Bunko's desperate work - a half-dozen makeshift bandages torn up and discarded - finally pays off, as Aubrin suddenly gasps, and though the sound is filled with the sensation of pain, it is also much more present than the noises she had been making. Her eyes lock into focus on Bunko's, and she begins taking in the scene around her.
Lysander's attack is almost comical, but he knows the intent is to provoke, not to wound, so he's pleased with the results, waiting to see if he can draw the enemy hobgoblin once again.
Gareth attacks again, doing another small five-foot-step behind as to keep the two enemies at reach.
He misses with the attack, so he can't cleave.
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Seizing the opportunity and jumping down to grab the weapon that was dropped, a medium sized longsword. Normal metal, not her specialty, but definitely better than the chairs and ceramics she'd been trying to make do with until now. While leaving herself vulnerable in grabbing the fallen weapon, she'd then hold it with both hands and jab upwards at the hobgoblins she was expecting an attack from with a viscous roar... especially if she was going to be attacking up through a fresh injury.
Jeb circles around to get a good angle of attack, mirroring the other dwarf's wide swings.
,
She swings wildly, completely out of control of her sword.
,
Although the Ironfang legionnaire has lost his blade, he proves his warrior's training is not in vain as he slams his shield into Iteb's shoulder while she stoops to pick up his fallen blade. She proves her own mettle by responding in kind, however, cutting a deep wound into the hob's thigh that he can only partially deflect with the shield.
Jeb and Gareth continue to battle back against the other hob, trying to find a way to strike in combination and knock both of the legionnaires down, but they have not found a rhythm, and so far they seem to be getting in each other's way more than anything else.
Jeb gestures frantically at Gareth behind the hobgoblin's back, but it's not quite obvious what she's trying to communicate.
In the end, she defaults to swinging her blade at the hobgoblin.
,
The dwarf positions himself and tries to smash the hobgoblins again, cleaving if he succeeds.
Finally, and rather thoroughly, Gareth manages to get a grip on the hobs' tactics - and with a pair of brutal swings, the dwarf sends both the Legionnaires crumpling to the floor, bleeding out next to the bodies they themselves had previously put there.
Aubrin awkwardly grips her holy symbol, murmuring a brief spell and suddenly looking more vital, although the gaping wound is no less horrific for the spell. "It... it sounds like there’s an army outside the door. How did they fall on us without being seen? These damn plains are so flat you can see an elk from two days off, let alone an army!" The Caydenite cleric winces and presses her hands against the bloody hole in her chest. "They sound large. Too large to fight on the ground like honest fools. We need to gather what we can, cross the bridge, and hide out in the Fangwood. I — I know a few secrets that may keep us safe. Should probably figure out how to take down the bridge while we’re at it, else they’ll just march themselves across before we have the chance to hide." Shakily, Aubrin begins to lever herself to her feet.
At this point, no one living remains in the common room besides the five of you and Aubrin - everyone else has fled, one way or another. Aubrin recommends stripping the hobs' bodies for their weapons and armor, for those who are lacking such, and she offers her sword and longbow to anyone who might use it.
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Iteb had already got to work grabbing the armor off the fallen Hob and squeezing into it, the armor not quite fitting to her physique comfortably but functional. Taking the shield and feeling the grip in her arm she swings it around a few times-- clearly utilizing it for the ability to strike with alongside the longsword she'd already taken. She also grabs one of their longbows, and one quiver of 20 arrows. Quickly moving the few things she 'did' have on her from her old backpack to the higher quality one, she tosses her old one on the ground. It'd been torn of from age and use anyway. She was still injured, but held some goal in heart that kept her moving forward.
This entire time, it was clear her eyes were on the door, and not truly listening to Aubrin speak... at least not considering it well enough. She also ignored the pieces of paper and strange vials she held no reason to grab. She understood magic likely filled them but without knowing what they did they were useless to her. After suiting up she took a few steps towards the door. "I'm gon'ta go." She announced, a fire in her eyes as she turned to the others. This was more a warning for them, since her leaving might draw attention. "My offspring is not of age to die proudly on the battlefield, and I'll sooner die than see him a slave. The other of his blood providers can fight and I won't mourn a warrior's fate."
She wasn't unreasonable though, and understood strength in numbers. "I would help, but i refuse before knowing his fate. Plus my combat gear is not here anyway." She considered the direction of her home, and the direction of the Fangwood forest. "If ye' run with me for a time to my smithy, should i find him before then or ther' then i will join any future fights you concoct. Lest we do though, I'm turning back to the fray."
"I'll go with you," Bunko says, helping Aubrin to her feet with his bloody hands. "Mostly because I have my old equipment at home as well. If we're going to be outrunning hobs, then I need my hammer and my armor. Oh, and one more thing - I'm going to have to place a hold on that shoe order you placed earlier today, miss. Some serious s**t has come up."
Aubrin nods as Bunko helps her stand. "Your gear... you'll need it, for sure as this blood I'm wearing. If we can make it, the Trading Company, too. There will be people there, I'm sure, and supplies - Negan might be there, if he's rallying the militia. Oreld's shop and the Shrine too, I thin-" she breaks off as you all clearly hear something splinter in the kitchen, through the northern door.
Having accepted Aubrin's bow and quiver when she offered it, Lysander swiftly returns his rapier to its scabbard, then nocks an arrow and aims through the northern door. "Who's there?" he calls, loud enough to be heard clearly in the kitchen.
There is no immediate reaction to Lysander's call.
Bunko's eyes widen as he hears further noise coming from the kitchen. He lunges for one of the swords on the ground, gripping the overlarge weapon in both hands. "Drop that sword!", he commands in a voice that should be too loud coming from so small a frame. "We will open fire if you come through that door with blades drawn!"
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"I'll hold you to it then, little one. To finish the shoes when this is all over." She grins, and seems less eager to leave the door after hearing that she at least had one other willing to accompany her and others around the city to collect belongings on the way out. Turning with the rest at the sound from the kitchen, she just readies her weapon and steps a bit closer to join the others ordering the one on the other side of the door to come out slowly and non-threateningly. She didn't really hear what it was though, so was just following her companions' initiative.
Aubrin, for her part, shakes her head at Bunko and holds out her masterwork blade in lieu of the hobs' work.
Bunko's eyes alight on the weapon Aubrin offers him, and quickly exchanges blades with her.
"Heh," growls a voice from the kitchen. "No fear of that, pup. I'm only here for the slaves I can claim from your cellar. I'll just be on my way once I have them."
Motioning to the other, Lysander indicates silently that the voice came from the right, just inside the door. He then turns to Aubryn and whispers "Are all the townsfolk out of the building?"
Gareth stays silent on the back of the group, sheathing his longhammer and quickly adjusting his helmet on the head. He picks the other longbow and a quiver with 20 arrows and puts on his back, just as an alternate weapon if needed.
'Aye had enough of this. Not much on the mood for conversing with slavers 'heer.
He pulls his longhammer again and advances defensively towards the kitchen, ready to smash the right side of the door, either with his weapon at hand - or the one at the head.
Aubrin shrugs, whispering back, "No idea... there is a cellar..."
Gareth stays silent on the back of the group, sheathing his longhammer and quickly adjusting his helmet on the head. He picks the other longbow and a quiver with 20 arrows and puts on his back, just as an alternate weapon if needed.
'Aye had enough of this. Not much on the mood for conversing with slavers 'heer.
He pulls his longhammer again and advances defensively towards the kitchen, ready to smash the right side of the door, either with his weapon at hand - or the one at the head.
The kitchen and pantry are each about ten feet square, linked by an open doorway to the southeast. A door in the northeast wall leads out the back, and through it the distant shadow of the Gardaxe family farm can be seen. A large trapdoor in the floor, just inside the pantry doorway, is closed. Just inside the kitchen door, a single Ironfang Legion soldier rests his foot atop a large, sealed water barrel, balanced as though he were ready to roll it with his boot directly into the path of anyone entering the kitchen.
Gareth passes by the Recruit and keeps going inside the kitchen some more feet, before turning around and letting all the weight of his longhammer drop on the hobgoblin's head.
Eat my rocky hammer, 'ya piece of crap!
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Iteb follows suit, entering the cramped place as soon as she can after Gareth. Weapon still drawn, she makes way to the closest space she can make the clearest attack from, and follows up Gareth's drop of the hammer with a slash of the hobgoblin sword she carries. "No time for this!" She spoke in frustration as she did so.
The recruit was clearly expecting to get the drop on you, and not the other way around. Gareth and Iteb deliver a punishing one-two combination of strikes, and the fight ends almost before it began.
Aubrin stumbles into the kitchen and calls out, "Jet! Jet, you tumble-brained girl, if you're dead, I'll strangle you with your damn scarves, see if I won't!" The words are broken up by several bouts of labored coughing, some of which includes small drops of blood, but by the end of the sentence there is a scraping below the pantry trap door, which then slowly opens. In the cellar, Jet's dusky skin and dark eyes look more shadowed than before, but she seems unharmed - and with her are a few other members of the inn's patrons who must have followed her down there in the confusion. The well-dressed dwarf - his fine white garments dirty now - and his bodyguard are among them. Four in all, the refugees climb back up the ladder and crowd into the kitchen once they are reassured that there is no immediate threat.
Once again the Dwarf sheathes his longhammer, but this time he smiles and taps Iteb's shoulder vigorously.
Good job, big girl. - he says, before racing to help the refugees.
Are ya alright? - says the Dwarf - Ya gonna pardon the dust. We're a work in progress. - he completes, pointing out the blood and brain matter of the hobgoblin on the kitchen.
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As Aubrin and others began to crowd the kitchen, Iteb had made way back out to try to make room. "Don't spend too long getting a sound head." She stated uncaringly about the fate of those that were saved from the hobgoblin, "Need ta' move fast. Longer we take, mer' trouble it'll be."
At the male Dwarf's friendly congratulations on their surprising teamwork in the short incursion into the kitchen, she scowled at him for a moment. She put on a clearly forced smile in an attempt to show she means well by him. The initial scowl and forced nature of her smile clearly shows that though she means well and truly owes him no ill will, some feelings held to her past and blood keep her somewhat bothered by the proximity of elves and dwarves... and the group she fought with held three... and a gnome.
Ugh... Miss my war band. She caught herself thinking, and shook away the thought. She could have very well been on the other side of this raid and felt somewhat bad about that. Mind you, Orcs didn't need slaves the same way the weaklings attacking now did.
Bunko grits his teeth at the hobgoblin's words, and a snarl grows upon his face. Trap. Probably waiting for us to get the drop on us. Not long after he has this thought do the orc woman and one of the dwarves charge the door. NO! This is what they want! Don't charge their lines! Just like that, he sees the battle that claimed the lives of his batallion, feels the heat of the fire upon his flesh again. His sword lowers as he takes a step back from the haunting visions before him -
- and in a moment later, the hobgoblin lay dead, slain by the other warriors. He blinks away the horrors of the past to focus on the present, and follows Aubrin into the cellar.
"Hey," Bunko says, finally speaking up as he helps the last of the survivors from the cellar. "Anything useful in there?" He points towards a metal lockbox on the top of one of the shelves below, covered in dust. "I can't quite reach it."
The lockbox Bunko indicates (which is not actually locked) contains a wand, another wand, two elixirs, and a set of juggling balls.
Now on her feet in the kitchen, Jet looks around, a bit shakily, and asks, "Did they get upstairs? Because I had tenants..."
Most of the rooms Iteb checks are empty, either with beds unslept-in or, in a couple cases, signs of rapid departure. But one is firmly locked, and her call is rewarded with a gruff, "Go away! You'll draw them here!"
Oh that would be fantastic, wouldn't it? - whispered the Dwarf back to Iteb and his other companions.
We'eer the help, lad. - he replied with his strong accent, now directed to the person within the room - Ya should open that. Now.
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Iteb shrugs after hearing the person on the other side argue that they're safer where they were. Shrugging it off, she didn't care too much; she'd obliged miss Aubrin well enough. "If you don't want to go, then don't. Stay here and die if you don't leave with armed group." She offered, unapologetically. "Or open the door and come, no bother me ny'way."
Jeb had been silent while she shrugged on the armored vest from one of the hobgoblins.
She follows the rest of them up the stairs, pounding on the door. "We're leaving. They'll burn down the inn when they're done with the rest of us. Come along if ye want to live!"
"Just leave!" the voice shouts from the other side of the door.
(-5 if this is considered "to improve other creatures' attitudes towards you")
Lysander shakes his head and says "If you want to die I guess that's your business. We'd rather you come with us and live."
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Seeing their feeble attempts to get the person to leave, she shrugs and moves back down to Aubrin. "One person. Don't want to go." She announced, picking up her bag again and getting ready to leave. "We go now, yes?" She asked, ready to get on with the travel before they lost the distraction that was the attack on the rest of the town.
Bah! No one stays behind, even if I have to put this door down.
Bunko's eyes narrow as he hears Iteb's report on the person who refuses to leave their room. "Doesn't want to leave, does he now? We'll see about that." He stomps up the stairs where Gareth is gripping his longhammer, preparing to knock it down. "" It's hard to believe that the shouting is coming from his tiny frame.
Gareth makes the door shake in its frame, but it doesn't quite open. None of your pleas seem to produce any more result in getting the door open.
Must be out of practice. There was a day I could make a raw recruit piss himself in fear. What good are you, really?
Hmpf.
The Dwarf just keeps bumping. He knows how to pick locks, but doesn't have the proper tools with him - so he rather just crash the door open. If after some more attempts the door doesn't open, he will try to sunder it open.
As grumpy as they come, he has very little patience for diplomatic solutions!
On the third try, the door slams down, and Gareth almost falls on his face - but when he looks up, he sees not one, but two cowering merchants. They look horrified by the intrusion. Both are human males, one noticeably older than the other. You note what looks like a rack of dried meat jerky on one side of the room.
With more than eight years of age, Gareth would probably be dead already if he was Human, or close to that. Yet, as a Dwarf, he wasn't even considered of middle age yet, and wouldn't be for almost another half century. He looked at the two merchants as he lighted his cigar.
I am Gareth Gudrum of Torag. - he let out some smoke - And 'tis dipping 'heer is the blood of 'them hobbogobbos. We're here 'ta help.
He walked around the room, looking with curiosity but agility. The extra supplies looked particularly interesting.
Now, you should get 'yar stuff and come with us if you want to live. If I can put tha' door down, 'ya bet your skinny pink bottoms that the green boogers can too. So... Like I said before 'ya made me waste my time. Now.
He pointed the exit with the tip of his immense dwarven longhammer.
Bunko follows the dwarf into the merchants' room, a grimace growing wide on his scarred face. "Are you both as deaf as you are daft? GRAB YOUR S**T, WE ARE LEAVING!" At the end, he stomps his foot to emphasize his point, unaware that it makes his tantrum seem almost comical.
The two men exchange glances, then the younger one puts up his hands, looking simultaneously disgusted and terrified. "Fine, fine, we're going." The older man looks like he'd like to object, but looking at Gareth's longhammer, he swallows whatever he was going to say and goes to pick up a traveling pack and then, with practiced ease, hefts the pole of jerky onto his shoulders, balancing it there comfortably. The younger man picks up a wooden chest lined with waxed paper, which apparently contains salted, dried venison. Both look ready to accompany you, although with ill grace and sour looks.
Back downstairs, the group has reassembled, and is getting ready to depart. After a few moments' preparations, just as you are about to duck through the back door, a scream can be clearly heard through it. In the distance, perhaps 20 yards from the inn, a lone dwarven girl, aged maybe 45 (in her teens, by dwarf standards) is sprinting away from the Gardaxe farm. She is running madly, but suddenly a thick arrow shaft sprouts from her chest, and she tumbles lifeless to the grass. On the porch of the farmhouse, another ten or so yards past that, two Ironfang warriors congratulate each other on such a fine shot.
"That's my home. I'm gonna have to go deal with it. I'd appreciate help, but I'm going regardless." Her face grim, Jeb draws her two-handed sword, and starts running towards the farm.