Aubrey's Rise of the Runelords campaign (Inactive)

Game Master Aubrey the Malformed

Oh, as we're now out of turns (?), my next action is to cast cure minor wounds on L'oj's dog.

High Priest Zanthus dashes round the corner as the last goblins are slain - great timing, huh? - and, swiftly assessing the situation, bends to administer healing. He heals anyone wounded back to full hp. This excludes Gurney, though he has been stabilised by Alwyn - Zanthus's priority is wounded people rather than animal. With a hasty but effusive 'thank you' for saving his temple, he rushes off to administer further aid to the wounded.

Also, 300xp each for that encounters to date. Mayhem continues. You are due another combat encounter in the immediate future, so don't make any long term plans.

So, Hudak is it? Ye fought fair to well, an if the sun off o' yern head hadn't blinded me to the end o' the fight, then maybe I could've smacked those last ones. Ye' be talking of making a cap and I would have to be sayin' that is a grand idea fer one of such a shiny top. Lets start seein' if this lot has anything on them of worth that may be tellin' us of where they hailed from.
Fancy way of saying lets loot the bodies!

Since I would be concious when the priest arrived to heal us.

"Nay father, let the gifts of gods and faith flow threw my soul, not my flesh. Heal my companion," I indicate the dog, whose head I cradle in my lap.

BTW, I would have bled again before catching the original CLW, so I am at 1 hp

Pauugh! If it is you seeing lights, is not my head to blame. It's overcast. The fumes from things stuck in your beard, and stinky sticky drink therein, do addle pate you and make you see imagined things.
Aye, let's shake the jingly pouches on these gorestrewn wretches, and go get this mighty dwarf, and myself, into our wellearned cups.
The dead will buy our rounds this night.

Alwyn shakes his head at L'oj's request. "Leave the dog for now. Though he's beat up bad, you cannot protect him if you cannot fight - and, make no mistake, you are not fit for fight without healing. I'll put him back together again first thing tomorrow morning, don't worry about that."

"Right now, I have, however, exhausted most of my magical power - I have but one trick left before I'm no more than just another man with a sword. I can enchant one weapon to make it strike truer and with greater force for a while. There are more goblins to kill, so who amongst you thinks they need such a boost the most?"

Anyone want a magic weapon? The beefier types don't seem to need it all that much, so I was thinking I'd cast it on Elisile's bow, or possibly L'oj's longsword. Any takers?

"Can you enchant the dwarf's forehead, so he can bludgeon them with his rocky skull?"

Mayhaps a sorcery to darken the skull of the tall one here so I can be sein' what needs a hittin'. That is de only thing I be needin' to help with hittin' the likes of Gobbos.

Since I would be concious when the priest arrived to heal us.

"Nay father, let the gifts of gods and faith flow threw my soul, not my flesh. Heal my companion," I indicate the dog, whose head I cradle in my lap.

BTW, I would have bled again before catching the original CLW, so I am at 1 hp

Zanthus ignores your request and heals you, not the dog.

"There're probably more goblins around," comments Larken, as he watches for another threat, "Maybe not the best time for banter."
He looks pointedly at the two fighters, then goes back to his vigil.
Looking at the heavily wounded guardsman (not a person he wanted to spend a lot of time near, anyway) he shrugs and moves toward the courtyard entrance. He can hear the sounds of mayhem coming from somewhere other than this courtyard, and figures that he either ought to be looking for more goblins, or looking for the exit. Either way... standing here wasn't going to accomplish much.

I know we're supposed to loiter here, I'm just trying to get a feel for my character.

Vethran approaches Illes and helps him remove the last few torches from near the woodpile.

"Illes! What in the gods' names are you doing here?!?" Vethran looked obviously harrasses, holding his quarterstaff out to one side and arching a brow at his cousin in expectation of an answer.

Elisile wipes the goblin blood carefully from her blade, and then bends to search the body of the female goblin she has just finished off, wrinkling her delicate nose in distaste.

Search: 16+9 = 25

Anyone want a magic weapon? The beefier types don't seem to need it all that much, so I was thinking I'd cast it on Elisile's bow, or possibly L'oj's longsword. Any takers?

Might be better for one of the melee fighters. Elisile is likely to switch between bow and melee, so might not get the best bang for buck from the spell.

"I'll take the magic weapon, then, brother. (on Larken's prompt...) Yeah, whiskers. Less yap wagging and more goblin gutting."

After searching the goblin’s corpse, Elisile walks over to pick up her discarded bow, nodding to Alwyn as she passes. She is keeping an eye – and an ear – out for any further sign of goblins nearby.

Takes 10 on spot and listen checks for 16 on both.

"Certainly. Don't waste Gorum's blessing - make sure it strikes something! Of course, that shouldn't be too hard to guarantee, considering our current situation..."

Casting magic weapon on Hudak's bastard sword. It is now a bastard sword +1 for an hour.

He grins at Elisile as she picks up her bow. "'Twasn't as peaceful as we first thought, eh?"

Elisile turns back to look at Alwyn. “No,” she says, “but at least we can understand this. This town needs to train it’s Watchers more thoroughly.” She goes back to surveying the area for further threats.

"True. Unless, of course, someone is coordinating this assault from inside the city walls - someone who really wants this church burned down. A human priest of Rovagug, perhaps. We might want to stay extra alert for such treachery."

Elisile raises a delicate eyebrow, and nods very slightly, but says nothing.

I look down at my canine companion, then kneel and scoop him up in my arms, carrying him back around to the main stage, until I find my cousin, or some other villager I know to watch over him.

When I return, wet trails of mud cut lines in my face, but otherwise the features are as stony and angry as a carved gargoyle. "My name is Jhae Deverin, but call me Lo'j. There are goblins about, and they need to die."

With that my sword whispers out of its sheath, my knuckles whitening from the rage fueled grip.

"You speak the truth - though we have won a brief respite, there are more of the little critters about. It is critical that we seek them out and then engage and defeat them in battle."

Alwyn puts his sword down momentarily and extends a huge hand to Lo'j. "I am pleased to meet you, Lo'j. I am Alwyn, son of Agnar. 'Tis in battle one can truly discern the mettle of one's friends, and it seems to me that not only are we part of a group of truly worthy companions, but also that Gorum smiles upon endeavour. In a group such as ours, your thirst for vengeance will be well and truly slaked. Now, let us go forth and drive our puny foes before us. They will rue the day they came to Sandpoint!"

You have my Hook! Horrible, but I couldn't resist.
But we must ensure that a few escape, to tell the tale of blood and gore that befell them to their tribe and to let the others know what it means to face the people of....ummm....OH! Sandpoint! the people of Sandpoint! Forward, O' hairless one, and may the dead form a pile around us and let us bathe in their blood, for anything must be better than the odiferous emanations being cast by your folicularly challenged mortal shell!!! Forward, I say!!

EDITTED..Yes, I said Farshore, that's what I get for being in 2 PBP games, running a Savage Tide game, and playing in another homebrew game all at the same time.

And my bow!

“It is good that you did not die Lo’j Jhae Deverin. I am Elisile, called Starbrow, of Meriani.”

Elisile then walks over to Vethran, and repeats her introduction. “Your spells are most potent, if lacking finesse,” she adds bluntly. “Are you a mage of some standing in your Order?”

She glances over at the dwarf curiously - Farshore?

Vethran smirks awkwardly at the elf. "No. There is no mage order to speak of here in Sandpoint. At least not one I'm aware of. I am self-taught, learning all that I can from what tomes and scrolls I can find in the city's arcane libraries. I have only been practicing my art for a couple of years now, so I would expect my workings may seem 'crude' to such a refined creature as yourself." The mage's final statement carries an aire of insult to it. He was clearly a man proud of his art and needed no other to critique it for him.

"My name is Vethran Tallomane. That over there," he gestured to Illes "is my cousin Illes. Excuse me." Vethran moved past the elf to his cousin's side, repeating his previous question and gesticulating wildly at the chaotic melange that the city of Sandpoint had been cast into by this goblin raid.

"Nay friend elf, Lo'j is my nomme du guerre. It is short for Lotnar Jhae, something the men under my command called me when..."

I blink away the odd swirl of good and bad memories.

"Well now, my furry friend," I indicate the direction I carried off Gurney, "is the only one under my command, and he calls me 'woof'" A am doing a miserable job of joking and hiding some internal pain.

To anyone familiar with dialects, I am clearly from Magnimar, though I wear an oddly out of place Varisian scarf around my neck.

One last kick sends the only remaining torch spinning further into the square away from the church and Illes drops into a crouch over the goblin corpses patting down and rifling pockets. "What am I doing here?!" He throws both hands in the air briefly in mock exasperation and begins to harangue Vethran only half seriously as he works, "Don't I ask myself daily, cousin? Enlighten me if you will? Why is it that I'm not waking up in my own caravan these days? Why am I eating these gorgio's tasteless food, working their useless odd-jobs, and sleeping with their empty-headed daughters..."

He pauses in his work and harassment at that last as if unexpectedly considering this, and rises to his feet turning to face Vethran. Illes is tall and roughly handsome in an unkempt kind of way, with a loose fitting white shirt and black vest open around his leather body armor. With the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms intricate Varisian tattoo artistry is partially visible on his well tanned olive skin. Small golden hoop earrings and long dark hair currently pulled back in a tail round out his ethic distinctions. A scarf wrapped loosely around his neck fades from midnight blue on one end to light blue on the other revealing his religious affiliation in its personified images of the sun, stars and moon. During the pause he wipes his blade on a fallen goblin and sheathes it.

"Well never mind that- What are you doing here? I leave you for a few hours and find you in the middle of a showdown with these goblin rat riders?? Someone deputize you while I was gone?" Though giving his fire throwing cousin a bit of a hard time, his appraising grin says more than his words. The square is full of charred bodies and Illes is quite sure of who was tossing around fiery explosions. He is clearly impressed with Vethran's growing skill.

Hudak approaches Dravite. "Hail, good dwarf. You are mayhem with that ogrehook. We make a good team, you and I. We'll stamp out bad goblin singing in short order, in this village anyway."

Aye, and mayhap we find a bit o' coinage on their carcasses and I will buy ye a pint to get a bit o' quiet and a hat to get rid o' de glare off'n yer dome when we be through with em!

Vethran's face twists in a bemused smirk at his cousin's query. "I live here. I don't need to have some official title thrust upon me to defend my home. Besides, this is a far more productive use of my capabilities than simple pyrotechnics displays."

The mage dusts his fingers off on his dark red cloak, leaning the quarterstaff against himself as he does so. "Unfortunately, by the sound of things, there's still quite a few goblins left and I've got only a few cantrips remaining. Hopefully these other erstwhile heroes won't mind picking up the slack." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the two Shoanti and the dwarf congregating nearby and also indicated the elf that had recently questioned him.

Illes rolls his eyes and slowly shakes his head. "Seriously Vethako* don't start that again. You don't live here. Home is the caravan- probably a hundred miles away now. You think THIS..." he waves his arms around dramatically, "...Sandpoint is your greater destiny? We left home to pursue fate in... Sandpoint? No. No. You are breaking my heart with this talk. We are just passing through. Leaving any day now surely?"

* '-ako' is the male Greek diminutive. Thought fates could use an annoying nickname a few posts in. : )

"Ahem." Alwyn walks up to the bickering Varisians. "It might seem to you that what you are currently discussing is important. It is not. Only fighting matters. Once we slaughter the goblin enemy, you may return to your disagreements. Until then, our focus must be on their destruction - which, incidentally, entails saving this town."

Nice! I'm sure that nickname won't be annoying at all... :D

Vethran scowled at Illes, shaking his head slightly. "It's been two years, Illes. It's not like I just walked through the gates last week. I'm not like the rest of you. I don't have your 'gift of magic' or whatever the elders want to call it these days. I came here to study and to perfect my art. I'm not a dancer, I'm not a performer, and I'm certainly no sorcerer." Vethran's expression soured a bit more with that statement, as if the word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I've become my own person now, and I'm finally happy here. People don't judge me because I'm different around here. Quite the contrary, in fact. I didn't come here looking for 'destiny,' xederfos.* I came here looking to live life as I want, not as my family would dictate it to me. And if I have to risk everything I have to keep that dream alive, then I'm not afraid to do it." Vethran casts his eyes over the devastation that he has wrought, a smile coming to his face.

"Besides... goblins are disgusting little freaks anyway."

* = Greek for "cousin." Right back at ya!

"Ahem."

After his diatribe, Vethran turned to face the Shoanti, his eyebrow arched in obvious annoyance. After the cleric spoke, the mage relaxed, nodding slightly. "Yes, I agree. Let us continue." He cast a final, perturbed glance at his cousin before clicking the butt of his quarterstaff on the cobblestones and turning to rejoin the others.

Elisile either ignores or accepts Vathran’s implied insult – or else takes his words at face value. She nods silently, and then returns to scanning the area for further sign of goblins, ignoring the banter between the humans (and the dwarf).

“There are likely to be more,” she states absently. “We should be on guard.”

"Well, you can't dance. I'll give you that much." Illes grimaces with the memory of the spastic little kicks and jerks he only had the pleasure to witness one time. Privately he had always thought that Vethran's bitterness at everything Varisian sprung from that one coming of age dance.

"Fine, fine, Shoanti. Lead on. Let's drive the little toads out of here!"

Suddenly, from the east can be heard hoarse yelling from a man, seemingly in dire peril. "Help me! Please, anyone!"

Above the shout can be heard more of the obscene chanting in gutteral goblin voices.

(There, something to think about for Sunday.)

Um, in case anyone failed to grasp the point of the previous post, it was a cue.

Dravite smirks at Hudak and says "Time to get to work, try to shine da light from your dome in the enemies' eyes dis time!" And Dravite takes off towards the screaming.

Alwyn rolls his eyes. "Great - another citizen in need of rescue from goblins. How did this town ever survive in the first place? Well, we know what we need to do... Let's go!" With that, he runs towards the source of the pleading.

Hudak looks at his sword, then to his brother. A wry grin crosses his face. "Make me holy, again," he says as the sunlight pulses in the metal of the blade from the spell. He follows in Dravite's awesome wake, same speed.

I'm the man on the silver mountain!

In response to the cry for help Illes nods in the direction of the shout while looking at Vethran. "Well I'd say it's time to see what you can do with that staff then cousin, come on!" So saying he jogs after the others flute in hand.

Vethran grumbles under his breath and follows his overeager cousin and the others towards the screams.

While the others quip and question, Elisile is already moving as soon as she heard the alarm. She heads towards the sounds of the goblins, bow nocked and ready.

Hearing a cry for help, Larken (already well on his way out of the square) breaks into a trot, and heads in that direction.
"Perhaps," he thinks to himself, "now those other fellows will realize that the time for chit-chat is tomorrow - when the goblins are all gone, and there're no common folk in danger."
That thought is quickly followed by, "Who are you and what have you done with Larken?"

The group rushes down the narrow street, heading east until they hit a t-junction. Glancing north, the problem is immediately apparent. A well-dressed man, one of the minor dignitories from the podium, cowers behind a barrel as a goblin bravo serves a coup de grace to a large guard dog. This goblin seems tougher than the rest, wielding two of the strange goblin swords, one in each hand. Four more of the goblin footsoldiers cower behind it, seeming to regain their bravery as it finishes their terrifying adversary. Also, mounted on one of the scabby goblin mounts, is another of the female goblin warchanters.

The goblin champion looks up at party as they skid to a halt at the junction, and it grins, revealing teeth filed to a point. "Dooda farn doo rohr!" it yells.

For anyone who speaks Goblin:

Roll initiative.

Init: 6

Initiative=23!

Dravite rounds the corner and without slowing his pace he plows into the fray, heading straight for the dual-wielding goblin, no hesitation at all in his mannerisms.

"Raise arms against these rabid rats, and stab them in their spineless backs!" I yell, half an order, and half a mockery of the goblins' song."

I raise my sword and begin to circle around the champion.

Init 14+1=15
Refreshing the aura as a swift action

init=6
Oh, dooda day, m**~@*@@+#~*!!!