The morning of the Spring Market Festival dawns grey and cool, the last clouds from yesterday’s rains still wandering slowly eastward, but the golden sun creeping over the horizon promises warmth and light in the hours to come. The small village of Phaendar wakes with the brightening morning, its small handful of streets beginning to fill with merchants, travelers, farmers, and all the many tradesfolk who have assembled to sell and buy, swap and bargain. The large oval that is the Market Green in the town’s center – fully half the size of the entire town, close to 75 yards across its longest stretch – quickly accumulates wagons, tents, carts, and stalls of all shapes and sizes, along with food vendors, entertainers, shouting children, strolling sweethearts, bemused grandparents, and more.
This is the raucous setting in which you find yourselves on this Starday, the first day of Gozran. As you too walk the streets and alleys of Phaendar and its market festival, you see old friends, long-standing rivals, and strangers aplenty, all going about their lives in this sudden bloom of prosperity. While commerce aplenty happening in the Market Green, the festival events in the surrounding town are largely focused on four locations: the Phaendar Trading Company, which seems to be acting as a central clearinghouse of information on who and what can be found where in the festival and the Market Green, in addition to doing a brisk business in its own right; the Taproot Inn, which has offered its hospitality to many of the town’s visitors, and which is currently hosting an outdoor stage where a Varisian woman in exotic-looking silks and shawls is singing and dancing before a rapt audience; the Riverwood Shrine, where the faithful can offer their prayers to Desna, Erastil, the Green Faith or any other good- or neutral-aligned deity, and where the well-known Caydenite priestess (and ex-Chesnardo Ranger) called Aubrin the Green is demonstrating her archery skills to an ooh-ing and aah-ing crowd; and Oreld’s Fine Shop, an otherwise unremarkable alchemist’s shop that is home – today and tomorrow only! – to local celebrity Wee Patterson, the Tiniest Aurochs, a miniature aurochs the size of a large dog who acts as the Market Festival’s pint-sized mascot. A sketch artist sit nearby, charging 1 gp for a ten-minute charcoal sketch of you and Wee Patterson together, a memento you will no doubt treasure forever!
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Iteb was wandering the grounds of the festival, amusing herself in the atmosphere of the place. When she had first arrived a decade ago, her attitude towards such frivolity would have dismissed the whole affair as pointless and nonsensical. Maybe a way to generate revenue for the town, but not at all understanding the revelry those participating seemed to display. After a couple of years however, she warmed noticeably to the idea of finding joy in things other than battle... Having her child helped. She still felt the boy had to learn the ways a true Orc, despite his half-heritage, but understood that there was more to life after she looked past her own blood. Those miniature bison creatures though, and the young women that seemed to fawn over them... she was not that sort.
Eventually, she finished her rounds around the small festival, not really having the spending money to actually partake in any of the events. That said, the festival did offer her a chance to make more earnings than usual. At her shop in town she typically sold all of the necessities and tools for farming and general home improvement. Things like scythes, sickles, hammers, and things like that. This event tended to draw a crowd that wanted more traditional gear for fighting, so she was able to bring out her stock of swords and war axes, and make a bit more than she normally would the rest of the year. Currently, Negan Kusk, her husband (Though she refused to take his name) of a little less than ten years, was watching the shop. She would be taking over for most of the festival given her general lack of interest, but still wanted to see it now and then. "Still nothin' special." she offered to him. He was a bit of an odd jobber in town. While he enjoyed helping people around town with miscellaneous tasks, he was considered a guard of the town by everyone and respected as such.
"All of these years and you still don't see the allure." He joked, they both knew she'd come around somewhat. She shrugged and took the seat at the stall as he walked off. Probably off to see 'hospitality' provided by the Taproot inn.
A young dwarven woman wanders the stalls of the trade house and the market greens, seemingly engrossed in the wares on display. Her yellow hair is cut short and curly, and her nose is dotted with freckles. Despite her civillian attire, she carries a large single-edged sword on one hip.
Jeb has slipped away from her family for the moment - her parents are largely engrossed with the varisian dancer, and her brother is out talking to some girl - to really get a look at the various devices the shops have on display. They usually don't take well to customers that don't have coin to spend, but on the festival it's different, and the opportunity has her giddy with excitement as she makes her way through the stalls, stopping regularly to admire some new trinket.
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A large, armored half orc wanders through town, looking around with a bemused expression. He had wandered in hoping to find work of some sort. He had been part of a mercenary company, but it had disbanded due to lack of pay. Left now with little more than a strong sword arm and some untrained magical potential, all he really wanted was a source of income. All around him were unexpected temptations to spend his coin on, as he had no idea that a festival would be happening, but he was loathe to open his coin bag without knowing of a way to refill it.
Bunko blinks away the sleep as the sun's rays break through his window. For a moment he considers rolling over, fleeing the light that interrupted and return to his slumber, but he knew that his shoes wouldn't sell themselves at the Festival. That, and his dreams were rarely pleasant. He reluctantly kicked off his covers and readied himself for the market, dressing in his craftsman's tunic and grabbing his rucksack of simple leather shoes.
He limps his way towards the Market Green, sharing little of the mirth that seems to grace the faces of all of the rest of Phaendar's residents. He has the hood of his cloak up, ostensibly to seek shade from the sunlight, but mostly to cover up his disfigurements. After all, while most of Phaendar knew of his burns, there were plenty of outsiders here today that would stare and gawk at him. Best not to horrify them unduly.
At last, he arrives at the Phaendar Trading Company, waiting in line to speak with a representative to find a spot to set up his kiosk. Hopefully I can sell enough to enjoy a pint or two at the Taproot later, he thought, though a second inner voice retorted, What's the use. It's not like alcohol dulls the pain.
Over the course of the day, Iteb manages to sell several pieces of inventory, earning a tidy 7 sp profit by the time the sun is beginning to head for the western mountains. Negan and Mako have both been by to visit several times, the former even bringing her a couple of skewers for lunch, thick slices of deer meat and grilled vegetables that are a staple of the market festival.
Grum spends much of the day tracking down rumors of merchants who are hiring, but by the time the afternoon is beginning to wind down, he has only rumors still to show for it.
The market, while fascinating, can only hold her attention for so many hours on end. Eventually, Jeb is faced with the fact that she is quintessentially going to the festival alone, and that's not much fun. She could be headed back to her family, but eh.
When a fierce-looking half-orc stops her to ask if she's heard of anyone offering work for fellow sellswords, she grabs the chance to make a new acquaintance.
"Can't say that I've heard of anyone offering that sort of work - the traders seem well staffed. But tell you what, I'll buy you a pint at the Taproot inn, as a welcome to Phaendar."
"If you want, that is. I'm Jeb." She hurried to add.
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Looking down at the dwarf, Grum smiled. Most dwarves he met said things like "you're not half bad. Aren't half good either." And the like. To have one honestly being friendly to a half-orc such as himself was a novel expierence, and one he wasn't about to turn down. "Lead on, friend. And the first round will be on me."
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The day had been a so-so one, all things considered. She'd made more money today than she would have normally, the same amount of time spent, any other day... That said, for a festival she was hoping to a sell one of her big-ticket works, but unfortunately her craftsmanship (while not shody) had the tell-tale signs of an Orcish smith. They tended to be heavier, and go for sheer lethality through the ability of the user to make use of the expanded mass to impart that into the swing. Having Negan and Mako visit her now and then to see the status... Negan's lunch-time treat was a pleasant surprise. She eagerly ripped off the chunks of venison and went to pull off one of the grilled vegetables before seeing a glance from Negan. With a bit of a glower in return she relented, and proceeded to pop that in her mouth as well. Even ten years hadn't stopped her from trying to get past him in eating a strictly carnivore diet. One of the many luxuries she traded away from her lifestyle growing up... many said luxuries would be deemed irredeemable by the more common races.
Mako found his way to her now and then as well, asking for permissions for this and that. The boy learned, quite quickly, that it was important to consider which parent he was asking for which permission or favor. If he wanted to out hunting or participate in a training day sponsored by the guard he knew that not only would Iteb allow it, she would assault anyone that dare prevent her boy from partaking in his "physical" education. Negan, on the other hand, favored the more intelligent side of combat, and to that end wanted to ensure that Mako was frequently being tutored when they had the spare funds for it.
The woman overseeing the disposition of trading stalls, a scowling, short-tempered dwarf named Kining Blondebeard (despite her name, Kining has no beard at all), assigns Bunko a spot directly across a small alley from the Krusk Weaponworks shop. At first, business is as painfully slow as the gnome has come to expect, but just before noon, three men approach his stall, eyeing him and his stall doubtfully. All three are dressed in the fine clothes of wealthy merchants or merchants' husbands, and after a couple moments, one asks him, "You're... a gnome, aren't you? And you make shoes?" Confused, Bunko replies in the affirmative, and the speaker immediately says, "Oh, wonderful! I'll take three pairs." One companion purchases the same, and the other, in an apparently one-up move, buys four. All three seem delighted by Bunko's handiwork, shoddy as it is.
Another finely-dressed passerby, this one a much younger woman, stops to stare wonderingly as the three men begin to turn away from a baffled Bunko. "What... what are you doing?" she asks, plainly trying not to mock the men openly.
"Ah, yes, Shillein! Be sure to pick up a few pairs for your father. I've just heard from a close friend in Oppara - gnome-made footwear is all the rage this season! He'll want to be a part of it, no doubt!"
And so it appears. Throughout the rest of the day, Opparan fashion drives one customer after another to Bunko's stall, until the day approaches its end and the scarred gnome has no stock and a full 14 silvers to show for it.
And all day, Iteb watches as the gnome's poorly-made shoes outsell her fine blades and axes...
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Iteb didn't think much of it when the little creature was set up shop across from her. She'd seen... boy or girl?... it around town before. Never actually spoke to it though, though she was sure that Negan would have. However, at about noon she found herself glaring after the initial interaction with group of merchants that seemed to be going wild over the shoes it produced. She knew that Negan would disapprove of such a blatant show of her disapproval, especially for something as trivial as getting more customers. Especially when the type of goods provided were so drastically different. Still, it was in her nature, and she found herself giving the little one an ugly face that got worse as she realized that was going to be the nature of the day.
She did manage to calm down a bit, when Negan had showed up to give her, her lunch though.
Bunko quickly gets over his surprise over the Opparans' desire for gnomish shoes as money enters into the equation. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when it lacks horse sense. Every once in awhile, he caught the stare of the half-orc woman - at least, he thought she was ony half, though the jury was still out on that based upon her features. He noticed the intensity of her gaze, and it pissed him off - what the Hell was her problem? Part of him wanted to call her out, but a wiser portion reminded him that she was about twice his height, weight, and reach, and so he returned himself to servicing his customers.
By the end of the day, he's surprised to find his coinpurse full of silver, and gives a low whistle. So, about that drink...
Gareth was an old soldier, and walking around the festival wasn't really uplifting much his spirit. The Dwarf was of average height, for his race, and moved slowly across the place searching for cold beer, good smoke and interesting objects to peruse. He wasn't as skilled as the rest of his family, back home - oh, how he missed it! - but yet he knew a thing or two about stones and metalwork, and could appreciate when something of quality was being shown.
He tapped his own longhammer with a proud smile. Dwarven craftsmanship, that was something to show his teeth for pride! His face, though, was actually entirely covered by his blond beard - now graying - but he kept his hair perfectly trimmed and organized. He pulled his backpack close, a little paranoid about the quantity of people on the market.
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Seemingly fed up with how he got seemingly double the amount of customers that her stall had, she finally decided to stand up and begin making her way over to the gnome's stall. Towering over it and reaching into the bag of earnings for that day, so far, she pulled out four whole silver pieces of that day's earnings, so far. "Yer' so popular, making good shoes?" She questioned with a gruff voice, placing the silver pieces before the gnome, "Good enough to withstand wear for even a month? Doubtful." She announced, basically asking it to make something that'd last her a while to test its abilities. Not that she really knew craftsmen quality when it came to footwear, but was just unnecessarily angry... but sadly was simply the way she was.
No drink yet, here comes trouble, said the dark voice as he noticed the green-skinned woman leave her stall and head to his. He snorts at her first assertion. "Shoes, yes. Good...well, that's up to the buyer." He glances at the money she's put down for a moment, takes one, then slides the other three back to her side of the table. "Come by my shop tomorrow, and I'll take some measurements and start working on something for you. If you like what you see then, you can pay for the rest then." Don't know why you're doing this, she won't be satisfied with your work. Maybe it's because I don't want her to try to rip my head off with her bare hands.
After making his usual prayers at the Riverwood Shrine, Lysander heads for the Phaendat Trading Company's building, to get the lay of this year's festival. He wasn't from Phaendar, he wasn't from much of anywhere around here, really, but he always tried to be passing through on Starday. The festival was a nice country affair, Nirmathi at their best. He was presently between jobs, having just come from some guide work up north, but the festival was also a useful place to talk to contacts that might have an offer. Maybe see the local militia recruiter, Kusk. He might know of something. Lysander had done plenty of service in the militia over the years. Since before there'd been a Nirmathas, even. Ah, Nirmath, he thought, wistfully why'd you have to go and get yourself killed? The half-elf had been a friend. The one who'd first introduced Lysander to he Green Faith, in fact. Shaking his head, he tried to put the old days aside for a while, and just take in the scene.
Gareth was an old soldier, and walking around the festival wasn't really uplifting much his spirit. The Dwarf was of average height, for his race, and moved slowly across the place searching for cold beer, good smoke and interesting objects to peruse. He wasn't as skilled as the rest of his family, back home - oh, how he missed it! - but yet he knew a thing or two about stones and metalwork, and could appreciate when something of quality was being shown.
There are two smiths in town - Kining Blondebeard, a fellow dwarf but one about whom you've heard dark rumors (word is, she was exiled from her people for some foul crime, although you've not heard what she might have done), and Kusk Weaponworks, run by an orc of all things. Both are skilled with steel and stone, if you want to check out their wares.
After making his usual prayers at the Riverwood Shrine, Lysander heads for the Phaendat Trading Company's building, to get the lay of this year's festival. He wasn't from Phaendar, he wasn't from much of anywhere around here, really, but he always tried to be passing through on Starday. The festival was a nice country affair, Nirmathi at their best. He was presently between jobs, having just come from some guide work up north, but the festival was also a useful place to talk to contacts that might have an offer. Maybe see the local militia recruiter, Kusk. He might know of something. Lysander had done plenty of service in the militia over the years. Since before there'd been a Nirmathas, even. Ah, Nirmath, he thought, wistfully why'd you have to go and get yourself killed? The half-elf had been a friend. The one who'd first introduced Lysander to he Green Faith, in fact. Shaking his head, he tried to put the old days aside for a while, and just take in the scene.
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Iteb scrunched her face, the little creature was good at dissuading her anger by moving the date to the following day. It was more difficult for someone to hold their frustration over the course of time, especially when it was unwarranted. Logically too it made sense to put it off to a time when they weren't minding their stalls... given she'd probably need something entirely custom made. Her blood did allow her to hold anger for a good time longer than most, but with the reasons behind it even she would probably relent by then. "So be it. We will see then." Taking the other three silvers and making her way back to her own stall.
While the day was winding down, it wasn't over for her. She'd stay for a while longer. Still, she stared at the gnome as long as it stayed there across the road from her. Her brow furrowed with only a little less frustration to it.
Gareth becomes curious about the dwarf smith, and decides to go visit her store. He was particularly more interested about the metalwork, but certainly would try to get more information about the crime thing on her past.
Somewhat dejected, Jeb decides to head towards the Taproot inn.
Gareth becomes curious about the dwarf smith, and decides to go visit her store. He was particularly more interested about the metalwork, but certainly would try to get more information about the crime thing on her past.
The smithy is hot, but no one is working it when Gareth arrives - it isn't immediately clear what's keeping the forge warm with no one around. Several pieces of weapons and armor, half-finished or more, are on racks or lying on tables around the smithy's edge, and Gareth immediately recognizes the touch of a skilled dwarven smith. Entering the Trading Company itself reveals that most of Kining's trade involves regular trade good, including building materials, foodstuffs, and so on, but there are some completed weapons available for sale as well: a longsword, two battleaxes and an alchemical silver rapier, along with a masterwork light steel shield and some items one might broadly categorize as "adventuring gear."
As for Kining's past, casual inquiry learns that she's from Glimmerhold (a dwarven town on the other side of the Mindspin Mountains from Phaendar), that she can't go back, and nothing more.
Figuring that there might be news of work at the Taproot, Lysander heads over there to see what he can find out.
Figuring that there might be news of work at the Taproot, Lysander heads over there to see what he can find out.
[dice=Knowledge(local)]1d20+5
The Varisian woman behind the bar frowns consideringly at the elf before responding. "Afraid not, Lysander. Everyone I know's already well-prepared and then some." She nods to one corner as an example, where a well-dressed dwarf in all-white finery picks carefully at his meal, overseen by a tall human man who is clearly his bodyguard. The bodyguard's eyes continually search the room, and he exchanges a brief nod with the innkeeper before giving a narrow glance at Lysander. "You're welcome to spend the night and check around in the morning, if you'd like. Rooms're all full, of course, but I'm not charging for the floor if you want to stretch out once the drinkers are abed."
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Her sales day was just about over and she decided spending any more time waiting for more people to drop buy and purchase something was wasted time, at this point. Packing up the cart she used to move her goods from her home and smithy to the stall she'd been using for the festival for its more centralized location, she started to haul it back to lock it up inside the armory. While it was a heavy load to carry, and it took her a while, she moved the mass of iron, stone, and weaponized glass back home.
After that trip, Iteb decided to head out again. She'd seen Negan and Mako a few times that day, but not since deciding to close up. Mako was a man already and could look after himself, much to Negan's disagreement, and Negan might very well be at the inn, where she'd plan to spend a bit of the coin she'd made. At least, the profits of said coin that didn't need to go to restocking the cost of crafting said tools and a dedicated savings amount. Negan said they'd have to store a few coppers for for the home for every silver earned... seemed like a waste of money to her though; holding gold just to be stolen by some thief rather than using on yourself. Still, she respected him enough to abide by his suggestions.
I've seen that one around town, haven't I?, Bunko mused as the orc woman loaded her wares back onto her cart. Metalwork. Kusk's wife? That's probably it. Heard he had a half-orc as a son. No idea what people see in orcs, but to each their own. With precious little to cart back home, he closed down his stall and headed towards the Taproot.
Gareth walks near the smithy, curious to see how it's running without anyone around.
Anyone 'round? - he asks, while near the smithy.
He scratches his head, before going to meticulously examine the items for sale. In truth, he doesn't carry much gold at all, but he can still appreciate it on his leisure day.
Gareth walks near the smithy, curious to see how it's running without anyone around.
[dice=Perception]1d20+6
Anyone 'round? - he asks, while near the smithy.
No one answers Gareth's inquiry, and nothing he perceives seems to explain the forge's radiating heat.
Bah! - yells the Dwarf, frustrated with his own stupidity - 'Aye need a drink. Where's that inn again?
As he leaves the store, he seeks to go to the Taproot Inn for a cold beer.
The Inn's serving staff hands around drinks as the common room fills up. Once darkness falls, most of the stalls and shops close up for the night, and a number of parties spring up around town - the largest, though, without question, is at the Inn. This is largely due to the arrival of Aubrin the Green, who has taken up a position in the center of the common room to recount a somewhat unbelievable adventure tale from her youth. Outside, the celebration continues, as raucous shouts carry on the night air. Warmed by the firelight after a long day, any levity comes as a welcome reward to the rough, earthy souls of the riverside trade town.
"So there I am, thinking, when will I ever be able to talk to a bear again? So before the grizzly can stand back up, I turn to it and say, 'All I need is the honey. You can keep the bees!'" The room erupts into laughter as Aubrin finishes her winding story and takes another draught from her tankard. "But it’s fine now. All’s good. She named a cub after me. Someday I’m going to have to check in on little Ow Oh Gods That’s Too Many Bees."
Crowd members share their own boasts and jokes, but eventually someone tops off Aubrin’s tankard and pushes her back into the center of the room.
"All right, all right! Don’t shove," she slurs a bit. "Okay, Cayden strike me down if this isn’t true—"
The front door explodes into flinders. A cry of agony pierces the chaos. Aubrin lies on the floor, gasping and clutching at the blood gushing from a wound in her chest. A ballista bolt still quivers in the wall behind her.
Two hobgoblins in military dress stand beyond the shattered door, blades drawn. Behind them, lit by the glow of burning homes, dozens — perhaps hundreds — of hobgoblin soldiers march the street. 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.
The common room of the Root is not all that large, no more than thirty feet in any dimension. Four round tables and a long bar support food and drinks, and the western corner holds a large stone fireplace, which is blazing quite merrily. The shattered door out to the street is to the south, and a set of stairs leads up to the second floor along the southeastern wall. In the northern corner, behind the bar, another door leads back into the kitchen.
Bunko watches the tale-telling with disinterest. Nothing more than embellishments brought on by the booze, he thinks, taking a swig from the pewter tankard in front of him. All of them wanting to sound impressive in front of the crowd. There's no glory in war. Only blood. And flame. And death.
And then the door explodes. Bunko's saved from the shrapnel by sheer distance from the Taproot's entrance, but when he spots the two hobgoblins, a snarl curls upon his scarred face. "So. That's how it's going to be." Instinct takes over, and his hands go to his back to unsling his weapon, already lowering into a fighting stance -
- and that's when he remembers. This isn't the front. This isn't ten years ago. He's a cobbler. His armor and weapons are back home. Hell, does he even have a knife?
A gurgling from the floor shook him from his frozen state, and he saw Aubrin spilling her life blood upon the floor. "If you have a blade and know how to swing it, draw it now and give them no mercy! Everyone else, take cover!" He races towards Aubrin, pressing his hands upon her chest. "Stay with me, you're too drunk to go into shock. You do not get to die tonight. You hear me? You do not."
Springing immediately to his feet when the door shatters, Lysander draws his rapier Ironfangs! It's just as well I carry this thing everywhere, I suppose he thinks, then looks to the others. "Molthune is here! Quick, everyone, out the back! he says, gesturing with a flick of his rapier to ward the other door, before turning to the goblinoids and raising his blade. "Let's dance, scum."
Bunko bends over Aubrin and tries to stop the bleeding of the massive wound in her chest, but his efforts aren't enough. The Caydenite's eyes are open, but she doesn't seem to be focusing very well, and her brown skin takes on an ashen, greyish undertone even as the blood continues to flow out of her.
With Lysander's challenge in front of them, one of the hobs points its blade directly at him and shouts in gruff Common, "Lower your blade and kneel if you value your life!" His companion points her blade at Gareth and snarls, "We'll slit your fat throat, dwarf, if you move a step!"
"Who're you calling fat!?"
Turning from the bar and drawing her blade while making her way across the floor, she swings her blade at the nearest hobgoblin in a wide diagonal arc.
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Move action: Move & draw blade as part of movement.
Standard action: attack.
Note: AC is 10 due to lack of armor, 12 vs hobgoblins.
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Iteb had made it to the inn where she spent a few coins on a cheep ale. No sign of Negan yet, though she was sure he'd be back around eventually. After he'd seen her store down and not at home, there wasn't many places she cared to go. While she wasn't too great a fan of the jokes she did enjoy the atmosphere, at least, that they created. Until the Cayden one, anyway. Having her setup and the followup of the bolt flying through her... she broke out into legitimate laughter. While most were screaming or fleeing, she finally found amusement in Aubrin.
That said, Aubrin didn't deserve such a fate, and she soon saw the burning homes outside the door. That changed her attitude quite quickly. The little shoe-maker seemed to call to arms those inside, an Elf seemed to take to it immediately. She cursed the fact she didn't bring her entire cart with her. Oh well, she thought, there's plenty of things i can hit them with in here. On that note, she stood up and lifted up her stool as she rose, Hearing their pitiful attempts to threaten the room, she threw the stool through the air at one that looked easier to strike and losing her makeshift weapon in the process. "Retreat from a stupid goblin!? Not even a child should be scared." She scoffed at the thought, though their indimidation attempt wassn't directed at her. She intentionally avoided differentiating between actual goblins and these hobgoblins.
Jeb's blade is guided more by ancient hatreds and righteous indignation than skill, and it carves a deep gouge out of a nearby table rather than hob that was her target. Iteb's hurled stool is thrown with much more accuracy, but at the last moment, the Ironfang legionnaire is able to raise his shield and knock the stool aside.
Bunko frowns as Aubrin continues to bleed out. Dammit, it's not working! "HEY!", he says, slapping her cheeks to focus her attention. "Stay with me! You are not going to die today!" He applies more pressure on the wound, trying desperately to staunch the massive wound in her chest, but there's so much damage, and his hands are only so large.
Oy, yer overgrown beard booger! Ya shy me with these compliments. Let me smash tha big round head of ya, will ya?
The dwarf moved almost immediately, pulling his giant dwarven longhammer from his back, and on the same movement it let it down on the closest hobgoblin head. He positioned himself such as he could reach both enemies with his reach weapon.
He cleaves to try to hit the other adjacent enemy as well.
Ya should all run for ya pathetic green arses! - the proud dwarf yells to the enemies, as the second hit crashes on the inn wooden floor.
Gareth's hammer slams home on one enemy quite solidly, but he can't quite manage the same on her ally, who dodges nimbly away from the heavy hammer. Behind him, Bunko works desperately to save Aubrin's life, but he can feel it literally dripping away between his fingers.
Recruit #1: 17/17hp, recruit #2: 9/17hp, Aubrin: 0/43hp
All around, the inn's patrons are scrambling to escape, running through the kitchen door, diving out windows, even trying to force their way past the hobgoblins - but two of them are cut down in as many swings of the legionnaires's deadly blades.
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With everyone fleeing, and now the hobs being actively engaged in combat, she decided to enter the fray entirely; however seeing the opportunity provided by the distraction of the patrons, and that the hobs took the time to cut them down. Grabbing a hot bowl of soup on her way by a table, and up to the uninjured of the two, she throws it in its face while running up to it.
The male legionnaire shouts in surprise and pain as the stew lands in his eyes.
Lysander suddenly spots his opportunity. He moves up next to the orc woman, his rapier ready, and flicks the point out, try to disarm the blinded hob. The elf's slim blade neatly slips around the guard of his foe, and a sudden twist and pull sees the longsword go flying from the legionnaire's hand.
The furious hob wipes the stew from his eyes, but deprived of his blade, he instead takes a tighter grip on his shield and attempts to bash back at Lysander in retaliation. The effort is largely wasted, however.
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His companion, enraged by Gareth's impertinence, lashes out at him. Although she finds a way past his defenses and armor, he suffers only a minor wound for her troubles.
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Bunko grows silent in frustration as his attempts to save Aubrin continue to amount to nothing. He focuses on trying to staunch the flow of blood, but there's so much of it, and she's lying there still like Actos, right after the ambush, he was there with a trio of arrows in his chest drowning in his own blood and he forces himself to the present, trying to save at least one person.
A grim smile on his face as the sword slips from the goblinoid's grubby hands, Lysander drops into the duelist stance he'd learned long ago in Ustalav, focusing on defending himself and hoping the mere fact of an opponent standing nearby with a rapier will draw the hobgoblins attention.
