ameiko had extended an offer of free room and board to the group of four sitting together, plus two others that would be joining soon. Bethana was at first taken aback, as her mistresses generosity for discounted accomidationis is well known, but a totally free stay is extremely rare. With free meals and drinks no less! With the dour mood of that time, she simply muttered. Well well. Now now. If you are laying down a fib, it’s a grand one. yes yes. If mistress Ameiko did not grant such generosity, she will ring your necks. Yes yes. After a short pause. But but, if she did and I refuse. Well. Then it is my neck she’ll ring. No no. No matter. I’ll make the arrangements.
Now, as the mood is more spirited, she approaches and throws two large iron keys attached to worn wooden carvings of dragon scales, each with a letter painted on them. Dairkal, I scratched a credit onto your ledger for a weeks boarding, I did I did. Pointing to the keys. Those two room are adjoining and there’s enough beds to sleep the lot o’ you plus four more. The normally timid halfling pauses then appears to make a decision. turning back, she addressed your table. So so. Your stories are so entertaining. Pray tell why my mistress would provide such an offer on the darkest of days. The moment gone, Her timid and meek nature seems to take back over. Umm uhh. If it please you , that is.
Elsewhere, in another part of Sandpoint. (Shared by an ajoing wall)
As quick as the she-dwarf could speak, the ranger spins on booted heals brandishing the glowing rod like a sword. Who there! Squinting his eyes from the fire to the darkened entrance he bellows. Do I know that voice!? Ho. Is that you my she-dwarf friend? Yes. Yes it is! Ho hohoho. Don’t just stand there, get yo’r arse in here. An who’s dis ya brings wit’ ya?
As E’Terha and Alaran enter, you both see a compact yet well maintained stables. Just inside the entrance is a somewhat grisly display. Nailed to three overhead rafters are rows of preserved goblin ears nailed in place. Each has a name burned into it’s leathery flesh.
Going back a bit
The man brushes himself off as best he can. Giving and slight bow and flourish. M'lady. Please excuse my oversight. I am Aldern Foxglove. Heir of the Foxglove estate. At your humble service and in your debt.
You travel the somber streets of Sandpoint. Heading south-east down High Street. The burn marks, broken windows and overall filth of the goblins is clearly visible. A few townsfloks are loading wheelbarrows and carts with debris and sweeping up. The long and wide Festival Street still looks presentable. Only a few scattered signs of goblin activity are visible, although the usually bustling avenue is mostly empty and quiet. All shops are latched and windows shuttered over. Reaching the Sandpoint Harbour you see an unusual sight. A small fishing boat flotes lazily offishore. Half burnt, the fire has been extinguished already. The odd item is the large deep sea fishing pole protruding from a dead goblin at the ors. From your angle, its not clear if the goblin was slain by the boat owner or if it is some mishap in goblin common sense that caused the harpooning.
At last, a mear fifty paces from the docks on market street is the Rusty Dragon. This large structure is Sandpoint’s oldest inn, notable for the impressive (and quite rusty) iron dragon that looms on the building’s roof, doubling as a lightning rod and decoration.
Upon entering the rustic door it's immediately clear tonight is not the usual fare of joyous boisterous song and drink the inn is known for. Patrons still sit at tables and the bar, but conversations are quite and solemn. The unimaginable events of this evening and the adrenaline of escaping the goblin attacks are turning into quiet reflection. Drinks of celebration are now drinks of forgetting.
Goblin Squash Stables is adjacent to the Rusty Dragon Inn. Not being clear on that information in advance, the duo traveled along River Street to arrive at a large sign above a door that perpetuates one of the greatest fears of the lowly goblin—being trampled underfoot by a horse.
A warm glowing light emits from the stables double doors that lay slightly ajar enough to let in a humanoid sized figure. Peeking inside you see a burly man sitting at a work bench hunched over a project. A firry branding type tool, only filled to a small to a point, is busy humming and working away on his project.
I'm posting from a remote location. I dont have access to my photoshoped map, so I'll put an update with location later. They are the buildings above the words Market Street near the bottom. Rusty Dragon is the center, and Goblin Squash to attached to the right of it.
Weird. Just short of 24 hours since my last GM post with no player responses.
I see there is still some fire left in your bellies even after the fight. I've meet your kind before. Aye. I wanted to be sure of who I was addressing before hauling you in public and saying. . .
In a lower voice, out of earshot of his militiamen
Wordlessly he changes the mood of the assembly from his attention to individual activities with a practiced change of posture. I've got a nice uncomfortable holding cell for that one, if you can leave its ear intact long enough to be questioned.
The other citizens standing in the square also offer up thanks to each of you individually and as a group.
Ameiko Kaijitsu speaks up as well. I not sure where you all have lodgings. Or if your staying in town. I very much hope you will. It would be refreshing to talk with adventurers again. And a fellow Tian. The last part was directed twords Masai, of course. I own the Rusty Dragon Inn. It would be my honor to offer you. All of you. A free weeks bording. Meals and drinks included.
At some point during or after any conversations with your group or individual members, the sheriff steps aside to gather reports from his men about the status of the town and its citizens.
E’Tera searches through the remains of the goblin commando finding nothing but the usual assortment of brick-a-brack, goblin weapons and armor. The now empty potion vile seemed to be the only item of civilized value it carried. Searching all the remains while gathering her ear trophies she collects a total of 21 copper and 18 silver coins.
he whispers to a militiaman beside him. I’ve seen men who get 'the itch' after facing death. Have myself once or twice. But never ten heartbeats after the enemy is dead!
The militiaman speaks softly from the corner of his mouth. Aye. The privileged are a strange lot. Never understood ‘em meself. Although, if a lady is gona pull someones arse outa th’ fire, a nobleman is not ah’ bad choice.
in a purposely loud voice meant for everyone’s ears the she dwarf proclaims
We all did our best t' keep those goblins off ya. Yer dog especially. Poor thing.
followed by Dairkal
Hey buddy, while Haley did indeed keep you safe, I helped kill your attackers. Also, if you would be so kind as to not drool on the young lady, I'm sure we'd all appreciate it
As though the word were a physical slap on the face, the nobleman jerks his head, stands up straight and takes in his surroundings. Looking to each of the gathered assemble, the dead goblins and his decapitated hound. In a clear voice more suited to his title he proclaims.Yes. YES. Thank you all. Thank you truly. Your bravery. Your skill. It is admirable, indeed.
He extends an elbow to Haley as he exits the area. Let us gather with the others and see what all this is about.
Alaren look the new dwarf arrival over. Of the three that rounded the wall, the dwarf seems to be the one with the greatest signs of combat showing on his weapons, armor and beard. If fact, he more resembles the look of you new companions that that of the militia.
At the town square, a handful of townsfolk have gathered to assess the situation. Among those in attendance are Father Zantus whom you all recognize, the Tian woman known as Ameiko Kaijitsu who Masao meet earlier in the afternoon, a half dozen militiamen and couple of townsfolk armed with pitchforks and assorted sharp tools.
Standing in the center is a burly man with a close shaved head and deep brown skin. Although only average height, his poise and self-assurance make him to be an imposing figure. As you approach, the circle opens at the wave of his hand and all conversation stops.
Savarend and the militiamen verify the security of the northgate wall as they travel north west. The men regale in the burly dwarfs tale of splattering goblins in one hit with his mighty longhammer, humerously referred to as goblinsmasher. Crossing under the arch behind the outbuildings connected to the Temple they stumble upon the ending of a conflict between a goblin command, his mount and a band of adventuring types protecting a defenseless aristocrat.
Alaren, seeing the same confrontation continuing from her vantage point at the opposite end of church street, leaves Masao to hog tie and guard the goblin. Running as fast as her slender legs can cary, she snatches up her bow and ends within arrowshot of the action.
A great grin of pleasure crosses the goblin commando’s face. The seriously injured commando knows the end is near. Feeling itself dying, it imagines it’s horsechopper slicing through the dwarfs defensed and laying her belly open for it’s mount to eat. In reality, a slap of acid burns it’s flesh. As it’s head droops it spies the tip of a rapier protruding from broken ribs. Just as it’s hallucination of victory climaxes an arrow critically pierces it’s heart ending it’s life in an instant. The giant grin is permanently etched on the dead face.
It’s mount points it’s noise upwards and howls. A sound of grief or relief? We may never know. He begins to bound west looking to round the town wall and escape into the forest.
The nobleman, looking worse for wear, realizes the battle is over. Blood rushes from his face at the realization and he almost faints. Regaining his composure, he look to Haley. You. You…save me. You saved me. By the gods. You. Saved. Me. Your skills are…are…amazing! Color returning to his face, the nobleman starts to regain control and the cut of his handsome jaw shines through the grime on his face. He speaks more slowly and deliberately. Never have I witnessed such courage before. . Drinking you in with a long sweeping gaze, he kneels on one knee, taking you hands in his. . . or witnessed one with such beauty. He lightly brushes his lips against the knuckles of your hand.
At some point after the commando’s death, the lead militiaman speaks up addressing everyone present.
Argg! I be want'n ta gets me in'ta a good Skulls 'n Shackles game. Aye. *wink* *Wink*
Make a GM alias
Haley and Masao;
Thanks for the rules explanation. I'll be able to remember that going forward.
I'll do a minor retcon for that turn using the unarmed strike RAW, so the grappled gob will be knocked unconscious instead of killed.
Today's post will most likely be in the evening as I got a late start today and need to get some work out to clients before crossing the threshold into Golarion.
Masao Takeru wrote:
I usually go with the player having to say non lethal or I try to knock him unconscious or whatnot. I'm not sure what the actual RAW is but I'm guessing it's as you say. I'll look into it closer next time and ask if it's not clear (unless some has a link or page number handy).
E-Terah Deepheavy wrote:
*maniacal GM grim will save*But it would have been so epic.
Forgot about shield of faith. My bad. I track the creatures stats but have not been with the PC's.
Just a thought.
The noble presses his back against the stone block wall in the way those not accustomed to battle often do seeking protection. His shoulders tight he bunches his once opulent chapeau in clinched fists before his chest. By the gods, what just happened!? Are we safe. What do they want? You..your hurt. Gods. My hound. That creature. Your bleeding. Are we going to die?
Alaren & Masao;
Not hesitating when the agile little creature squirmed out of her grip Alaren performs a diving chase one again. As before her weight descends upon the fast moving creature and her arms wrap around stoping it’s movement.
Masao, having heard the half-elfs cries for help, leaps to intercept and lays down a hammer fist on the goblins skill. An audible crunch cracks forth as the goblins face impacts the hard earth. The goblin goes limp. A slow pool of blood gathers around it head. It lives to maraud no more.
The goblin gives a satisfying splat when cough between your hammer and the stone bridge. There is no doubt the resulting stain and chipped stone will send a message to any future goblins the cross Tanners bridge.
After gathering up the coins and searching the remains you turn to leave.
The commando is fir to be tied with rage. He takes his horsechopper and stops up to E'Terah. Die cur! I will boil your flesh from it's bones in the same pot as my mangy #@$% mount!
His weapon descends.
The makeshift weapon tears through E'Terah's defenses slicing her midsection. She takes a hard hit!
The goblin attacking Haley and the noble never had a chance.
Halley Kindle and the hysterical nobleman clear the obstacles and stand on the grass near the city wall.
The goblin commando, battered, bitten and bruised, twists his failing body towards his mount as it relaxes it’s jaws preparing for another attack. Lifting his horsechopper high, he comes down heavy at the beast.
attack 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10, dammage 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
He strikes the crates as his former mound dodges his attack.
Further down the road, Alaren races and catches up to the crazed little beasty. Leaping like a puma she lands on it’s back and grapples it to the ground.
The goblin squirms kicks and gouges at Alaren trying to fee itself from her hold.
CMB to break grapple 1d20 ⇒ 15 vs CMD 14
The goblin slimy skin slides loose of Alaren’s grip and it continues it’s run towards the crowd.
Savarend’s chakram streaks forth catching the retreating goblin in it’s back.
Goblinsquisher. Has a nice ring to it.
Savarend easily catches up to the goblin nearing the bridge. With a huff and a crush his longhammer pulverizes the creature.
The other goblin sees this and hefts up his clinking bag of loot and begins running away from town. Unfortunately for the gob, the weight of his shinny prize is more than it’s scrawny body can handle and it’s slowed in it’s attempt to flee.
RETCON: (Retroactive continuity)
Goblin Commander wrote:
will save 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (6) - 1 = 5 His will to live is stronger than Haleys arcane ability as it fights to regain control.
What really happened;
The commanders will is as shaken as his body. Haley’s arcane aura soaks into the goblin causing his eyes to glass over as a daze settles into him.
Between the goblin dog’s attack and her daze spell, she capitalizes on the opportunity to move the noble citizen to safety. Setting her sights on a cleared are west of the creates she begins climbing over the rough terrain and half dragging half coaxing the noble along. Ah! He’s going to kill us! Look out! There’s another one. He going to kill us. A pesky goblin also jumps upon the crates taking a slice at Haley. He hits. Your hit! By the gods. There going to kill us all. We’re all doomed!
With the rough terrain and hysterical noble your movement is halved. From 30 to 15
Masao Takeru wrote:
I just want to say I owe everyone a huge apology. Over the last week+ my workload has increased, my family responsibilities have increased and my time for posting has become basically nil. :( The situations involved should be resolved by the end of this week and I would greatly love to continue in this game. However, I do understand if that would not be possible.
No need to apologize for RL. We've all been there. I'm glad to hear things are stabilizing for you. I bet that feels great.
I don't expect to get through this campaign without everyone needing a hiatus at some point. Myself included.
Having Masao active in the game would be great! I want you to be sure the posting rate would not be a burden. This group seems to be very fast and responsive in posting. Let me now when you ready and we'll find a jumping back in point.
There has been the new addition of a dwarf paladin, however six is still a manageable group.
Thanks for the update.