Midnight Dancer's Rise of the Runelords

[Midnight Dancer]

Children are running excitedly through the marketplace of the town of Sandpoint. The pale late spring sunshine has driven away the early morning chill, and the gentle sea breeze is barely enough to their hair. It is a perfect day, and Sandpoint is preparing to celebrate.

Market days are normally busy, attracting not merchants and farmers from the surrounding lands to the packed market square. Occasionally a merchant from the great city to the south will make the journey up the coast in a creaking wagon, and trappers and hunters will take the trip into town to exchange their wild bounty for civilization's benefits. But today is no normal market day. Today the town will consecrate its new cathedral with much pomp and ceremony, and the occasion has prompted a carnival atmosphere.

Already crowds are gathering in front of the temporary platform in the market square, although for the moment they are more interested in the jugglers, pie vendors and the large tankards of ale being dolled out in a rickety beer tent. Nearby, a middle-aged man dressed in flamboyant clothes hands out rag-paper handbills with a theatrical flourish. Small groups of youths stand around boasting and joking, while catching glances at the giggling girls who, in time honoured fashion, affect not to notice them back.

It is about an hour before noon, when the formalities will commence, but the folk of Sandpoint, eager for fun, are not in the mood to wait.

[Torillan Ellandilas]

Torillan leans against one of the building near the square, sipping at his ale while scanning the crowd. His other hand rests on the hilt of his rapier, giving him a sense of security. The X-shaped bandolier on his chest holds ten small darts.

The temptation to lift a few coins passes as he notices the presence of some guards nearby. Smiling to himself, he begins to slowly walk over to the pie wagon to get a snack.

[Ralf Pennywhistle]

Ralf is sitting on a bench with his brother-in-law Bert enjoying a beer with his big dog Champ lying next to them, chewing lustily on a pig's ear.

"Well, there's nothing like a party, that's what I always say; if I've said it once, I've said it a dozen time. Edwina -- bless her soul -- she was never one for parties, but you probably know your sister better'n I ever done. But like I always say, diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks; if we was all the same, why the world would be a mighty dull place, wouldn't it? Now that kids are all gone and Edwina has passed on, I been helping out a bit with the militia -- me and Champ, that is, we been helping out -- because I just feel it's right to help out when you got the time; I mean Champ keeps me comp'ny, but it ain't like you and your family you got keeping you busy so I got some spare time to fill when I ain't weeding or picking or feeding the pigs. And you can never be too careful; I heard Gabe saw some ogre tracks over to his place so he's keeping a sharp eye out, believe you me! But anyways, sometimes it's good to take a rest and just enjoy a party, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Bert replies after taking a big swig of beer.

[Midnight Dancer]

@Torrilian
The half-elf's swarthy good looks and air of city sophistication draw another burst of glances, whispers and giggles from the town girls as he passes. Although it is not quite lunchtime, the pie vendor is doing a roaring trade in mutton pies, spiced fish pasties and sweet tarts containing the last of the previous year's dried apples. Three coppers a pie is an outrageous price, but few in the festival atmosphere seem to be complaining.

@Ralph
A shadow falls over the pair of halflings, cast by the bulky frame of Sherrif Hemlock, wearing his customary grim visage. The joke amongst the members of the Sandpoint militia is that the Sherffif's frequent visits to the Pixie's Kitten, the town cathouse, is not for the customary services, but simply so he had rent a room where he can smile in private, without the risk of anyone seeing.

"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen." he begins. "I know you're not on duty, Ralph, but you can see things are going to be busy for us today. We won't have time to chase up every leary drunk or farmer who's lost his purse. If you see anyone getting out of hand, Ralph, feel free to give them a quiet word. Any of the guys on duty will back you up if necessary." His grim visage doesn't change. "Have a good day" he concludes, without enthusiasm.

[Ralf Pennywhistle]

"Well, Sheriff," Ralf replies with a friendly wave and a grin. "It's good to know that you're on duty, making sure that nothing bad goes on. If I sees anyone doing anything they oughtn't, I'll just do what any decent folk would do, I s'pose, and go over and talk to 'em. But if it's just someone having fun, you know, letting their hair down, so to speak, I reckon we prob'ly shouldn't be too harsh, I mean folks just like to have a good time and there's nothing wrong with that, that's what I always say. Bert'll tell you the same thing: I'm always saying that folks just like to have a good time when they can. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, so they say, and ain't it the truth? But me and Champ and Bert, we'll make sure that nothing gets out of hand, like it does sometimes, and I'm sure you know that yourself; I don't have to tell you that!"

After Sheriff Hemlock leaves, Ralf sits up a little straighter and peers around diligently for any signs of trouble. "Now Champ," he says, "if you see anything wrong, you just start a-barking and then we'll know that something's up. You hear me? You just start a-hollering and then we'll know."

[Poh Twice-Burned]

Poh places a few coins in a meaty hand under the flimsy tent canvas as a man passes him a large tankard of ale. The Shoanti's massive hand gripped the tankard, dwarfing the container as he takes a deep draw from the golden liquid within. Poh's burn-scarred face flushes red as he swirls the drink around his tongue, his brow furrowing in anger as he spits a stream of ale onto the ground below. Ale splashes forth from the tankard as Poh gestures with it toward the Beer Tent barkeep, "You call this ale, tshamek? This tastes like pig's piss. You would sell pig's piss to Poh Twice-Burned of the Sklar-Quah, tshamek?" Poh's voice grows louder as he gets worked up over the imagined slight.

[Midnight Dancer]

@Poh

The shocked silence in the beer tent following the Shoati's outburst is quickly replaced with a rising buzz of anger. There is a scraping of stools as several local toughs at a trencher table at the back rise to their feet. The young barkeep is stammering out a reflexive apology when Poh feels a meaty hand land on his shoulder. It's owner, a tall dark-skinned man is wearing the customary shirt and leather breeches of the Sandpoint folk, but his meaty arms bear the tribal tattoos of the Shriikirri-Quah tribe. He leans in close to Poh and whispers sharply in the Shoanti tongue:

"That is MY beer that you spit all over the floor, Son-of-those-who-race-the-fire. And the tshamek may not know beer from pig-piss, but *I* do. Did not your mother teach you how to be a guest in a stranger's camp? To show manners in the tent of one who receives you? This is the tshamek's camp, and this is MY tent. There is only shame to be gained by acting like an untrained puppy."

He steps back and calls out to the room. "A misunderstanding. No trouble here. Zekel - more beer and sausage for the back table".

[Hilda]

Davven took a step back and observed the canvas hung upon the tree here on a small hill overlooking the town and the events below. He was happy with this painting...the bright colors leaped at him and his bent depiction of the scene below suited him well. Think Salvador Dali Surrealism for this guys art style.

He smiled the way only a gnome could smile as he busied himself in putting up his paints and brushes into their proper place within his pack. A small gnomish character in the corner responsible for the "D" sound was Davven's only claim to the painting, and he fancied it so, that he decided to leave it there so that all those who passed this tree could appreciate this work. The bullfrogs in particular would like it, he thought, his reasoning beyond grasp.

Once his things were put away, he decided he'd venture into town, and join the taller folk. They all looked like ants, scurrying to and from as they had many times over, as they would a thousand more times before they lost their usefullness and turned gray from age and became dirt for more ants to scurry upon. Pitiful, they were, and he found the whole thing beautiful.

The green skinned gnome strolled confidently into the town, leaning slightly on his quarterstaff. The plump little figure had a tendency to draw eyes to himself effortlessly, and he delighted in showing a twisted smile he knew the townsfolk found disturbing. He made his way to the muttonpie vendor and sprung upon a pie on display without warning, nearly swallowing the whole thing in a frightening display. He placed several silver where the pie once was and walked off quickly, Wandering about the festival until he finds a suitable place to set, although it was occupied by a couple of halflings, he was sure there was room for little ol Davven.

"Good Morrow, Halflings!" He cryed out, leaping up behind the two on the wagon.

[Ralf Pennywhistle]

"Whoa there, son!" Ralf laughs, "no need to wolf your food down so quickly. You paid for it, you might as well enjoy it, that's what I think. Of course, it's your money and if you feel like gulping down your food like ol' Champ here does, why I can't tell you not to. But just don't come a-running to me if you have a mighty big stomach ache afterwards! Why, Budd -- my youngest -- he's always in an all-fired hurry to do anything, too. I tried my best to teach him patient, that good things come to him who waits and so forth, but I don't know if any of it stuck with him. Well, I did my best and ain't nobody can say different, I reckon. Ain't that right, Bert?"

"Guess so," Bert opines.

"So are you enjoying the festival, friend? My name's Ralf Pennywhistle; anyone here could tell you that, I suspect, they all know me. Even though I may not be their cup o' tea, they still know me, I betcha!" He laughs some more while Champ continues gnawing on his pig ear.

[Hilda]

Davven listen's intently for a ver short time before his eyes wonder off, ocassionally snapping back to the talkative halfling "Budd, Right.." he injects, as if to show some false interest. "This festival is different, alot of smiling faces on the tall folk at the assembling of all that stone over there." He says, pointing towards the church. " Seems to me I can worship whatever i want just fine without a silly building...But i suppose they believe strengthening their walls will strengthen their faith." He pauses for a moment, as if reviewing his words. "Meh..Who am I to judge?" He asks, as if losing interest in the subject. He thrusts his hand forward " A pleasure to meet you Ralf! I am Davven Shortcloak.

[Ralf Pennywhistle]

"Pleased to meet you, Davven," Ralf replies. "I can't say that I know much about buildings; it seems to me that the people in the church are a good sight more important than the roof over their heads, but that's just my opinion. Still, I have to respect folks that want to do something good for the gods, because the gods have done lots of good stuff for us. Edwina, my late wife, she'd disagree of course. She thought that religion was a whole mess of tomfoolery and she made no bones about it. I don't think that's the case, but I could be wrong; I never done said my opinion is more important than anybody else's, but I think the church can do some good things for folks, and that's a fact. Now that Edwina's passed on, I been going to church regular, and I can't get enough of those stories about the gods, like Erastil or Iomedae or who knows what all. I'm just learning about them myself, now. So are you enjoying yourself, Davven? Did you come to town just for the party, or do you have other business here?"

[Poh Twice-Burned]

Poh's face shows surprise at first as his fellow Shoanti chastises him for the outburst. Surprise quickly turns into a bellowing laugh from the young Shoanti barbarian before he answers in Common, "Yes, there is no trouble, lowlander. I forget that not everyone prefers beer as strong as warriors of the Sklar-Quah drink. Our firewater would put a flame in your belly and make your piss melt stones."

Poh gives the young barkeep a friendly slap on the side of his arm while he guzzles the rest of the ale in a few breathless seconds. He tosses the empty mug at the barkeep as he walks away, passing the Shriikirri-Quah beer tent owner. Poh switches to the Shoanti tongue as he eyes the man, "Forgive my manners, Son-of-those-who-fall-from-cliffs, but I would rather be an untrained pup amongst these tshamek than an auroch cow who suckles them from her udder."

[Midnight Dancer]

Poh Twice-Burned wrote:

"Forgive my manners, Son-of-those-who-fall-from-cliffs, but I would rather be an untrained pup amongst these tshamek than an auroch cow who suckles them from her udder."

The the shoanti grins as he gathers up some empty flagons and wipes a table. "I am content to be the auroch bull who tupps the tshamek cows. The tshamek women are grateful for a real man sometimes." He grins again. "Just do not tell my wife I told you! Walk well." He strides off to shout at his staff some more.

[Midnight Dancer]

As the sun climbs to its noon zenith, the buzz in the square increases. The people, well lubricated with ale and mutton pies, stand aside to let the official procession pass as it heads towards the temporary stage.

At its head, wearing silk robes embroidered with shimmering butterflies, the symbol of the goddess Desna, walks the priest, a youngish man carrying a little too much weight. At his side walks an older man with a bristling mustache and a military bearing, dressed in highly polished ceremonial armour. He pushes a wheeled barrow, covered with a silk cloth, also embroidered with butterflies. Behind them walk the sherrif and a middle aged woman whose heavy chain identifies her as the town mayor. She takes the occasion to smile and wave to individuals in the crowd, while her companion gazes around guardedly, obviously uncomfortable in the public gaze.

Behind them come a train that obviously represents the local noble families. First, a tall, aged and frail man, leaning heavily on an ornate staff, wearing light robes. Behind him, dressed in a formal outfit that would look more at home in the great cities to the south than a small fishing town, comes a middle aged man with a formal bearing. He stares straight ahead, not acknowledging the crowd. Finally, wrapped in silken robes of foreign design, comes a shorter, darker skinned man with a dropping mustache and heavily lidded eyes. He smiles weakly at the crowd, entering into stiff, dipping bows now and again.

The party mounts the platform, and the speeches begin. And go on for some time. The mayor recounts how the previous cathedral had burned down several years previously "after the Late Unpleasantness", and how the town mourned the death of its previous priest, Father Tobin, in the fire. But now, thanks to the generosity of townsfolk and the Mercantile Consortium - here she nods to the other members of the platform party - it has been rebuilt, and it is time for the town to celebrate. Then she hands over to the priest.

Perhaps sensing the patience of the crowd wearing thin, the priest is brief. "The rebuilding of the cathedral is an example of redemption - how happiness can come out of sadness" he begins. "Improvement, change, redemption - these are the qualities we strive for. For the teachings of Desna remind us, even that most ugly of creatures, the catepillar - a pest, a destroyer of crops - is ultimately transformed...into a butterfly." He nods to the man in ceremonial armour, who whips away the cloth on the barrow, releasing a huge cloud of swallowtail butterflies.

There is a general 'oooh' from the crowd, and shrieks and screams of delight from the children. And then another scream - a woman's, of fear and alarm, is heard from a few streets away. The crowd falls suddenly silent, and a strange, disturbing, lilting, almost childish chanting can be heard. Then another scream, the shattering of glass, and the neighing of frightened horses. The crowd begins to stir in confusion, as a cry is heard from the next street.

"GOBLINS!"

[Torillan Ellandilas]

Torillan smiles and winks at the girls, as he stands in line at the pie vendor. The apple tart pie is quite good, and he munches on it as he makes his way through the crowded streets.

He arrives in the cathedral square, and he finds a spot about 30 feet away from the stage. As he towers over most folk in town, he has a pretty good view from here.

He spots the procession making it way to the stage, and he half-listens to the speeches. Torillan is even in awe of the swallowtails as they flit up into the sky.

As he hears the first scream, his hand immediately drops to the hilt of his rapier. He scans around him, but the crowd is thick where he is, so he begins to make his way from where the first scream came from.

[Ralf Pennywhistle]

"Goblins!" Ralf leaps up, his beer spilling onto the ground. "Old-timers, children, and married folks -- get along home! Everyone else -- if you can help drive off these pests, every little bit helps! (Champ, you were supposed to bark if there was trouble! Don't just spend all the time lying around and eatin'. Not that I can blame you, of course; that's just what dogs do, I reckon.)"

Champ (a sort of doberman/mastiff mix) stands up and Ralf jumps on his back, fumbling for his lance. "Now where are those little beggars? I wish they would just leave us honest folk alone."

[Poh Twice-Burned]

The first screams have Poh reaching behind him to unholster his massive Earthbreaker from the sling on his back. A savage grin spreads across the barbarian's face as he roars out, "FINALLY! Just when I thought you tshamek didn't know how to throw a celebration!" He bounds off in the direction of the first scream and the calls of goblins.

[Borden Alhurst]

Borden had been thinking of just passing through, but the festival that was occuring was a perfect chance to study some of the local sandpoint hops that were rumored to be quite good. The young cleric, decked out in his scale mail with his rapier sheathed at his hip, was enjoying his third drink of the Festival when he happened among a gathering who were paying attention to what looked to be Sandpoint persons of importance. shifting his attention from his ale for a few minutes, he was ready to heed their words when the sudden cry of a townfolk caught his ear. Downing the last of his ale, he drops the mug as his hand goes for the hilt of his rapier. Pivoting his body towards the sound of the shout, he sees a rather large Shoanti man heading towards the noise while he hears the light voice of a halfling and the bark of a dog from the same direction. Deciding to pitch in, Borden heads in the direction of the screams, gentle pushing people out of his way as he rushes to see what is going on.

[Hilda]

Davven watches absent-mindly at the presentation, such things never being able to hold his interest, At the cry of goblin's, he bound's toward the direction of the screams, almost seeming to go on all fours, his quarterstaff in hand as he rushes to the source of the scream.

[Midnight Dancer]

Pushing their way through the crowd, the five disparate characters arrive at the end of the next street at roughly te same time. The scene is one of chaos - panicked townsfolk run to and fro, their screams mingling with the disturbing sound of the childing, giggling chanting. A townhouse is on fire, smoke billowing from its upper windows, and cries can be heard from within. A dog stands barking frantically in the middle of the street.

Suddenly, a short figure darts from an alleyway. There is gurgling sound, and the dog drops dead, blood spurting from its slashed throat. The tiny figure dives into a nearby covered cart. Two more of the tiny figures can be seen lurking in the alleyway, apparently stuffing their pockets with apples that have fallen from a discarded basket.

[Initiative rolls please, and then two rounds worth of actions. Both the alleyway and the cart are about 30 feet away from where you stand at the end of the street.]

[Hilda]

Init 1d20+1=14

Round 1 Davven snarls at the sight of the little goblins, a natural hatred for them burning in his gut. Fighting the urge to throw caution to the wind, he says a few gnomish words under his breath protecting himself with arcane energy. Casting Mage Armor.
Davven brings that burning hatred to bear as he feels it lurch up his throat, and discharge from his mouth a full 30 feet away at the goblin by the cart.Acid ray attack 1d20+3=14 Acid Ray damage 1d6+1=3

Round 2
" Cover your eye's champ" he seems to tell the dog with genuine concern as he moves up and belches forth another wad of acid at the same goblin.attack 1d20+3=13 damage 1d6+1=6

[Borden Alhurst]

Round 1:

Borden takes in the scene and thinks, I'm gonna need a drink after this, as he takes in the chaotic scene before him. Noting the large man and the halfling he noticed earlier were rather close by, he offers up a prayer to the Drunken Hero and places his hand on the Shoanti's shoulder. Divine energy flows through the barbarian as Borden says, "Cayden Cailean has called on you to show your mettle, accept it or deny it, it is your choice." Once his words were spoken, the young cleric draws his rapier and starts to make his way to the alley.

Round 2:
Once his rapier is out, he will charge the goblin's in the alley and attempt to end their pillaging by ending their life.

Initiative 1d20+1=17

Charging Attack and damage on one goblin in the alley (1d20+4=23, 1d6+2=7, 1d20+4=18, 1d6+2=6)

Round one, casting Guidance on the barbarian, and drawing rapier. Round 2, charging one of the goblins in the alley and attacking. I am still getting use to how Invisible Castle works which is why there are two sets of the attack and damage role. However, it is fortunate, since the second set can be used for the Critical hit confirmation and damage

[Ralf Pennywhistle]

initiative: 1d20+2=4

"I hate to do this, but them goblins never learn. And I hate to think what they'd do to ol' Champ if they got half a chance," Ralf says as he and Champ trot over to the party-crashers. Unable to get a clear charge, he pokes at one of them with his lance without much enthusiasm.

atk: 1d20+4=15 dmg: 1d6+2=6

Seeing that the goblins are sticking around, he jabs again with his lance, hoping that they'll leave in favour of easier prey. "Git on out of here, you! I'm sure there's something to eat out in the bush that don't fight back nearly as much."

atk: 1d20+4=10 dmg: 1d6+2=7

If the goblins attack Champ, don't forget to use Ralf's Mounted Combat feat to try to avoid the attack (Ride bonus +4). You can roll any bite attack for Champ too, if appropriate.

[Torillan Ellandilas]

Seeing the goblins, Torillan draws his rapier. Risking a quick glance at the four others who have showed up at this spot, he decides to advance on the two goblins cowering in the alleyway.

Initiative 1d20+3=23

Round 1 - Move towards the goblins in the alley (avoiding position to be attacked by both), making single attack, {Hit 1d20+3=8, Damage 1d6=1} but his nerves haven't caught up with him so he misses horribly.

Round 2 - Attack same goblin, {Hit 1d20+3=18, Damage 1d6=5} but this time his rapier finds its mark, skewering the wretched beast.

[Midnight Dancer]

Glancing at the motley group who have arrived at the same place, Torillan barely hesitates as he draws his rapier and moves towards the two goblins who are busy stuffing their pockets with apples. At the last minute, however, one of the little freaks notices him, hurling an apple at the advancing half-elf while gibbering excitedly to its companion. Torillan instinctivly swats at the flying fruit, but the apple skewers onto the end of his rapier, the unexpected weight causing his thrust to go low and wide of the dancing goblin.

Behind him, the young priest of Cayden Cailean lays his hand upon the meaty shoulder of Poh Twice-Burned and invokes a blessing, to an uncomprehending stare from the Shoanti.

The two alleyway goblins gibber and caper madly as a new figure of fun, in the shape of Torillan, presents itself. One snatches up its wickedly sharp, roughly made knife and slashes out at the half-elf, causing a nasty ragged wound across his leg. The other screams at what it obviously sees as the theft of 'its' apple. It hurles itself at the half-elf's rapier, fingers snatching. Torillan quickly tries to stab his diminutive attacker, but fails, and is forced to wrestle over posession of his own weapon for a few moments before shaking his arm free of the howling gobin.

The sound of smashing glass emerges from the covered wagon, and with a triumphant howl, the third goblin pokes his head through a rip in the canvas, and thrusts a half-broken bottle of wine into the air, before opening its impossibly wide mouth and glugging the whole bottle down in one go. It belches loudly, before diving back underneath the canvas, presumably in search of another bottle.

The oddly-coloured gnome gurgles and spits. For a moment it seems that Davven is trying to emulate the howling of the goblins, but then it becomes obvious that his twisted syllables are the elements of some sort of spell. A sphere of protective energy briefly flares into life around the gnome before fading from view.

His attention torn between the goblins and the presumptive tshamek who dared touch him on the shoulder, Poh decides that he will deal with the human later. Striding forward, he takes hold of the wagon containing the thirsty goblin and with a mighty heave overturns it. There is the sound of smashing glass and a disconsolate howling from its now-trapped occupant.

Ralf urges an nervous Champ, his hackles raised at the sight of the dead dog, towards the pair of goblins who are currently swarming around Torillan. The halfling's aim is much better, and the apple-obsessed goblin suddenly finds itself in a position similar to the fruit as Ralph's lance skewers it through its side. The goblin gurgles briefly, spits a few choice words at its attacker, and then goes limp.

Torillan, an apple still bobbing on the end of his rapier, tries to add to his impromptu kebab by thrusting at the remaining goblin. This time his aim is true, and the second goblin is struck through the stomach. It gurgles obscenely, and barely remains standing.

Borden rushes up to assist the other two in the alley, but is out of reach.

The remaining goblin lashes out with its dying strength at Champ. Ralph deftly tries to maneuver his dog out of the way of the blow, but the goblin's savagery is too great. The aptly-named 'dogslicer' does just that, cutting a long wound along the flank of the yelping Champ.

The last of its strength expended, the wounded goblin's eyes cross and it slumps to the ground beside its companion.

Davven looks around, suddenly bereft of targets.

With a mighty shout, Poh hefts his great iron earthbreaker and brings it down on the wooden cart containing the goblin. There is an explosion of wood, wine, glass and unidentifiable pieces of goblin, adding to the growing mess of blood, fruit and corpses that now litters the street.

The immediate threat eliminated, the group has a chance to catch their breath. Sounds of chaos are errupting from all over the village. Several plumes of smoke are errupting into the sky, and there is the sound of screaming, shouting, breaking glass and the clang of weapons. And over it all comes the continual, disturbing, childlike chanting.

Suddenly there is a commotion at the far end of the street. Four more crazed goblins appear. In one hand each carries a lit, smoking, crudely crafted torch, while with the other they help to pull a barrow loaded with a teetering pile of barrels. Branded onto the barrels in dark lettering are the words "Lamp Oil". Perched atop the barrels, and encouraging the other goblins with a long snaking whip is the source of some of the chanting - a bizarrely dressed goblin with feathers, bones and other unidentifiable trinkets woven into its long straggly hair. The wagon and the goblins pause briefly upon seeing the group, before howling with delight at the prospect of new playthings.

[Two rounds' worth of actions please]

[Ralf Pennywhistle]

Ralf looks at Champ, feeling the poor dog's pain. "Oh, now why did he have to go and to that to you, Champ? We just wanted to chase 'em away, but now it looks like they got even more of them coming down here. You stay back, friend, and I and these good folk will try to get those goblins to leave us alone."

round 3
Ralf drops his lance on the ground and tries to quickly dismount. He stumbles a bit, but manages to get off without losing his balance. He draws his hunting bow and nocks an arrow, getting ready to fire at the "leader".

round 4
"Git on away from here! Find your own food, and don't mess with us good folks!" Ralf cries as he fires an arrow at the head goblin.

attack: 1d20+4=12 dmg: 1d4=3

[Borden Alhurst]

With the death of the last goblin, Borden takes a breath and whispers a quick prayer at the sight of the shattered winecasks. Though he does not consider himself a drunk, the young cleric always mourns the sight of wasted alcohol. However, his mourning is cut short at the sight of the strange goblin and the possible destruction that it can bring on the city.

Round 3

Seeing the the torches would be the biggest problem, Borden targets one of the torch-weilding goblins. Moving to intercept one of said goblins, he will attack as soon as he possible can with his rapier.

Round 4

Since the armored cleric had to move towards the end of the street, he will probab;ly reach his target this round and jab at the little torch wielder.

Attack 21 damage 5

OOC:rolled a 1 on the confirmation, so no crit for the cleric :(