Grok looks down at the dead, face falling down in sadness. He shakes his head softly and kneels to look at the man he cut, who looks back up with defiant eyes. Grok steps over him gently, pausing for a minute before going into the tent with Maurie. Too many dead... Grok's voice trails off. His head snaps up at Maurie's words, however, and he goes to Clarenston, holding him with a hand. Never know what to say...they always died. You might not...die. Grok says flatly, before remembering that the man can hear him. Grok stands up but stays near the man, looking at him while he speaks.
I don't know about sellswords, Grok replies, looking them over. Wouldn't the town have more money than the orcs? And why wouldn't they surrender? Grok looks confused, and pauses for a moment, before adding, not good that they have allies, but we already knew it would be tough. Grok still sounds rather dejected. He tries to clean his blade by wiping it on his clothing, but finds it still covered in gore from earlier. Grok freezes, looking at the drying blood and not speaking. His sword drips slowly, drops of blood pooling on the ground beside the barkeep.
It is a long time before Grok moves, turning away from the others and searching for a rag at the bar. He hides his face and does not speak.
Norrik moves next to Cranston and crouches down. "He's wounded... can anybody help him?"
Norrik will do what he can to move debris out of the way and make sure Cranston is in a safe spot.
He will then search the downed orcs and sellswords to see if they have anything that could be useful. In particular, he's looking for healing potions that could be passed to Cromwell.
(If necessary, take 10 on Spellcraft for a result of 19 after casting Detect Magic, identifying magic items up to CL4.)
I can help him, but I'd rather save the wand if I can... Grok says quietly, still cleaning his blade. He turns slowly and unsteadily, leaving his sword on the bartop. Grok's face is flat, and he smiles with his mouth, not eyes, as he pulls down his pack.
Elberth. Grok says, tapping into the power hiding his wand. He exhales as the magic heals Clarenston, as though it has as much of an effect on Grok as the wounded barkeep. He should live now. Grok says in a neutral voice, don't say anything you don't have to.
Can you fight?
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The barkeep, his eyes now show a brightness of life, though he seems less than pleased with his rescuers "Well despite it all, I suppose you think I'm happy to know the warriors of Trunau, would have happily set my inn ablaze, just to rid it of a couple of half-orc spies and a few flea ridden mercenaries. Well, I'll thank you for the healing, but you should stick to the sword, not the flame. It's bad enough the orcs are setting Trunau to the torch, without our own doing so as well. Despite that, you helped rid my place of them, I got something you might find useful sometime. I can be civil, its a gift. You'd best be thankful." The barkeep, limps behind the bar returning with 2 flasks and 2 vials. "Here, these flasks will take sickness away and the vials help soothe the pain. Probably work as well on you green skins and small folk, as well as my normal custom." As he hands them over to the half-orcs, but you can tell he is a little reticent to give them to a couple of untrustworthy half-orcs and an erstwhile thief, "But if you still have a head on your shoulders when all is done, come back and have a drink on me?"
Outside the inn, Davian tends to Cromwin. Kneeing beside his fallen comrade, Davian is exposed and on his own, in the middle of conflict, knowing not when the next enemies might descend upon them.
As Norrick sifts through the corpses, he begins to feel uneasy, as a raven calls excitedly above the noise of battle outside the confines of the inn.
Norrick finds on the half-orcs and human warriors....
The barkeep, starts around the back of the bar and starts to draw 3 drinks, one for each of you, he continues "Well now you made it safe for me to stay here, I can clean up a bit and open to serve the survivors refreshments later. No rest for the wicked eh!" He places the 3 tankards of ale on the bar.
Norrik will make sure to deliver some of the Cure Light Wounds potions we found to Cromwell, to get him back on his feet, and to anybody else who needs them.
He says, "Ferria is getting nervous outside. The attackers at the lower gate must be pushing forward. We should head down to help the militia where we can."
Maurie takes one of the curative potions and places it in belt pouch.
"My apologies about that. At the time it seemed that the only beings within were hostiles, and they were getting some very lucky hits with those javelins. I am glad we were able to save your establishment in addition to you, though I would recommend withdrawing to someplace further behind the guard once you get your feet under you again. No sense dying for that which can be rebuilt later."
She gives the man a half bow, then turns to the member of their former assailents that still draws breath.
"Bind him. He may prove more... talkative... than the orc from before."
Thanks for your help, use his name Clarenston. Glad to see that you're all right. Grok looks vaguely concerned for a moment, what do I say...? and then Maurie is apologizing. Grok takes a step back for a moment, waiting until she is done.
As the man sets drinks on the bar, however, Grok feels the need to speak. Norrick's words clearly have an effect on him, and Grok glances out at Davian before speaking. Clarenston, the town needs your help. This is a well organized and large group of attackers with forces aside from the usual orcs. They have giants. Grok looks the man evenly in the eyes, face still stoic. Tell him what he can do. What difference even an untrained and weak fighter can make just by pointing a spear at the enemies and keeping us from being surrounded. Grok glances nervously between Clarenstorn and the wounded man on the floor, then up to Davian and Cromwin. For a moment, he is indecisive, but then takes a step towards the door.
If nothing else, Clarenston can bind him, we need to hurry. Only Ferria knows what the situation on the front is, and Ferria is the nervous one.
Grok picks up the gold and shoves it in his pack, We can divvy this up later, we need to hurry. Those are some nice axes as well, should hang onto those.
Maurie shrugs at Grok's assessment of the axes. "Tall folk weapons are all the same to me. Even one of the daggers would be as ungainly as a poorly made sword in my hand. One of those axes would be laughable, and now is not the time for comedy."
Breaking out in a grin, she adds, "Perhaps after the town is safe I can play the part of the giant sieging the town, wielding one of those for additional affect. But come, now is not that time."
Davian gives a heavy sigh as Norrick gives the healing potion to Cromwin, watching the man rise as he thankfully saves the charges on the wand "I see... there were friends inside... That would have been unfortunate." He tosses the torch on the ground, frustrated at the confusion the battle was causing.
"Who of you is in charge now? Guide my hand so I know where to strike next while we wait for Cromwin to gain steady ground."
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Norrick healed Clarenston the barkeep with the potion, not Cromwin
As Cromwin stands, a shape materializes out of the green burning smoke, the animal with its fangs dripping, howls in pleasure at the clearer air. As the mangy cur of a dog, squats to relieve itself, its beady eyes see the humans in the centre of the square, it opens its mouth wider showing its set of teeth. It lowers its head and growls, slobber and blood, drip from its dirty maw. But before it starts to run at Cromwin and Davian a guttural shout calls it back, but the dog hesitates....
The groggy warrior Cromwin watches the dog appear, but his own readiness for battle is hampered by the wounds that still weep blood and weaken his strength to march on.
In the inn, Grok goes to the human still with a head and a deeply gashed wound in the neck, his hair matted in his own crimson pool of blood. The red liquid that flowed, is now but a trickle. Binding him might not be a requirement now.
Clarenston looks concerned when Maurie request he leave, he replies somewhat less gruffly. "Where do you suggest I go then, where is it safe?"
Cromwin weakly coughs as the world swims back into view, sitting up and looking around the burning town.
"Ah. Davian. What...what hit me? Is everyone alive? I feel like I've been trampled by a horse." Cromwin pulls himself to his feet, slowly limping into the building. "Did we win...and do we have a plan for what to do next?"
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Maurie thinks a moment on that question. "Truthfully, I am not sure. I remember Cromwin saying that there had been an aid station set up further within the town. I would imagine that it might be better guarded at the moment, though given the battle raging around us I can't make a promise on that." The halfling woman shakes her head, slightly frustrated.
"I won't force you to leave. A man has the legal right to defend his property and prosperity from those that would try to steal or destroy it. I would only ask that you consider going to the station before we leave, as this is somewhat close to the front lines... as well as the fires set by the invaders."
There was a cleric and some wounded behind the barricade, Grok gestures at the barricade with one hand, picking up his Falchion and sheathing it with the other, They should still be alright, and there's safety in numbers. Might do better to bring them here, if they can move. Grok's words are still flat, but there is a slight hint of disdain in them.
Grok picks up the axes and gold, shoving them into his now quite full pack and shouldering it with a grunt. Better hurry now, on to the hopespring. We should check the houses as we go as well, and look around for that ladder, but above all we must move quickly to the front. Grok moves to the door as he says this, walking out to Davian and Cromwin.
Ready to go? We should check the houses, I think it's best if we make for the Hopespring, not far to the gate from there.
"Yeah. Ok. But...Grok, can we really make a difference out there? I've nearly died twice today, I'm cut off from Anvil and on foot, and who knows what's waiting out past the wall. Maybe we should fall back, get Cranston to safety and try and get Anvil over the barricade. I...just feel lost without him."
Cromwin flushes in embarrassment at suggesting they fall back, lowering his head. It's clear he's shaken from his wounds and the trials of the day. "I, uh...I'll follow wherever we go. But...."
We could, it depends on how many there are. If there are many hundreds it's good to know so that we can gather some survivors and escape, and if there are only a few dozen at the gate then we could help to repel them before they cause too much damage. Grok looks back at the barricade.
There's a good idea though, getting Anvil over. Grok examines the barricade from far away, trying to determine how difficult it would be to hack apart the edge or build a ramp with an upturned cart or piece of wall.
Maurie shakes her head. "If there are that many out there then escape is not a practical option. If they haven't got the town surrounded by now they will have the manpower to chase us all the way to Lastwall." She winces in pain as the spear wound from earlier pains her movement, the adrenalin of combat wearing off.
"Getting patched up at the barricade before trying to deal with that giant is probably the most sane option... if they only have one, bringing it down might buy us some time to mount a proper defense."
It'd be our only option. Hiding in the ruins'd not be a good plan, and I suspect they'd enjoy a night or three off to loot, wouldn't be impossible to escape, and it'd be real tough to manage to survive any other way. Grok doesn't sound happy, but he doesn't hesitate to respond either.
Right, let's go then. Grok says, heading back to the barricade. He pulls the crowbar from his pack as they move, looking to pry apart stacked objects to help Anvil move freely.
Cromwin lets out a sigh of relief and follows along behind Grok. "If we can get him over...once we start moving outside, Anvil's mobility will help, and he's probably more dangerous with those hooves than I am with my hammer. Come on, let's go!"
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Davian looks up at the smoke filled area, and as Cromwin rises as his wounds knit together, the dog turns tail and heads back into the smoke...
"Behind that barricade, yes that's got to be safer." Clarenston looks relieved that there is some semblance of sanity in this battle for Trunau. "I'll go there, at least there's somewhere to protect us. The barkeep looks around behind the bar, bringing out a couple of bottles of brownish liquid, "Distilled wine, not the best, but good for medicinal purposes." holding them under his cloak as he hobbles back to the barricade. His face pale and ghost like as he fully takes in the devastation around.
Grok quickly looks in the half wreckage of the large hall to the south, returning safely and seeing no enemy, the building is safe from the invading orcs.
Once at the barricade and they start to tear down parts of it to let Anvil through, the priest comes out, "What do you do think you are doing?, are you with the orcs? Leave the barricade alone at once, it's our last defence here." The priest holds a morningstar unsteadily in his hands, gripping it such that his knuckles whiten, but his grip is awkward and unnatural for a real fighter. His resolve though, is written across his face to defend Trunau until death, and that means defending the barricade.
Clarenston speaks up, "Albar, they are with us, they have funny ways to go about things. They rescued me from some half-orcs, but only after first threatening to burn my place down!" Albar, the cleric looks aghast, "What, you are sure they're not spies for the orc tribes?" his voice quivering in fear that this band of warriors could be the end of Trunau.
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When they get back to the first aid station, the cleric tired and doing his best to tend to the wounded, asks Brin to go back to town and get some Danriddle herbs to make a poultice for soothing wounds.
We're with you, Albar, don't worry. This is my friend Cromwin, who's lived here his whole life, got a knife round his neck and everything. His horse is the one back behind the barricade. Grok explains, still working quickly. We want that horse over on this side, to help kill orcs. Most of the ones nearby we've already killed, I don't think you need to worry too much for now. Barricade's not great protection without good soldiers to man it, either. Grok's voice is even and he looks at the man's eyes as he speaks.
Maurie just looks at the man with the mace for a minute before shaking her head.
"I know you probably don't remember it, being as it was so very long ago, but most of us were at the Hopeknife Ceremony, helping out Miss Ruby. I was the ridiculously small one."
She then points to Cromwin. "He was the one that afterwords raced Kurst on his horse. The same horse we need to get through this blockade so he can race into the waiting arms of the giant these fellows brought with them. The same giant that is likely going to take one look at said blockade and smash it flat with whatever passes for its weapon."
Sighing, wincing while she does, she points to the state of disrepair almost all of her companions find themselves in. "As you can plainly see, we have all shed blood keeping the orcs and their sellsword friends from reaching here. Both the enemies and our own. So, if it isn't too much trouble, mind helping out in some way?"
"Indeed," Norrik says. "You know me -- Norrik Spinson. My father serves with the guard. I am apprentice to Agrit Staginsdar. We're loyal citizens of Trunau, trying to defend the town!"
Aiding Maurie's Diplomacy check:
It seems that Norrik came off rather off-putting... oh well.
"Yes! Anvil's a combat trained heavy warhorse! We need to get him to the fighting." Cromwin gives out a piercing whistle to signal Anvil to approach the far side of the barricade. "But you're right, if they get this far, the fortifications will be needed. Quick, find something he could use as a ramp to get up your side of the barricade; I practiced climbing and jumping drills with Anvil every day, I know I can get him over if we can just get him some crates or a pair of boards!"
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Despite the suspicion that still lurks behind eyes of Albar, when Brin agrees to go back into town and get the herbs for the cleric, he relents and watches as the group remove the broken chairs and tables and other household furniture that makes the bulk of the barricade. As the last of the barricade is removed, to allow just enough of a gap for Anvil to squeeze through, Grok and Maurie notice a green skinned warrior move across the square, watching Grok's and Maurie's every move.
As the motion of the orc catches her eye, Maurie gives a start. "Look out, one is trying to rush the barricade!"
As she speaks she quickly draws her temple sword from it's sheath, the keys and coins jingling melodically with the motion.
Grok whips his bow out rapidly, pulling an arrow as he does. He nocks the arrow and raises his bow, draws, and looses a shot before the foe can react. I hope he's not a friend...
Grok jogs to one side, trying to get a better angle for another shot. He draws as he does, and takes another shot, hoping to get lucky.
As he watches his second arrow Grok pauses a moment, calling out loudly, Are you a friend of Trunau?
"Doubtful Grok... most friends would have approached slowly, not stealthily." Maurie takes up defensive position by the barricade, sword at the ready to strike any that would attempt to storm it.
"Anvil!" Cromwin nuzzles the side of his companion's neck as the horse makes his final push through the rubble. Quick as a flash, he swings up onto his companion's back, pulling out his shield and strapping it to his arm. He whistles sharply as he does so, kicking slightly against Anvil's side nearest to Grok. "Defend Grok, Anvil, 'til I get this on. Then, let's show these invaders what it means to face an inhabitant to Trunau! Hiyah!"
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The warrior watches as Grok's arrow flies over the well and his head. There is a look of surprise as he sees a mounted warrior, emerge from the gap in the barricade. Knowing his options are limited, the orc makes a dash for the cover of the buildings as he goes. He shouts a warning out in his brackish language as he disappears around the corner of a ruined building.
Pale skin soldiers gathering here, we must regroup and kill them to make this ours!
Right, they're not grouped up, so Cromwin can cut 'em down one by one and run away if there's trouble. Good to be on a horse. Grok grins at the large animal, surveying the barricade.
We should also try to repair this, though I'd rather attack while they're scattered. Hope they aren't all waiting behind the corner... Grok takes off at a run towards where they saw the orc disappear, drawing his shield but still holding his bow.
Drawing his Falchion, Norrik takes off after Grok. "Ferria, circle above! Warn me if the barricade further falls or more orcs break through!"
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As Norrick, Cromwin and Grok disappear from the barricade, the cleric behind, shouts out, "Vandals, get back here and fix the wall." He wails, "We are lost, we are lost, nothing left to defend us from the onslaught." He looks to Maurie, "Don't just stand there, fix it!" He hurriedly picks up pieces of the barricade in his hand, looking at them, as though they are pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, before dropping them and picking up more. He makes no progress, but does continue to cry out, the plaintive cries likely to attract any orcs seeking easy blood.
The raven rises, cawing into the night sky, and from its elevated position it surveys the battle scene. The fires provide the light to allow Ferria to see, but there are great blotches of darkness through which the bird cannot get any detail. Ferria is almost panicked when looking past the lower gates, as the orcish armies appear to be getting the upper hand. From out of the darkness, an arrow arcs towards the bird, but it easily wheels to the left out of harms way.
As Grok get to the corner, he sees two orcs run into the darkness of an alleyway, running between the brooding shadows of houses running up each side, rubble in the paths making the footing difficult.
You hear the scream of a human voice...
"Keep your voice down!" Maurie calls back to the man. "I will keep anything that wants to come through out until my dying breath. Work on the repairs while I do, the soldiers at the gate are likely to be in need of my help."
Norrik feels the sense of dismay, and then the sudden sense of alarm from Ferria. He is relieved after the sudden sense of alarm to feel the emotional bond still there. "I don't think things are going well," he says grimly to Grok. He begins to fear that this could be the end of Trunau, once and for all. He thinks about the hopeknife hanging around his neck.
"I almost pity the poor bastard who tries for this gap. Anyone fighting against you here will find out why Anvil has his name as they're crushed between us." Cromwin heels Anvil out towards Grok and Norrik, keeping a wary eye in as many directions as possible in case attackers come running for the barricade from one of the side streets.
Cromwin, you go back to the southeast, past that house there, and I'll move east, we'll cut them off. Grok says breathlessly, before tearing off after the orcs they'd seen.