Jarrek had spent most of his afternoon canvassing the town again, chasing down scraps of information. He spent a little time selling captured gear and buying new, but mostly as a reason to go into shops near the painted white crosses.
The garrulous half-orc was subdued during the funeral. He had been to enough similar ceremonies back in Squirestone that it put him in a reflective mood. He was half thinking about Trianne's suggestion to track down forgotten or missed holes in Trunau's defenses when the horns sounded.
Jarrek immediately nodded his assent at Kurst. "Light the beacons, save the townsfolk. It's as good as done." He drew the huge chopper off his back and grinned at his companions. "Let's go light something on fire!"
Haftor, who had been lost in his musings on mortality, furrowed his substantial brow when he heard the horns of the attackers.
"Orcs." He muttered under his breath, angered, but not particularly surprised. What did surprise him was that he was now in the company of not only a half-orc, but a woman as well! He had not anticipated working in such an unusual group. Well, Jarrek had gained a grudging trust in the dwarf's hard head. Perhaps the lady mage would as well.
He was quick to recognize the reality of the situation, but slow to react. He nodded his head once when the young guardsman had conveyed the orders, then seemed ready to repeat them to be sure that they were clear to all. But then Jarrek did so first. Haftor frowned even more deeply, chided himself, nodded again, then, finally, checked that his crossbow was properly loaded and followed the group.
The nearest beacon is in the Commons, the open-air amphitheater a few hundred feet north. Reaching there is easy enough--no one challenges you, and there are no invaders to be seen this close to the Longhouse. However, you can hear angry shouts as you approach the beacon, and on arrival you find that a hostile-looking crowd has gathered around Brinya. One man, clad in the robes of an Abadarian healer-priest, appears to be on the verge of grabbing the half-orc. The crowd shows no signs of moving to the Longhouse.
Svarog was no admirer of orcs, but their blood was hardly a corruption, and he knew stupidity when he saw it.
"What are you people doing?" he roared, bulling into the crowd and up to the priest, to whom he directed a glower. "The town is under attack! You would rather place blame than survive? Get to the Longhouse!"
It's clear that Svarog's words have had some effect. The people on the fringes of the crowd--the ones who weren't as enthusiastic about the whole thing--begin to quiet down and break away, heading back towards the Longhouse. The Abadaran priest, however, is clearly not convinced yet. "You strangers! You have one of THEM with you even now!" He points at Jarrek. "The blood of our enemies!"
[spoiler=Dice rolls] ]/spoiler]
Trianne had seen the orc-blooded female figure around town. Her name escaped the spellcaster at the moment, but her face was familiar enough and carried an air of sadness. Trianne wasn’t sure what was going on exactly, but she understood mob mentality well enough. She likened it to jackals harrying a gazelle or vultures pecking over a carcass. Her face reflected the distaste she felt.
She hissed an incantation, and her hands were encased in a blue glow. As she waved them through the air slowly, that glow trailed out and emphasized her motions.
"We don't have time for this," she barked. "People are dying."
Jarrek roars at the crowd. "You idiots! Get inside or man the walls! Do something useful or use those little hopeknives to kill yourselves right here and now!"
Trianne and Jarrek's shouts have the desired effect. The rest of the crowd rushes off to the Longhouse. The cleric, seeing that he's the only one left, decides it's time for the better part of valor and follows the crowd, glaring at the party.
Brinya is the last to leave. Before she does, though, she approaches the party. "I'm grateful for your help. Here--when the time is right, my Rodrik's spirit will help protect those who found the truth of his death and let him find his rest." She holds out his hopeknife, still in its sheath, but draws it just slightly before she hands it to you. Light gleams from the gap between hilt and sheath...a light that was entirely absent just a few minutes before. She snaps it back into place and gives it to Jarrek.
Jarrek nods at Brinya, appreciating the seriousness of the woman's words. He takes the hopeknife and hangs it around his neck in the same way the residents of the town do. His voice was much softer as he spoke to the grieving half-orc. "You need to go, too. Get to safety. If they'll let you, help keep those people in the Longhouse safe. We'll do the same out here on the streets. Go on, it's going to be a long night."
After dealing with the mob, lighting the beacon is anticlimactic in its ease.
The next beacon up is in the Inner Quarter, just past the wall to the northeast of the arena. The guards at the gate in the wall raise the portcullis just long enough for the party to pass through, then lower it behind them. The reason for their haste is soon clear: in the short time between the start of the raid and the party's arrival, the invading orcs have laid waste to the inner quarter. Bodies litter the streets, several buildings are on fire, and the pile of wood set up for the beacon has been torn down and scattered.
While you consider your next step, Kurst Grath appears, leading a squad of militia members. "Thanks for getting the first beacon going! The signal team was able to make it there, and we can coordinate across the upper town. If you can, I need you to secure this area, then make your way to the Hopespring beacon if that one hasn't been lit yet. Do what you can to restore order here--I'm going to try to sortie to get that thing that's throwing rocks closer to the walls, so the archers can kill it. Luck to you!"
"What thing that's throwing rocks? There's a giant?" Jarrek scans the walls to see if he can spot the rock thrower for a moment before shaking his head and looking back at Grath. "We'll secure the Inner Quarter for you, you can count on us."
Trianne had heard the stories over the weeks she had been here. She had seen bodies before. She had even said people were dying only moments ago. But the reality of Trunau’s legacy hammered into her when she saw the state of the inner quarter.
This city had survived because its inhabitants chose to live here, on the raggedy edge of the world in the heart of enemy territory. She made her way to the closest fallen citizen, checking for signs of life but knowing what she would find. She spent a few moments arranging the body in respectful repose.
She rose and stared at the blood on her hand for only a heartbeat before that hand closed into a fist. Unslinging her crossbow, she loaded the weapons and fell in again as her comrades moved out. But something in her demeanor had changed.
Svarog's long years among the dwarves had taught him well the importance of coordination and cooperation, and when the voice within that chafed at following orders tried to make itself known, he quashed it firmly.
This was for everyone's good.
"We will see it done," he agreed. To Jarrek, he added, "It must be giants. They couldn't have brought catapults or trebuchets within sight of Trunau with no one spotting them."
He joined Trianne as they stalked on, letting Haftor and Jarrek take the lead. "I'm surprised the Trunauans are not better suited to fighting off a raid like this," he remarked. Despite his gruff tone, his surprise was audible. "They spend all their lives on edge, here. Were they dwarves, they would learn weapons along with words." He shook his head. "It is well that there are those who can protect them, but because of this oversight, there are too many who need protection."
Haftor's face, never particularly jovial, has set into a grim mask. He put aside his whirling thoughts and focuses in on the tasks at hand. He begins to bark out observations.
"To secure the area we must rebuild the beacon, find any survivors, and put out these fires! I will check these unfortunates for signs of life, and heal those that I can. I suggest Svarog and Kira rebuild the beacon, while Trianne and Jarrek find some water to put out the fires! Thoughts?"
"That division of labor sounds reasonable, but if we meet a band of orcs as we work, splitting may not be the wisest course," Svarog said, gruff but respectful. "Let us clear this area first, as Kurst asked us. We can search for water and aid the wounded on our way, and remain together."
Jarrek nodded at Svarog. "Let's make sure this area is clear before we start building anything. And I agree, we can all stop together as we find wounded and put out fires. There are too many buildings and alleyways- I don't want to lose two people because they were jumped by half a dozen orcs when we could have beaten them back all together." He moved to watch Haftor's back as the dwarf checked the nearest bodies for signs of life, eyes searching for the orcs who had done this.
As Kurst hurries off, he calls back over his shoulder, "Some of the militia is holed up a little ways north. Talk to them first--they can fill you in on what's going on."
Sure enough, at the far north end of the open area surrounding the south gate, there's a makeshift barricade. You're coming at it from the rear, so you and the occupants spot each other at around the same time (although Jarrek was looking the other way at the time). They're mostly acolytes from the Sanctuary and the Trunau Countinghouse--they've set up a field hospital here, and are treating injured militia members and townsfolk to get them ambulatory before sending them back through the south gate. As you approach, a grey-haired priest stands up from the patient he's been working on. "Good to see you. I'm busy at the moment, but we'll work on anyone you find who needs help. All mundane healing at the moment, I'm afraid."
Jarrek nods. "Brave man." He looks at the others. "Let's try to clear the buildings around here first. We should try to keep any of those orcs away from these wounded." The half-orc points at the closest building. "Let's check that one."
Seeing where you're looking to go, the priest shakes his head. "We've got those two cleared. See who you can find further in."
Trianne took in the information as she looked across the battlefield. The fires in the distance were a concern to be sure, the smoke and heat cluttering up visibility.
“I wouldn’t mind having a look around from that tower,” she said, pointing toward the northern structure which rose up above the rooftops. “Defenders might have fallen back there too. I would have,” she added, refusing to call them survivors. “Sweep the right as we go.”
You pick your way carefully across the barricade and cross into unknown territory. For Kira and Haftor in particular, the horror of the scene is ever-present--familiar faces among the bodies in the streets, and torn wreckage that was just this morning the homes of the well-to-do. Nothing moves in the plaza save carrion crows.
As you come to the sizeable house on the right, it's clear that it's not long for this world. Long flames lick the walls, and burning beams crumble to the ground beneath the weight of the sagging roof. Though the front entrance remains accessible for now, the conflagration rages beyond control, threatening the lives of any residents that might be trapped inside.
Haftor, you know this house by reputation, although your family doesn't think much of its residents: this is the home of Councilors Agrit Staginsdar and Sara Morninghawk. As if to reinforce the recollection, a momentary lull in the roar of the flames brings the sounds of cursing in Dwarven, exhorting something heavy to move.
“I wouldn’t mind having a look around from that tower,” she said, pointing toward the northern structure which rose up above the rooftops. “Defenders might have fallen back there too. I would have,” she added, refusing to call them survivors. “Sweep the right as we go.”
Jarrek nods at Trianne. "Works for me. Let's save some folks and kill some orcs!"
---
Haftor, you know this house by reputation, although your family doesn't think much of its residents: this is the home of Councilors Agrit Staginsdar and Sara Morninghawk. As if to reinforce the recollection, a momentary lull in the roar of the flames brings the sounds of cursing in Dwarven, exhorting something heavy to move.
"There's someone inside! I'm going in!" Jarrek sprints to find a way in to the house to help the dwarf trying to move whatever it is.
Unable to find any sign of orcs, Svarog grunted agreement to Trianne's suggestion.
***
With a Kellid oath, Svarog slung his bow and hurried in after Jarrek.
"Does anyone need aid?" he called in the Dwarven tongue, his face curling into an unconscious snarl at the heat. "Where are you? Speak if you can!"
“Wai--” Trianne started to call out, but Jarrek was already gone. She turned, almost too slowly for Svarog, but managed to slap the big man on the back as he darted by. Her incantation washed over him quickly, the air shimmering for an instant around him.
She then cocked an eye at Haftor, “I presume you’ll be racing in too?” She began another incantation, and applied it to the dwarf unless he was too eager to wait. If he was, she simply reached over and offered her slight protection to Kira.
“I’ll hold here,” she called after them. “Yell if you need anything!”
The interior of the house is filled with smoke and hard to see through, but you can make out Agrit struggling in vain to lift a beam from Sara. The half-orc is laying quite still, breathing only shallowly, and blood pools beneath her. The beam is burning as well, charring the fallen smith's clothing where it touches her.
As Svarog vanishes into the smoke and you prepare to either assist or do something else, a shout from across the plaza draws your attention. Four orcs have just come around the far end of the burning building, to your west. They've spotted you, and are heading your way with weapons out.
Round 1:
Initiative order
Haftor
Jarrek
Orcs
Svarog
Trianne
Kira
Coughing a bit from the smoke, Jarrek slaps Svarog on the shoulder and points at Agrit. "Over there!" He runs over and looks for a spot to get his hands under the beam.
Jarrek puts his back into it, and he and Agrit manage to get the beam lifted off of Sara. There's still a fair amount of incidental debris trapping the smith, but none of it is burning yet. Svarog thinks he can get her fully freed with two rounds of clearing.
Svarog began to hurl things off of Sara, coughing horrendously in the billowing smoke. Unable to speak, eyes watering, he gestured emphatically for Agrit to aid him in freeing the half-orc.
Round 1 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Haftor-acted
Jarrek-acted
Orcs-acted
Svarog-acted
Trianne
Kira
Haftor prepares to meet the orcs as they rush forward, shouting gleefully at the prospect of fresh meat. As they come in range, he growls and quck-steps forward, hitting the lead orc a blow that would surely have slain a lesser creature. The orc clings to consciousness with the ferocity that is its heritage, though.
“We’ve got four engaged!” Trianne shouted into the doorway as she gave a little ground to line up her shot. It had been awhile since her last frontal engagement, but she always enjoyed her crossbow training and muscle memory kicked in. She steadied the weapon and fired as one of the orcs entered her field of vision.
The bolt punched into the orc up to the fletching, but she did not pause to enjoy the success. The crossbow descended, and she used gravity to aid her in cocking it. She loaded another bolt smoothly and brought it up to her shoulder once more.
Round 1 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Haftor-acted
Jarrek-acted
Orcs-acted
Svarog-acted
Trianne-acted
Kira
Trianne's crossbow bolt transfixes one through the lung. From the sound of its breathing and the pink foam bubbling around the puncture, the orc is on its last legs, but like its fellow its rage keeps it upright and moving.
Seeing some of the authors of her grief, the alchemist draws a flask from her bandolier and hurls it at one of the wounded orcs. It bursts with a whoosh!, sending burning liquid cascading over her target and splashing onto the two adjacent orcs. Neither of the adjacent pair are able to dodge the splashover, so both are now badly burned.
Round 2 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Jarrek-holding beam
Orcs
Haftor
Svarog-acted
Trianne
Kira
Jarrek and Agrit continue to keep the beam lifted off of the unconscious smith. Svarog gets enough debris out of the way to move Sara to a safer place.
The orc that Trianne and Kira hit finally realizes that it is dead and falls to the ground with a wet thud. Two of the three remaining orcs rush Haftor, while the only unwounded one tries to get past the dwarf to attack Kira before she can throw another bomb. Haftor is unable to connect with it as it goes by, and it hits Kira solidly with its falchion . The two wounded ones miss the dwarf.
The smoke finally starts getting to Jarrek and nearly drops the beam in a fit of coughing as Svarog clears the debris. He manages to growl out "Hurry!" as he strains to keep the beam up while he chokes on the thick smoke.
Trianne bobbed and weaved, trying to get a clear shot in with her crossbow, but the melee and the smoke made it too risky. She gave a little more ground and quickly checked over her shoulder, eyeing the distance to the edge. Then she brought her focus back to the attackers at hand.
“Oos-suqua!” One hand lanced out, and the air rippled into a familiar sphere, racing toward the orc that had wounded Kira. “Kira! Break away if you can!” she shouted as the energy hit the creature.
Round 2 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Jarrek-holding beam
Orcs-acted
Haftor
Svarog-acted
Trianne-acted
Kira
Trianne's cantrip bites on the unwounded orc!
Haftor takes a moment to consider the tactical situation and finds it mostly to his liking. "Stone Fist!" He calls out, as a sort of rallying cry, then swings his warhammer once again.
The orc dodges Haftor's blow, but the effort is too much for it and it collapses.
Kira skips back a step and tries in vain to perforate the orc who attacked her with a light crossbow bolt.
Round 3:
Initiative order
Jarrek-
Orcs
Haftor
Svarog-
Trianne
Kira
Jarrek catches Agrit's eye and nods his head down at the beam. He manages to cough out "Let's get out of here!" before he lets go. He goes over to help Svarog with the unconscious woman, rushing to get them all out of the choking smoke.
Round 3 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Jarrek-acted/acting
Orcs-acted
Haftor
Svarog-
Trianne
Kira
Jarrek drops the beam.
The unwounded orc shakes its head and returns to its senses. The wounded one winds up for a devastating chop to the distracted dwarf, but Haftor easily deflects it with his shield.
Round 3 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Jarrek-acted/acting
Orcs-acted
Haftor-acted
Svarog-
Trianne
Kira-acted
Both Kira and Haftor hit with their attacks. The green one is looking pretty shaky, while the red one is still functional and angry.
“They never flee,” Trianne muttered to herself. “Mindless destruction. What does it yield?” She shook her head in disgust as she continued to pick her way back from the bloodshed.
“Sim-si-shak!” she incanted. The hair stood up on her arm as clawed fingers coalesced latent energies at hand. Crackling light accelerated and seared into the orc, sizzling flesh, but the smell was gratefully masked by the tremendous smoke in the area.
Round 3 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Jarrek-acted/acting
Orcs-acted
Haftor-acted
Svarog-
Trianne-acted
Kira-acted
With a hissed incantation, a fat spark leaps from Trianne's hand to the closest orc. The orc convulses in tetanic shock, wisps of smoke rising from the impact point. As it regains control of itself, gasping for breath, it gives the wizard a withering glare, but it's clearly staggered.
Count Buggula
