Kira hurls a javelin at one of the wounded orcs. It's a shallow wound, but the orc was sufficiently damaged by her fiery attack that it begins to bleed out.
Haftor arms himself and steps up, hammering at the same one that Kira just hit and wounding it still further. The orc, though battered and bleeding, remains on its feet and counterattacks. The other orc swings at Jarrek, with a similar lack of success.
Round 3:
Initiative order
Kira-
Trianne-
Haftor
Jarrek-
Svarog-
Orcs
Svarog didn't pause to wipe the spray of blood from his face. He moved up to Jarrek's side, each step deliberate, that same unhallowed non-grin on his face. His silence was unnerving in the face of that expression, but it suited the way he stalked his chosen prey.
The orc wasn't taken unawares this time, though. It turned to face him, and caught his sword on its falchion. The loud skirl of metal on metal rang from their blades as they vied for supremacy.
Trianne stepped to one side and raised her crossbow, taking the opportunity to fire while the one orc’s back was turned. She thought she had drawn a bead on him, dead to rights, but a subtle shift in stance sent her bolt glancing off the top of his skull instead.
She saw the runnel of blood from the bolt's impact, but she frowned, wishing the projectile had sunk home rather than giving a hot kiss and speeding on its way.
Round 3 (ongoing):
Initiative order
Kira-
Trianne-acted
Haftor-
Jarrek-
Svarog-acted
Orcs
Svarog's wonted accuracy fails him as the orc manages to get its falchion up, but its focus on the ranger leaves it open to Trianne's attack.
Jarrek swings at the orc Svarog that the others are focusing on, hoping to bring it down through weight of numbers.
Jarrek steps up and, with a mighty swing, sends the orc's head flying over the parapet.
Haftor sidesteps to pin the orc between himself and Jarrek, then swings for the fences. His hammer blow splatters the orc's brains across the top of the roof.
At the bottom of the round, four more orcs rush into the ground floor of the tower, two levels below the party.
Round 4:
Initiative order
Kira-
Trianne-
Haftor
Jarrek-
Svarog-
Orcs
“Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast,” Trianne said as she moved across the top of the tower and away from the trapdoor. ”I don’t think those boys are happy that the music stopped.”
She dropped to a knee and rifled across the drummer’s belongings quickly, looking for anything of use for the situation at hand.
Trianne observes that the drummer's chainmail, light steel shield, and battleax are all masterwork. He also has a pair of alchemical-looking vials that may contain potions or other interesting liquids, a thunderstone, a wand, and eight scrolls. His drums don't appear to be anything special. Nor do the five throwing axes he carries.
Jarrek murmurs something to himself under his breath and once the spell takes hold he rummages through the dead orc's gear. "Svarog, would this armor fit you? It looks pretty nice."
“No time for anybody to get naked. Maybe later,” Trianne said with a smile as she worked. “Haftor, buy us as much time with that trapdoor as you can. Svarog,” she glanced at the ranger, miming bow and drawstring motions. “Give them a greeting if anyone steps back outside the tower?”
She handed the vials to Kira, the wand and a few scrolls to Jarrek and began to fan through the remaining scrolls looking for anything of interest. Trianne chuckled as the trio brought their detecting magics to bear almost at the same moment.
Svarog grunted acknowledgement of Trianne's words, and sheathed his cleaned sword, drawing his bow and peering over the parapets, an arrow nocked.
"I might take that offer at a different time, Jarrek. But for now, let's deal with this o- ...with this scum," he said, in a rare moment of diplomacy.
"But Haftor, maybe you'd like to use that shield?"
Kira identifies one of the vials as antitoxin.
She shrugs her shoulders after holding the other one for a few seconds. "I don't know what this is."
Jordy points at the wand. "Gorum must be entertained by our performance, because that's a curing wand." He points at the scrolls and identifies most of them. "Those two are to cause fear, that's to charm a person, that summons a bunch of grease, and that summons a small animal or monster."
He glances at Haftor. "Would you care to do the honors and heal us up?"
“Another for grease here,” Trianne collaborated with the others, pointing to the scrolls in question. “And another to summon a small ally. That one there is for removing fear.”
“Here, you take these, Jarrek,” she handed him four and kept four for herself.
Jarrek nods and shuffles his things around to put the scrolls where he can easily reach them. "Thanks, Trianne."
"Don't thank me. We're not out of this just yet," Trianne said, nodding at the drummer. "And this one was loaded for Xorn." She snapped a hard look at the banging trap door.
Wow, two 20s in a row. Seriously, where are these kind of rolls when we're fighting amped up orcs?
Kira gathers a few more javelins from the dead orcs and joins Svarog at the parapet, watching for targets.
From the top of the tower, you can see lower Trunau and the craggy hills beyond the town's walls. To the northwest, just the other side of the Barterstones, a group of orcs is operating a catapult, bombarding the guard tower above the Hopespring with flaming boulders. To the west, another massive boulder smashes into one of the guard towers, which is enough to knock it into a pile of rubble.
In addition, you can see small groups of orc raiders charging out of the hills towards the main gate.
Jarrek points to the catapult. "Should that be our next target? That thing's going to level the town if somebody doesn't stop them."
Svarog nodded curtly. "Let's wipe up the rest of this raiding party, and we'll head for the next. How they got a whole catapult here with no one spotting it before the raid is a mystery for the tale-tellers."
He glanced at Trianne, his eyes calculating. "Can you do that trick of turning me into a ghost again?"
“Trick?” Trianne bristled. “Do you have any idea the effort nece--” she began, but then quickly bit off the remainder of her retort, realizing Svarog didn’t. Didn’t have any idea. Why would he? She cast her gaze upon him anew, at what he was.
“No,” she said. “That bit of illusion was not in my normal repertoire. I traded a soothsayer for that scroll in exchange for the liver of the man who beat her within an inch of her life.”
Trianne looked toward the siege engine but didn’t offer an opinion one way or the other regarding the catapult. The ways of Trunau were still entirely new for her.
“Fan out on either side to flank as they come up,” she said, nodding toward the hatch. “Someone want to try and drop the hatch as they come up, split them up?”
The trap door is finally pushed open by the orcs below, but with the opening surrounded only one can make it up at a time. The resulting fight is completely one-sided, with Svarog and Jarrek only taking minor wounds while they and the missile troops cut down all four of the attackers.
With the immediate threat resolved, you're able to barricade yourself in the tower long enough for Svarog to (if desired) take the orc drummer's armor.
Svarog bowed his head, as much apology as Trianne was likely to get from him. Impressed by her fire, he rumbled, "That is a tale I would like to hear, after all this."
***
+2 vs orcs
"Over there. Kurst leads a sortie against a giant." Svarog bared his teeth in anticipation. "Let us aid him once we've taken down the catapult."
Svarog gazed at the drummer's chainmail for a long moment before snorting and shrugging out of his lighter chain shirt. It would hamper his movement, and smelled of orc, but against the orcs, such minor concerns were pointless - and every advantage was welcome.
Once he was armored in the orc's chain, he gathered up his bow and nodded to the others. "I am ready. To the catapult."
Jarrek grins. "A giant! That will be a story to tell!" He looks over at Trianne. "It's no witch and liver, but it'll buy me a drink at a bar somebody."
He nods at Svarog once the other man is outfitted. "Looks good on you! Now lets go win this battle!"
“Such waste,” Trianne said more to herself than aloud as she looked down at the fallen orcs.
She squinted her eyes against the smoke and the raging heat, somewhat amazed that Svarog could make out what he did. Her magics still heightened her senses, but they were not enough to match the eagle-eyed ranger. So much of her life had been spent in study, in books!
"These came from that house," she pointed to the dwelling the last of the raiders had been in. "We should check it still. Then fan along the northern ridge rather than directly through the fire?"
The house is empty of anything of interest.
The last building on this side of the fire is not a house; the locals know that it's a popular bar called The Killin' Ground.
Jarrek grinned at the last building they had to clear on this side. "Appropriate name. Everyone ready to enter the Killin' Ground?"
"We will not be caught unawares by orcs there, and trapped between them. They will be trapped between us," Svarog growled, perhaps a bit optimistically, considering that they didn't know how many orcs might hide in the bar.
Acknowledging this in a slight nod to practicality, he rumbled, "I cannot scout effectively in this mail, but I will check the tracks around the building for what to expect. Maybe one of you can look in the windows, or even venture inside for a momentary look, to scout how we best should tackle any foes. Maybe you can use your tool to bar them from one of the doors. Let us surprise them."
All the while that he spoke, however, his eyes were on the bar, his fists clenched around his bow. His heart burned for vengeance, for ills old and new. The sound of the orc tongue made his teeth grind. He cast an oblique glance at Jarrek, and tried to calm his cold fury.
Jarrek had chosen another path. Maybe orc blood was not the taint that he had believed, all these years.
Still, he would be happy to see it spilled, this night.
Svarog realizes from the tracks that a good-sized group entered this place, but not all of them left again. In particular, there are a couple of sets of prints that are distinctly non-orcish--he determines that they went in, but as far as he can tell didn't leave.
The other subtle clue indicating the presence of invaders in the bar is a faint sound of off-key singing.
Svarog returned to where the rest of the party stood concealed, and told them what he'd found. "They seem to be celebrating. Let us show them that they do so too soon."
Haftor releases a grunting laugh in Jarrek's direction as he asks his question. Many forms of humor are lost on him, but the name of the tavern is too on-the-nose for even the generally stern dwarf to miss. "I'm ready. He hefts his hammer for what he expects to be some close-quarters fighting. "At least we can get a drink while we're about it."
The architecture of The Killin' Ground is unique--the roof is canvas and can be retracted, and there's a gap about a foot high separating the walls from the floor in most spots. The proprietor will retract the roof on rainy days to clean the floors.
Looking through the gap, you can see that the floor is littered with bodies. Because of that it's hard to tell how many people are still moving inside. The door stands partially ajar.
The party bursts in! Three figures at the bar look up in slackjawed surprise, their song dying away. Two are greatsword-armed humans in chainmail, and the third is a half-orc in a chain shirt. A greataxe leans against the bar next to her.
Surprise Round:
Initiative order
Trianne
Kira
Svarog
Jarrek
Haftor
Svarog's customary scowl deepened; so many bodies. Memory mixed with now, fueling his anger. Always so many - and there the culprits were, celebrating the deaths of people too weak to defend themselves, like the honorless curs they were.
He fired an arrow at the half-orc before she could move, his semi-subconscious bias choosing her over the humans.
Jarrek points his falchion at the half-orc. "Don't go for that axe! Just run! Run, or you're gonna die here in the Killin' Ground!" Small flames suddenly run down the length of the huge blade as he wills a fraction of his energy into the weapon, and he bares his teeth. "Go!"