Balodek's Ironfang Invasion

Game Master Balodek

The hobgoblin moves into the fog cautiously until he comes out the other side.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Turn Tracker
Faolan
Bor
Hobgoblin
Bazsil
Krowe
Wolves

Round 1, Init 14

Free:
Move: Move shoulder to shoulder with Faolan.
Stnd: Ready to swing at wolf or gobbo that comes close.

Baszil moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with Faolan, as if hoping the man's shield would somehow protect him as well. He also readies a blow, willing to die to defend this bridge.

1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 4 + 2 = 26 to hit; (+flank)
1d10 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16 slashing damage.

Pot crit:
1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 4 + 2 = 24 to hit; (+flank)
1d10 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7 slashing damage.

Map uploaded, at top please see Current Battle. You are at E4, stump remover is E3. Hob and wolves are halfway between middle of bride and end by E4.

Invisible at the edge of the smoke, Krowe calls out in his best hobgoblin sergeant voice using the language all goblinoids speak.

Bluff: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

Krowe then moves toward the forest side.

The hobgoblin looks startled at the alert.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

Used to taking orders the hobgoblin will quickly hustle back across the bridge. On his turn.

The wolves, lacking the command to retreat and a basic knowledge of Goblin, continue their attack. The first to arrive dodges Faolan's shield only to stand directly in front of Bazsil's blade. The second attempts to bite Bor.

Wolf@Bor: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 71d6 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Failing miserably.

Turn Tracker
Faolan
Bor
Hobgoblin
Bazsil
Krowe
Wolves

Party is up though you may all post as the hobgoblin will be returning to the town side of the bridge.

Round: 2, Initiative: 22

StA: Swing on wolf
Shield Bash (cold iron): 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 5 + 2 = 16 (flank) damage: 1d6 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10

Faolan tries to do better with his shield, and actually hit something this time. He continues to try and down the wolf.

Round 2, Init 14

Free:
Move: Move back 20’ if wolf is down.
Stnd: Swing at wolf.

Baszil swings at the wolf, and moves back if there are no more foes.

1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 4 + 2 = 8 to hit; (+flank)
1d10 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14 slashing damage.

Bor swings his fist hard at the wolf's head.

CI Cestus: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11

Though it quickly dodges it as he overshoots.

Krowe takes up position behind his allies and readies his crossbow.

Battered and bloody the wolf hangs on, turning it's head and snapping at Faolan.

Wolf@Faolan: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 211d6 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
Trip: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

Turn Tracker
Faolan
Bor
Bazsil
Krowe
Wolf

Party is up. By my count we've 3 turns before the bridge blows.

Round: 3, Initiative: 22

StA: Swing on wolf
Shield Bash (cold iron): 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 5 + 2 = 8 (flank) damage: 1d6 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

Faolan takes the nip, but manages to keep his feet. He swings again on the wolf, hoping to drop it quickly so they can fall back a little.

...Alas, his swing is well wide of the mark.

Round 3, Init 14

Free:
Move: Move back 20’ if wolf is down.
Stnd: Swing at wolf.

Baszil swings at the wolf again, and moves back if there are no more foes.

1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 4 + 2 = 14 to hit; (+flank)
1d10 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8 slashing damage.

Bor merely holds his hand out to the wolf. Palms facing outward as he tries to shoo it away.

CI Cestus; flanking: 1d20 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 + 2 = 5

The wolf goes down.

We'll stay in rounds until the bridge blows.

"Back off the bridge." Bor doesn't quite know when it is going to collapse, only that it will happen any second. He turns and retreats to the general safety of the forest side of the Bridge and watches.

"There was so many of them." He begins to question his own mind whether all of it was real or just a portion of it. "Where did they come from? Did anyone else see that tower through the door of the Inn?"

Yeah, rethought my "stay in turns" thought, let's kick this sucker off.

You back off from the bridge, holding a line but unsure what to expect from the late Vane Oreld and his stump remover. The sound of goblin voices accompanies marching feat as a squad of hobgoblins marches onto the bridge and into the fading smoke. Several of them sport evil grins as they take stock of your meager defense.

Tired, battered, injured and still ready to give it your all each of you prepares to sell yourself dearly should they make it across. Just as Krowe begins to think he made a mistake the roar of thunder and sharp crack of splintering wood and shattered rock rolls over you. The lead hobgoblins are savaged by the explosion, their corpses tumbling into the river along with their companions and most of the bridge.

Stone, wood, and gravel pelt you and you beat a hasty retreat to the forest itself, holding up shields and protecting villager as best you can from the debris. In the aftermath of the blast everything has gone silent, even the sound of Legion horns has ceased.

Looking back only a short span of bridge survived on each side, the dazed and bloodies hobgoblins on the far bank will be unable to reach you until it is repaired and you've purchased some breathing room for yourself and the other survivors.

Inside Bor feels a small sense of relief,though the knot in his guts remains. While this was a small victory, it was also a much bigger defeat. His voice cracks as emotion wells. "Into..we need to get into the woods while we have this chance."

Turning he grabs his bloodstained shield and runs into the woods.

A nervous Faolan holds his shield high as the explosion hits and he lets out a quick cheer!

When Bor suggests they get moving again, he readily agrees. "Keep in mind, they held the bridge for a time. There may be a scouting party out here somewhere. Cut off from the rest they might not be too tough, but we should still be careful."

He moves to the front lines and keeps his eyes out for any hobgoblins or their wolves as he moves deeper into the forest.

Freed of in-round limitations, Bazsil begins a slow and steady retreat to the tree line if he is sure no more hobgoblins approach the bridge...and stops when the next battalion of hobgobs approaches.

He lifts his sword to greet them...*Boom!*...and staggers back, his blade nearly falling from his hand. When he recovers himself, he breaks into a wide grin. He would pat the back of Krowe (if he could find him).

"Krowe, you old dog! You did it!! KROWE!?" Bazsil offers a man-hug to Faolan and Bor as well, still smiling.

"Let's get out of here. Anyone know where we're going?"

”I’m here.” Krowe replies, picking himself up off the ground. He silently thanks fate that he wasn’t hit by flying debris - bleeding out unnoticed a handful of feet from help after managing to escape the Legion would have been tragic. Perhaps appropriate, but still tragic.

”I’m not a woodsman, so I couldn’t suggest any place nearby. Perhaps we start making our way to Tamran or Skelt. For now though, let’s get into the forest and see to the survivors. ”

"I might be able to find my way around for a short while." Bor suggests.

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Bor finds a small trail as the smoke and dust from the collapsed bridge rises in the distance behind him. "This way." He ushers a few through, though the chaos still wrecks havoc on his mind as the shadows creep across the forest canopy like a flight of flying demons. Demons bound and imprisoned by his mind alone.

Bor successfully leads you into the forest. You travel a short distance before the exhausted group finds a clearing and collapses. You take the opportunity to rest and take stock of your situation.

Faolan sits on his shield and drinks some of the water he's carrying. He's grateful for the rest.

"They're going to come looking for us eventually. So I suggest we find a good spot, deeper in maybe, where we can safely hide from their raids. Then we should find a second spot we can fall back to if need be. Then we can see about our own offensive..." he trails off hoping to kill more goblin-flesh.

Bazsil finds a log to sit on near Faolan, taking a long swigguzzle from his waterskin.

"Ah piddlespot," Bazsil begins to take stock of his current circumstances. "Can any of you explain what just happened? How the piddlespot did that town just go down...so quickly and without warning? What just happened?!" Bazsil looks around to see if anyone has any answers, then just shrugs, shaking his head.

He looks to Aubrin, Jet, Rhyna, Kining, and Krowe, the locals.

"Are there any towns this way? Bigger cities? How far are we from some safety?" Bazsil asks, hoping for a good place to go.

"We don't yet know if this is an isolated assault. Why would the Ironfang target such a small community." He thinks. "In their right mind they wouldn't. You would attack everything nearby at once. Right? I mean that was too well coordinated."

Bor puts his pack back on. "Should we do all of that tonight Faolan?" Bor looks to the worn out townsfolk. Hell, he feels like he was run over by a horde of goblins himself, literally. "We still need to set up a place to sleep and find some food to feed everyone."

Rhyna shakes her head. "Tamran is 150 miles away, through bandit country and worse. We'd never make it like this."

Jet chimes in as well. "I don't understand how they snuck up on us but we won't be getting help from anybody. We'll just have to wait for them to grow bored and leave."

"What was that black tower, maybe that had something to do with it," Kining adds, to the nods of some of the locals.

Aubrin holds up her hands before coughing and grasping her ribs, waving away any assistance. "We need to find shelter and food first. We're still close to town and if they find a crossing we'll killed or worse."

This brings murmurs of agreement from the others as well.

Krowe and any native Nirmathians would know that hiding in the forest and picking off invaders from Molthune until they leave is a time honored tradition. Nirmathas itself is less a nation than a collection of villages and towns sharing a common heritage.

"No Bor," Faolan says as he eyes the tired and fearful villagers, "We're not doing all that tonight. Just trying to figure out what lies ahead. Today we march another hour or so in I think, and find a place to rest. A few of us can foray from there - unless anyone knows a good spot out here to hide a group of this size?" he looks to the villagers, especially Aubrin.

He rests a little longer, knowing that the locals aren't in as good a shape as he, before even suggesting they move along.

Phaendar burns, shouts of celebration now replaced by the panicked screams of the frightened and dying. Behind them, above the flames and humble rooftops, rises a tower of black stone.

"What was that black tower, maybe that had something to do with it," Kining adds, to the nods of some of the locals.

Bazsil's head swings up to look at Kining and the locals.

"What black tower? You mean that wasn't part of the town? The hobgoblins dragged a piddlespotting tower into town? I must have missed it in all the action," Bazsil grouses and shrugs.

"Tell us what you know of it. Tell us what you recall of the tower. It might be important," Bazsil beseeches before their memories fade of the day. He has already forgotten much and will forget more, but he knew it was important to remember all they could despite wanting to push the horrific memories away.

Bor looks amazed. "I have been mentioning the damn tower since the Inn blew to shit!" He points to the town. "I am telling you it wasn't there when we came in." At least I didn't see it in any of the descriptions so I could be wrong.

"I am telling you it wasn't there when we came in." At least I didn't see it in any of the descriptions so I could be wrong.

"Yeah, sorry I missed that, comrade," Bazsil grins. "Been kinda busy trying to save all these people and trying to keep you alive."

I think the search function is borked on the website and only see two references to 'tower' so far. I think it fits the chaos that Bazs might have missed it all. Besides, he didn't put a point into perception until this level anyway. ;)

As the group talks it over and gains new light on the situation Bor sheds his sweat soaked armor and tosses it on the ground. the scalemail clatters in the dirt.

He stretches his sore muscles and grabs the bloodstained, though very well made breastplate and begins to slide it on, setting all the straps. Bor also grabs a well made crossbow out of the pile. "In case they close in on us." He attaches it to the outside of his pack.

”I saw the tower.” Krowe says, looking through a bag of alchemical supplies. ”Be assured it was not there before. It indicates that this was not a normal raid. When we encounter more hobgoblins, and I have no doubt some will come looking for us, we need to keep one or two alive long enough for questioning.”

Coming across the unidentified amulet he rubs his chin and gives it a second look. ”I recognize this now. It is an aegis of recovery. It bolsters recovery from ill effects, and can offer instant healing upon falling unconscious from injury. One of you should wear it.” New level boosted Spellcraft just enough to identify.

Once he has stowed away his claims, Krowe goes to check on the other refugees, offering some sense of order to the chaos with the rough plan formulated by the mercenaries and urging them to prepare to move on to better ground.

You see heads shaking at the mention of the tower.

"I never saw that before. It was big as life. Were they coming out of it?"

"Hold on, hold on." One of the warriors you saved at the shrine speaks up. "I saw it clear when I was heading towards the shrine. Damn thing was 50 feet tall and made of black rock like I ain't never seen before. There was some kinda entrance or hole going into the ground at the base and them hobgoblins were piling out of it."

Aubrin's mouth forms a grim line at this.

"That's nothing I've ever heard of or seen. I agree, our first task must be to find shelter. There's a small redoubt about 12 miles from here. It's in the swampy region to the East but is home to a small group of Chernasardo Rangers, they may be able to help us. We should rest here until morning, they won't be able to find us so soon after your show with the bridge."

Bazsil looks from speaker to speaker, trying to believe what he is hearing.

"That can't be true. How the piddlespot did they get a big tower, loaded with hobgobs into the middle of town without anyone seeing it, huh? That doesn't make sense. Ain't nothing makes sense about it," Bazsil says challenging but also trying to make sense of it.

"Now, what about the redoubt? Ah...the Chernasardo Rangers? Yeah, that sounds good. Let's do that," he quickly agrees to any plan as he doesn't have one and this one sounds as good as any.

"12 miles, you say? We might be able to get there before nightfall," Bazsil looks at the others to see if they agree. "Let's get up and get going. The only way we're going to get there is by getting there. I'd like to get away from these hobgobs if we can. Might find another shelter a few miles away. The more walking we do now, the less we have to do tomorrow."

Baszil carries as much as he can while still being able to move and fight. He helps others get packed as well. And he marches.

Bazsil tries to gauge how quickly the 20 or so survivors are at moving vs. approaching nightfall. If they won't be making it, Bazsil will have someone scout for a temporary shelter.

Faolan eyes Aubrin as Bazsil suggests an alternate path. He wonders who's in charge of this rabble?

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24 (Who do the villagers want to follow, Aubrin or Bazsil?)

Either way, Faolan collects some of the burdens the villagers had been handling while he fought. He'll grab some of the provisions, sacks of this and that which he can drop prior to combat - should one occur.

When the group is ready to head out again, he'll be at or near the front of the line, watching for trouble.

Bor listens to Bazsil and his suggestion at a forced march. "That is about a half day's walk through the woods. And some of these people are seriously injured." Bor points to a limping woman.

Seeing Bazsil rush off Borr puts the woman's arm around his shoulder and helps her keep pace.

Faolan they want to follow Aubrin but when Bazsil starts moving they do as well.

There are grumbles and a few dirty looks as the group is pushed on. Moving through woods in the half light of sunset results in scratches and twisted ankles but you finally find another clearing farther from the bridge.

The rest of the night passes without incident. In the light of dawn several of the refugees look shocked, the reality of those lost hitting home for them.

"Mommy, where's daddy," asks one of the younger children. "Hush child."

Faolan takes a watch that night and rises from his bedroll when the camp stirs. He carries a few scratches from yesterdays battle yet, but he does not complain or comment as the injury is minor.

In the morning he helps folks get ready and helps re-arrange the gear if need be. He suggests a cold breakfast as smoke from the fires might be enough to give away their position this close to the river. Best to lie low a little further. ”Tonight perhaps we can have fires and a hot meal.”

When the whole party is ready to proceed, he again takes up a position at or near the front, though he has no particular skill in finding trails through the forest. He does what he can to help, which isn't much...

Survival to Aid: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4 vs DC 10
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

We don't need to hike all the way there. Just a few more miles away to make camp for the night.

When camp is made (hopefully someone can point out a good one), Bazsil is somber and quiet, unable to truly connect to the entirety of the loss for these people. But he tries to help.

Also, he's angry at the world. This sort of stuff shouldn't happen. Shouldn't ever happen.

He will arrange a watch between the team and any volunteers, then get a night's rest...with fires and a hot meal.

As they break for the night Bor helps set up a few makeshift camps where he can. "We are going to have to pack in tight." He looks at a couple split families and joins them together. "You should be there for each other in these dark times. It will help."

Sitting down for a moments rest, Bor's eyes grow heavy and begin to droop. His body relaxes and calms, putting him to sleep in an instant.

***

A sharp noise sounds in the forest and he jerks awake, leaping to his feet. An ominous red light spills through the tree's canopies. Looking around he is all alone. "Where did you go?"

Did they leave me?

The trees rustle as something moves through them. Something large and with wings. It moves fast. Faster than Bor can react. The branches creak behind him and Bor spins around, shield in his hand. No more than 20 feet away is the creature, shrouded in shadow except for a pair of glowing embers for eyes. It's dark, thick wings curled in around it's body.

Bor prepares himself. "I thought it was you." The creature leaps at Bor with a clawed hand and he is suddenly jerked awake out of his dream-like state.

Bor crashes to the ground, sweat covering his face as he seems to have passed out in his armor. He claws at the ground looking around at all the worried glances and stares. His eyes bulge with true fear, until he realizes that the sun is shinning through the trees unlike the blood red haze of the blood moon eclipse.

Rolling over he punches the ground hard and screams into the woods. "Dammit!" Climbing to his knees Bor uses the tree to help stand and recompose himself. He spends the remainder of the morning helping get people moving so they can travel during the cool hours of the day. Though most seem to be avoiding him. He grabs some of the apples, taking the rear of the formation in case anymore Hobgoblin's give chase and find their position.

Survival: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8

He watches Bor slam his fist into the ground, Poor bastard's taking it hard.

He wonders, for a moment, why he isn't. He shrugs mentally, having seen this sort of thing before - though admittedly it was a a caravan not a town. The tower worries him, so he doesn't think about it. The rest are just hobgoblins and their ilk. He knows how to kill those.

He grips his shield and moves through the forest to safer ground.

Krowe has made a journey like this before, but he had done it alone. He can see in the face of every survivor a reflection of his own pain and loss. Though they have lost much, he envies them, for they escaped with their souls intact.

His sleep is restless, and Bor’s midnight outburst, while shocking, conceals his own instinct to shrink away and abandon this hopeless band of refugees. He nearly does so, and makes it to the edge of camp before he hears the whimpering of a child from among the survivors. A strong feeling compels him to stop. His fists shake in wrath. These people deserve justice, and though he holds no illusion they can overcome the Legion, perhaps they can find some measure of it before the end.

In the morning Krowe makes the rounds among the survivors, offering words of support to those who look lost, but making mental lists of those who are strong and those who might be forged by recent events into instruments of vengeance.

As the survivors ready to move on he makes his way to Aubrin. ”I feel I must apologize for last night. I could see you felt pressing on was unwarranted, but I believe it was the right thing to do. I have escaped the Legion before, and they are disciplined in their brutality. If that tower they came from is a new tactic of invasion then they would make it a priority to ensure no witnesses survived to report it.” Krowe let’s that sink in for a moment before changing the subject. ”The people of Phaendar respect you, and in another situation I have now doubt you would be a leader among them, but last night we escaped with the leadership of a few extraordinary caravan guards who took the initiative and risked their lives again and again to save these people. They were heroic, but also lucky, and in my opinion luck sometimes runs out. We may be out of immediate danger, but we cannot afford a divided front, and I think we should make a more formal arrangement that includes locals like you and I.”

Aubrin nods at Krowe.

"As you say Master Krowe, we have all had hardships recently. Let us press on to the redoubt."

As you pack camp and get your group moving, Faolan at the lead and Bor at the rear. The group is silent, afraid of hobgoblins or still in shock you're not sure.

After a hour of trudging your senses are dulled and it is with some surprise that Bor finds himself body to body with a running man. He was looking behind himself when he ran into your group, an unhealthy activity even in a forest without armed men.

Knocked flat on his rear by the impact the man jumps up and begins screaming shrilly at the site of you.

Bluff or Diplomacy if you please to talk to him, or regular attack rolls if'n you're feeling less generous.

Krowe runs up and tris to diffuse the situation.

”Woah! Peace, friend! Are you from Phaendar?”

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22 +1 if the man is from Phaendar

Faolan grabs one of the stouter villagers near the front. "You, watch the front, and holler if you see anything in the forest!"

He then rushes to the rear of the party to see what the commotion is. When he sees the panicked man and see's Krowe try to calm him, Faolan also relaxes a bit. He moves past the chatting folk, and peers into the forest to see if there is anything in particular the man is running from.

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

Bazsil moves up, trying to help calm the man. He speaks with a deep and mellow voice, rich of character, implying honesty. His voice seems to carry some extra weight of gravitas that he did not show before.

"Yes, be calm. We are no enemies of you," Bazsil says.

1d20 + 10 ⇒ (7) + 10 = 17 Diplomacy

The man stops screaming long enough to hear your words, breathing heavily as he does. Slowly he regains his wits enough to speak.

"My name is Edran. I'm from Taldor, just passing through. I was at the Taproot Inn in town when the attack happened." His breathing picks up again. "I saw the invaders on the streets, rounding people up and...and worse. I ran, tried to run to the bridge but I got turned around. I saw a bugbear, must have been 9 feet tall at least, with scars all over his head. He tore a man in half with his bare hands!"

”You were at the Taproot?” Krowe casts a curious glance at the others, wondering if they recall seeing this man before the invasion. ”Are you a traveler? A merchant? Were you alone? If you didn’t make it to the bridge, how did you cross the river?”

Does Krowe recall seeing this guy before?
If some kind of roll is needed: 1d20 ⇒ 17

Bor looks down at the now prone man. He places his hands on his hips. "Edran is it? Well your with us now." Bor looks to Oberon. "The man is a damned Hob or Bugbear. What's with the barrage of questions?" He reaches a hand down to help the man to his feet.

Jet speaks up.

"I recognize him, he was staying at the Inn."

Krowe you do recall seeing him at the Inn, and can confirm that he was at least there.

Edran smiles at Bor then turns to Krowe.

"Well I ran, you know. Made it to the bridge and across. I've been stumbling around this forest all night. No merchant, not me. Just a traveler."