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The sun rises this morning on a freshly-completed stone cathedral in the sleepy frontier town of Sandpoint. Children excitedly hop out of bed and dash to get dressed, hurry through the steps of their morning routine in their excitement to get outside. Their excitement makes sense, as the Swallowtail festival is today! A great celebration of Desna, this is the day that everybody is out and about to see the consecration of the new cathedral, to taste free food, to participate in silly festival games, and to laugh and smile.
The festival proceedings begin very early in the morning, when Father Zantus, the local Desnan priest, begins to prepare the cathedral for consecration. The Mayor of Sandpoint, Kendra Deverin, arrives on-site soon afterward to oversee the setting up of food wagons, game-competition stands, and and stand from which the festival's speech-givers are expected to speak.
The inhabitants of the town move in throngs, sampling the ever-popular spiced salmon from the Rusty Dragon Inn and gambling their money for the opportunity to win a stuffed animal or bragging rights in the festival's many games.
As soon as the impromptu wooden stage is completed, Mayor Deverin jumps up onto the platform to gather everybody's attention. Her beaming smile and evident energy are a boon to see. "Excuse me, excuse me! I'm glad to see that everybody's enjoying the festival! I certainly am. she says, indicating a glazed treat on a stick in her hand. welcome, visitors, to our town, and welcome, residents, to the Swallowtail festival! I see everyone's come, even...oh, oh this must be a good year! Even Mister Rovanky over there has managed to peel himself off of his work at the tannery to come! So I hope you don't disappoint the man and you have fun!" She chuckles at her joke and beams a smile and steps off of the stage to continue partaking in the festival's activities.
Kyra glared at the sand, and at the sky, and they were unmoved. She stopped walking, while the town of sandpoint lay before her, with crowds moving through it in groups, preparing for the festival. Had she remembered it, she would certainly have made arrangements to stay away for longer. But as it was, she had not managed to find any of the magical creatures that supposedly lived in this region of Varisia, and now her supplies were running low.
'I wonder,' she mused, 'How noticeable my absence would be, were I to make an appearance and then leave.' It seemed that Arturus had been watching her closely the last few times she had been by. She had to admit that the old man was wise to want to keep an eye on her, but she couldn't be certain why he distrusted her. 'Perhaps he's sharper than he looks' she mused, continuing her walk towards the town.
Helping to root out the Ornelos family's claws from Sandpoint was something that, frankly, she did to amuse herself, but she had expected it to buy her some respect and trust, but it seemed to only have drawn more attention to herself. Perhaps it was time to move on to another town, she wondered. Still, her mission here wasn't complete. Perhaps there was something she could do to win the old man over. "I can decide what to do about him later," she muttered, moving through the streets and keeping her eyes open for Arturus and the other prominent town members, hoping to slip by unnoticed.
While social situations were ordinarily a good place for making new acquaintances, she certainly felt that the festival would be too, well, festive. With everyone drunk on games and excitement, it was too dreamlike to make any kind of real connections. 'The only thing I'll gain by sticking around is a headache'. She resolved to change, stock up on a few supplies, and be back on the road long before sundown. And not to come back before the bloody festival was over.
Loruk had not slept well the night prior, and the half-orc sat wearily atop Fatman's Feedbag. As dawn approached, he watched the sun rise while his thoughts ran rampant as they usually would. Dawn turned to morning, and he gazed upon the townsfolk as they cheerfully left their homes to attend the festival.
He sighed heavily, his hands resting in his lap and his feet dangling from the rooftop. If there was one day in particular that reminded him of the sorrows in his life, it would be this one.
When most of the townsfolk had made their way to the festival area, Loruk climbed back down to street-level - he would rather make his way through empty streets than those filled with people he knew. People he cared for. People that gave him a look that could make the day feel like night.
Dressed in hide armor, bracers and boots - held firmly together with interlocking plates and leather straps, adorned with a short wolf-skin cloak on his broad back - Loruk was a sight to behold. Alongside his green skin, black-grayish hair and accompanied furry sideburns - the people of Sandpoint would recognize him a mile away. He carried a shortbow strapped to his back, sheathed with a clasp easily opened with one hand, and a longsword sheathed at his left hip.
As he made his way to the festival, Mayor Deverin's voice greeted him as he passed a corner and looked upon the sea of people watching her speech at the podium.
His heart was heavy, his appearance bleak and thoughtful - a few commoners gave him the cold stares he had anticipated - and he decided to lean his back on a house wall at the outskirts of the area, his arms crossed and his head held low. He heard the Mayor's words, and saw her speak - but his mind was absent, adrift - perhaps a coping-mechanism to guard himself from the horrors of his past.
After having a light breakfast Xogar departs the Rusty Nail and slowly makes his way to the cathedral.
He breathes deeply of the morning air and says: Ahh, what a day!
He makes his way around Sandpoint and notes with deep satisfaction the preparations that the citizens are making to participate in the festival. Xogar even plays with some children for a bit who seemed to be having fun that he wanted to join them.
At length he arrived at the cathedral and waited for things to begin. Since Mayor Deverin had just gotten things underway Xogar began to search out the food vendors. He was looking forward to some good eatings today.
A'letta truly felt like a stranger in the sea of Sandpoint citizens crowded around the cathedral. They were praising the goddess Desna and the Shoanti woman observed the proceedings with a certain amusement. Perhaps their peoples weren't so different after all. The necessity of ritual, the importance of celebrating important events as a big crowd, the reverence of kind spirits - she could see herself adepting to this eventually. But for now, the dividing line between A'letta and the citizens of Sandpoint was still all too real.
Sure, she had been in Sandpoint for some time now, but she didn't feel truly at home just yet. The looks she got from the men of Sandpoint had nothing in common with the looks she had gotten from the men of the Hawk tribe. The Shoanti had trusted her and looked upon her as if she were a promise that they needed to protect, these men looked at her with the indifference one could only bring up for a foreigner. The thought struck her that perhaps the mask she was wearing played a part in it all, but this mask made the bad spirits go away and she saw it as an honoring to Desna to bestow upon her this blessing.
She lazily leaned forward, holding on to her spear with both hands as the mayor held her speech. Some of the wooden, bone and feather charms that decorated her hair rattled against one another as she shifted her position. A chainshirt was hidden under a thin-spun robe with the color of earthy yellow.
A convergence of powers with a backdrop of festivities, that's what this event was. With this wisdom in the back of her head she looked over the crowd, wondering what powers were gathering here today. A chance to learn more about Sandpoint presented itself and she seized it with both hands.
Level 0 - Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation
Level 1 - Charm Person, Sleep
Here's why he picks some of these spells: He's always looking for a good deal and magical items, so he likes to be prepared with Detect Magic. The other two cantrips are to impress the children and maybe have some fun =) Charm Person, well, you never know when some fine young lady catches your eye and needs some help realizing how nice you are. If they don't need help, then it's always good to have Dad like you...just in case! And he's seen enough festivals turn into giant bar fights, so Sleep may help him get out of any sticky situations.
Also, he can cast any spell he knows (in his spellbook) once/day with his Arcane Bonded ring.
Rhanloi wanders the festival, sampling each of the delectable foods and providing favorable reviews to the tavern keepers. He observes the contests of physical strength and dexterity with amusement and laughs easily at the many children rushing about, caught up in the joy of the festival.
During his wandering, he stops at each market booth or shop that offers books or magical items/artifacts. He engages in good natured haggling with owners if anything catches his eye - using some of his own collection of books as barter. Rhanloi also asks for any rumors of rare books or magical items the shopkeepers know, and offers to keep an eye out for any interesting items he may run across. If there are no bookstores, or only one or two poorly run shops, he will instead ask about the possibility of opening his own Rare Books and Magical Items store...
Rhanloi keeps mostly to himself; he never turns away from conversation with others, but rarely stays with any one person or group for more than 5-10 minutes. Several times throughout the day, however, he finds Khalbar, stands off to the side of the festival, and engages in a brief conversation. A careful observer will notice that these two are usually within sight of each other (which really isn't that difficult given the small size of the festival area.)
Arturus works slowly in the predawn light, checking each trap, collecting the night's catch, and resetting them with care.
{OOC: Making a one-day Profession check, mostly to gauge how well the night's work went :)}
Profession result: 24/2= 12gp/7 = 1 gp, 7s, 1c
"A decent catch", Arturus muses to himself. Returning to the Guild, he collects his cut of last week's pelt sales.
{OOC: Another check, for roleplaying purposes only}
"And another good week ." He smiles to himself, collecting twelve gold and five silvers, already less the Guild's fees and his weekly dues. He begins to walk towards downtown to restock some trapping supplies, but is soon thwarted by crowds of revelers milling about.
" Ach...so much for a productive day." He grumbles for a bit, trying to find the best way to skirt the crowds and keep about his business, when...
" Hey you! Ya! You with the beard! Try your luck, test your eyes, and win big! " Arturus looks in the direction of the voice - a woman running a game of skill called "Eye of the Cyclops". The stall is surrounded by young children throwing darts at a drawing of a Cyclops posted on a dartboard. Arturus hesitates, a look of indecision on his face. Then, like the sun bursting through the clouds, his face is overcome by a toothy grin. He approaches the stall, a mischievous gleam in his eye...
"So this was Sandpoint,", Khalbar thought. "Not sure my answers are here, but I will investigate anyway."
The new Cathedral was a wonder of stone and glass. He had never seen a more beatuiful building in all his life, but it was still a city. Khalbar wondered how anyone could live in such a place with a wall surrounding and cramped and crowded streets full of people and smells. "Give me the open plains and fresh air over this....mess," he thought grimly.
He looked and saw his new traveling companion Rhanloi trying different foods and blending in among the buyers and sellers in the market in a way Khalbar could never do. He recalled meeting the half-elven wizard and the first impression of his softness and weakness. But, he was learning, perhaps there was more to valuing a man than simple his strength at arms.
Rhanloi had shown himself to have qualities that Khalbar valued. He was smart and wise to the ways of civilization. He was quick-witted and laughed often. He made inferences and leapt to ideas that Khalbar still had not begun to hint at. In addition he had magicks, which Khalbar still didn't understand, which made him a force to be reckoned with despite his size and physique. He saw his new friend look over to him and he nodded his acknowledgement. They were beginning to look out for each other even here in the relative safety of the Festival.
A small child ran past holding a sweet pie and laughing uproariously. The sight made Khalbar's heart stop for a moment. His own son, Harm, would be that age, a toddler trusting of the world, if he were still alive. "Somewhere out there, my family waits" -- he had to keep believing that. This town, this Cathedral held the key to finding them, or so his dreams told him.
"Let us get these interminable speeches over with so I can to the the holy men and find my answers.". He sighed, shifting his greataxe's bulk and leaning against a corner post uncomfortably, waiting.
One figure was not striding the streets and taking in the carnival atmosphere. Most of the daylight hours, he would usually spend asleep, holed up on whatever rooftop or crevice he could find to shelter from the sun. Today, however the noise and revelry had disrupted his fitful and twitching slumber, so the duergar was awake, and watching.
The noise. The noise, noise, noise. Each child's shout and minstrel's song made him wince and grind his teeth together in unconscious anxiety. So loud. Everyone on the surface, so loud.
They taunted the Sleeper. With their giggling and dancing and bells and lutes and drums and screaming children. The sheer dread that this affront invoked in him made the duergar feel cold as ice, despite the sunlight.
He observed from the tiny, cramped alley between the blacksmith's shop and the cartwright's. His dirty gray robes were swathed heavily over him, obscuring his form, and he was crouched into a small figure. The eye of the casual passer-by might have thought him nothing but a bundle of rags or rubbish.
A child ran by with a fragrant pie and terribly loud laughter. The two things were equally foreign to the duergar. Food in the Underdark was a matter of sustenance: dry flat patties that traveled well, made from cavern fungi and albino cavefish paste. Dried jerky of bat, or salamander. 'Flavor' was not a high priority, and the scent of the pie was almost nauseatingly sweet. The laughter shrilled along his nerves. He pulled back from the sound, shrinking into a tinier bundle.
He was hungry. He tallied this abstractly. He would find food tonight-- after the gathering of the humans and the others, there would be food, left out in their rubbish barrels or discarded into the gutters. He could wait.
In the meantime, he watched.
Sandpoint's town square is filled with the sounds of celebration and laughter, and the festivals continues on in full stride despite the grim pessimism felt by several of its attendants. At some point during the festival, the Sheriff, a large bald Shoanti man named Hemlock, takes the stage.
"Hello everybody. I'd just like to remind you that this evening's bonfire is a real fire and can hurt you. If you would simply make sure your children know this, it can prevent many potential injuries. In addition, I would like to request a moment of silence for those who lost their lives in the fire that claimed the chapel of old."
His dour mood and loud voice quickly draws the attention of the crowd, who privately laugh at him for his overly cautious warning, but the crowd takes the moment of silence seriously, and complete silence fills the courtyard for just a few seconds before revelry kicks in again. Hemlock goes on to explain that Mister Kaijitsu, the scheduled next speaker, has taken on sudden illness and that Cyrdak Drokkus (the town's theatre professional) will be taking the stage instead. At that, a bouncy middle-aged man in colorful clothing takes the stage. Cyrdak's illusionary fights with himself and self-promotion serve as a backdrop for the festival for about an hour after that.
Lunch is provided for free at the expense of the town's taverns, and the town's residents gleefully take the taverns up on this. The Hagfish serves a lobster chow and the White Deer serves a peppercorn venison, but it quickly becomes evident that the Rusty Dragon's curry-spiced salmon and mead overshadow the others and become the most popular dish eaten at the festival.
Amidst the partying, Father Zantus rolls a large covered wagon into the square, right next to the stage.
Arturus, approaching the darts stand, is given three darts by a beaming man missing a front tooth. If he can hit the Cyclops' Eye, he'll win big!
Rhanloi finds many interesting intellectual men, but nothing that he's looking for is actually on sale here at the festival. This is a celebration of faith, not of knowledge or of magic, after all. There are several intellectuals in the town that maintain excellent book collections, and there is a quite well-stocked bookstore called 'The Curious Goblin', run by a very old man named Chask in the town as well.
Khalbar's uncomfortable self-exile from the party is interrupted by a toothy youth's nudge at his muscular thigh. "Hello mister! I was wondering if you could play that game for me!" says the little boy, indicating a hammer, button, tall tower, and bell. The button is to be hit with the hammer, sending a little metal ball up to hit the bell.
Seeing his new travelling partner with the child, Rhanloi eases nearer. He has come to understand only a small portion of the man's pain, but recognizes this opportunity for some small amount of healing. Or greater pain. Either way, Khalbar should not face the demon alone again.
"Come on, big guy. Whack the button for the youngster!" Rhanloi says with a knowing look of kindness and understanding in his eyes. "I know it's hard...but you can do this..." he whispers.
Standing in the shade, watching, listening - Loruk sees multiple characters that draws his attention. A half-elf and a large man being eagerly spoken to by a child, a short creature stalking the outskirts of the area, and Arturus. Loruk sighs, the mere sight of the man releases memories he'd rather not revisit - but he would probably notice him at some point anyway - and the half-orc moves in a slow pace towards the stand his aquaintance is currently visiting.
At first Loruk ignores him, placing himself at Arturus side - his eyes locked on the man working the stand.
"I would like to play." He says, and gives a humble nod to Arturus as he flings the darts.
As Arturus is readying his first dart, he notices a flash of green in his peripheral vision.
" I would like to play. "
Arturus hesitates a moment, dart in hand. " Seen anything, Loruk?" He almost spits the words.
Arturus' words cut like blade, resulting in Loruk fumbling his last throw. He sighs as he lowers his head, then tightenes his body and set his eyes on the aging man.
"Perhaps nothing of interest, perhaps something. I'm wary on days like this, where large groups of townsfolk are gathered in the middle of town. You know why, so I will not waste your time, or my own, in explaining."
He turns around, trying to find the skulking creature he noticed before.
"Someone, or something, I have not encountered before is holding to the shadows - possibly trying to avoid attention. To me, he sticks out like a sore thumb."
His eyes halt at a cramped alley, between the Blacksmith and Cartwright's shop. His eyes return to Arturus, nodding towards the location.
"In that alley, do you see? I'm deeming it suspicious enough to investigate, and if you find it equally curious - perhaps you would go with me."
Two of Loruk's darts find their mark in the center of the cyclops' eye.
Arturus throws three darts in quick succession.
One of Arturus' darts hits the cyclops' eye right on the center. The festival attendee finds himself in shock at such keen-eyed random players, and hands over a few coins to each player.
Kyra turns a corner to see Arturus some distance away. Before making the decision to turn and go the other way, curiosity gets the better of her. He certainly didn't strike her as the type to play games. and she wonders if she was wrong about him. As she observes, a Half-Orc walks up beside him, and the two try and fail to ignore each other.
She couldn't quite remember his name, but had heard him referred to on multiple occasions as 'Boss' in a purely derogatory and sarcastic way. No one had told her why, and she hadn't asked. As she watched him beat Arturus at darts, and Arturus's face sour, she couldn't help but let out a laugh.
Oblivious to the fact that the seasoned hunters of Sandpoint have noticed him, the duergar continues to observe. The games are strange to him-- he understands the idea of throwing the darts, of course-- this is a drill, to train as a warrior-- but why are they receiving coins for it? And there is no punishment for failure, it seems.
A female of the surface-dwellers crosses his field of wary vision. The duergar studies her warily; she walks like the hunters do-- mindful of their bodies, their motions. They walk as people who know how to fight.
Unlike the shrieking children and the fat innkeepers and the dowdy cooks, they are immediately dangerous to him. He watches the woman.
Xogar makes his way through the crowd after sampling the various foods to the strength game.
"I will take a try at this! Lets see what we can get today."
Xogar grabs the hammer and with a big heft he swings at the button.
Arturus barely stays long enough to watch the last dart hit and collect his winnings.
" You're a good shot, Loruk. One of these days you should put it to good use."
Arturus turns and wades into the crowd, stopping by a pastry stand and dropping a gold "For the little ones."
Nodding in ambivalent gratitude, Loruk proceeds to investigate the creature alone - moving carefully in the shadows while his eyes manifest on the creature, his right hand firmly placed on his longsword.
While visiting the local bookstores, Rhanloi finds one book in particular he attempts to barter for.
It is a second edition manuscript from Lanarial Goldbark, an elven bard from the second age, and in decent condition. A fine addition to his growing collection!
Afterwards, he decides to impress the children by using Prestidigitation in an impromptu magic act!
Khalbar jerks back from the youth as if burned. I...I..." he stammers not quite sure how to respond. He hears the friendly encouragement from Rhanloi and it snaps him back from his frozen state.
"Aye lad, I'll try."
He waits until the half-orc finshes ringing the bell loudly and takes the mallet in his hands. He hefts it overhead with both arms and brings it rushing down on the button but his mind wanders back to the steppes of the Storval and his aim is not as true as it should be.
"I am sorry, lad. My head isn't in it today. Maybe more luck with that orc-man there." he says ruefully pointing to Xogar.
Turning to Rhanloi, Khalbar says, "Coming here was a bad idea. I will seek out the holy men and see what they say about my dreams, then we should leave." He walks with his friend to the bookstore, but remains outside, watching joy-filled families pass on the street outside.
The revelry is again interrupted for a moment by Father Zantus and several acolytes and a covered wagon in the center of the square.
"Attention! Attention, everybody. I am happy to see that you are all having so much fun at this year's Swallowtail Festival. I am happy to see that Desna inspires so much joy in the lives of others, as it has inspired joy in mine. When history was young, Desna fell to earth for the first time, and was injured badly, and was nursed back to health by a child. In return for her aid, Desna transformed this child into an immortal butterfly, forever beautiful and serene. I hope that Desna gives all of you similar gifts."
With that, the acolytes pull heavily at the cloth cover of the wagon to reveal thousands of butterflies, insects that emerge in a massive swarm and quickly fill the fairgrounds, to the delight of the town's children. They rush about, futilely trying to catch the creatures but are largely unsuccessful.
"And now, the consecration of our new, beautiful cathedral is at hand. If you could gather your friends and family and quiet down, we will begin shortly."
The acolytes wheel the wagon away, and Father Zantus takes the stage once again to recite the Prayer of First Dreaming, a scroll of consecrate securely in his hand. He takes a breath, opens his mouth, and...
a woman's scream slices through the air. A few moments pass, and another scream rises, then another. With the screaming comes a growing cacophony of new voices, high-pitched, tittering shrieks that sound not quite human. A dog staggers out from under a wagon before collapsing to the ground, blood pooling from its slit throat. The sound of glass breaking as a rock strikes it sounds through the air.
Khalbar reacts to the screams of women and the sound of broken glass. He shrugs his greataxe around to hand, and looks around alertly. Behind a nearby wagon, he sees the goblin dog-slayer.
"Goblin! There!" he shouts to alert the crowd. He moves that direction when possible.
Rhanloi recognizes the spoken form of one his studied languages, goblin. Part of his mind analyzes the grammar and diction, noting variations of words and phrases not taught at Elven schools. Another part of his mind catalogues what the goblin is wearing, where it is located and other details for consideration later. But the active part of his mind calculates distances and vectors, the location of Khalbar, goblins, townsfolk, children. Must protect the children!
Quarterstaff in hand and a spell on his lips, Rhanloi moves towards the goblin(s).
The duergar tenses as he registers he has been spotted. The half-orc makes his way towards him, foreboding, dangerous-- he's been found, caught, they'll drag him out into the light and rip the cover of the robes from him, see him for what he is and then the shrieking sun-dwellers will-- what? Kill him? Most likely. The duergar bares his teeth and hisses to himself.
A cart rumbles along the road between him and the half-orc. When it moves on again-- the short figure in the gray robes is gone, as if it had never been there, as far as Loruk can tell.
Out of sight around the back of the building, the duergar seeks a rooftop to climb. Watch from above.
He scales up to the bakery rooftop and is flat on his belly again, watching through his tinted goggles as the butterflies are released.
The sight momentarily catches his breath. He has never seen anything like it: so many colors, floating and drifting, so free, as if they had no weight-- twisting up into the air like sparks from the forge, or like water flowing into the sky. He has no words for it, and no comprehension of it. It is alien, but mesmerizing.
The surreality of the moment is broken for him by the scream. The duergar's eyes hunt for the source of the disruption.
Again his lips draw back from his teeth. Ginakh. Goblins. They are known to his people. As bad as gnomes for their noise and chaos. Breeding, running, screaming, laughing, burning things. Noisy, noisy little ginakhi. And now they make the humans scream too. The noise builds, like fractures in a rock, expanding with every blow of the hammer. Becoming louder.
He watches. Will the sun-dwellers shut them up? If not.... should he? His hand creeps for the strip of leather at his belt, the little pouch of solid, round stones.
Screams, first one then another. Screams. Loruk hadn't been there for when the screaming started last time.
Before he could move a muscle, the second scream combined with the goblin warchant released a surge of memories that swept his mind away. The forest. Barefoot. The Bileworths. Songs of cruelty turned to songs of innocent joy. Hunting. Gathering. Trapping. Suddenly alone in a clearing between towering pines - goblins and townsfolk lay dead at his feet - his head filled with their incoherent babbling and whispers from beyond.
Loruk manages to focus, releasing himself from the torment of the memories. He does not flinch as he stretches his left hand behind his back to unhook the clasp carrying his shortbow, releasing it into his hand - all the while scanning the area for goblins. He had heard this song before, sometime - somewhere.
He knew these goblins, not as friends but rather as enemies of the Bileworths. These goblins where dangerous.
Loruk abandoned the cloaked creature he was approaching, his mind preoccupied with the situation at hand. He takes a deep breath and bellows:"Everyone, goblins are on the loose in town - grab your children and warn the guard - keep running and don't look back! Arturus, over yonder - by the wagon!"
The sound of screams cuts through Kyra's amusement, and she instantly drops into a fighting stance, quickly scanning around her.
She spots the goblins just as 'Boss' shouts out their existence. She glances at the Orc as he takes out his bow, and notes that he seems surprisingly uneasy.
The thought of simply abandoning the people and leaving them to deal with the goblins on their own did cross her mind. But she wasn't prepared to find another town to stay in, not just yet. And besides, it occurred to her that if she were to save the town, perhaps a reward was in order. Being elected Mayor of Sandpoint would certainly help her campaign back home.
'Besides,' she smiled, 'It might be fun.'
She broke into a run, heading straight for the wagon, and the goblins.
Unfamiliar sounds reached her ears. It must've been her height, for she did not see the cause of the disturbance. Her eyes kept scanning the rooftops in an attempt to find the culprits. In the mean time, the screaming and shouting continued and all around her the people of Sandpoint turned to action.
Xogar was standing there enjoying the moment after hitting the button on the strength game.
"That was a good stretch."
Hearing the scream Xogar is instantly alert.
The crowd is panicking and Xogar is unable to see much of anything through them.
When he hears the shout from Khalbar:
Goblins! Those little wretches will destroy everything if they are riled up!"
He moves quickly through the crowd and draws his scimitar and shield while he moves toward the disturbance.
"Keep moving!" He yells to the crowd. "You have protectors here!"
It becomes quickly apparent that the situation at hand is far worse than simply a few goblins shocking people and murdering a domestic beast. The cacophony of voices is rising, rising, to a deafening fever pitch. Above the sound appears the sound of a strange song, chanted from shrill voices.
"GOBLINS CHEW AND GOBLINS BITE
GOBLINS CUT AND GOBLINS FIGHT
STAB THE DOG AND CUT THE HORSE
GOBLINS EAT AND TAKE BY FORCE
GOBLINS RACE AND GOBLINS JUMP
GOBLINS SLASH AND GOBLINS BUMP
BURN THE SKIN AND MASH THE HEAD
GOBLINS HERE AND YOU BE DEAD!"
There are dozens of goblins in the town, and they are everywhere. Throwing torches, throwing rocks, sitting and cackling, killing pets where they can, the little creatures have gotten into everything.
The square quickly clears but for the group of warriors that moves to protect it, and they very quickly become clear to each other. Very soon after they leap into action, the goblin underneath the wagon clambers out and is joined by three more of his kin. Those goblins move menacingly towards the group, brandishing dogslicers.
On the other side of the square from that group of goblins, a sudden fire blooms from an unattended wagon. A burst of cackling ensues from the other side of the wagon.
Arturus relaxes a bit, shuffling away old memories from the Late Unpleasantness. Watching the festival, the children devouring pastries - and knowing they are safe - takes the tension out of him.
He is broken from his revery by a scream, followed by a hoarse, powerful voice over the crowd.
" Goblins! "
Of only average height, he strains to see over the crowd, and find either of the threat or the source of the voice. With chaos erupting every which way, it proves a difficult task. Instead, he reaches into a cloak pocket, and pulls out a small wooden disk, etched with the official sigil of the Sheriff's office of Sandpoint.
Arturus holds up the disk - marking him as a Volunteer Deputy - and begins to try and soothe the terrified crowd around him, directing them to any of a number of safe harbors in Sandpoint - "Citizens of Sandpoint! Do not panic! Leave the town square immediately and seek shelter at the Sheriff's Office, the Hunter's Guild, Mayor's Office, or Militia Headquarters!"
"Goblins!", A'letta thought. Her first instinct was to protect herself and she requested the spirits for protection. She then drew her shield and prepared for combat.
Combat: Goblins in Sandpoint Square!
1 Goblins: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
2 Rhanloi: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22
3 A'letta: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20
4 Xogar: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
5 Loruk: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15
6 Khalbar: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
7 Arturus: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11
8 Kyra: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
9 Pick: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
While the sheer number of goblins surprised Kyra, it wasn't enough to make her stop moving, or even slow down. The way she saw it, their strength was entirely in their numbers.
Loruk retrieves an arrow from his quiver, draws it on his bow an releases the bow-string in one quick motion.
The arrows soars towards one of the goblins, and Loruk calls out as he retrieves a new arrow: "We need to put these down swiftly, allow them to swarm and we'll be overrun!"
Khalbar will approach wherever the nearest un-engaged goblin is and launch a power-attack with his greataxe.
Khalbar's axe sings through the air, splitting the unfortunate goblin from head to feet. He grunts at this work and moves to the next target with a growl.
Xogar engages the nearest goblin and attacks.
Arturus stands back, watching the square turn into a wild melee. He draws his crossbow and loads a standard crossbow bolt, tracking back and forth across the area, looking for a target.
Rhanloi - 22
A'letta - 20
Xogar - 16
Loruk - 15
Khalbar - 13
Arturus - 11
Kyra - 10
Pick - 7
The goblins cheer at their thrilling raid, waving dogslicers in the air with savage grins before leaping into action. One of them runs forward and tries to clamber onto a table to get up to higher ground, but scrabbles at the larger-than-life (for it) furniture and falls flat on its back on the ground. Another goblin simply rushes to the nearby food stall and begins stuffing peppercorn venison into its pockets. The other two goblins are a little less silly and a little more savage. One runs to Kyra, reasoning that an unarmored woman would be an easy target, slashing with its dogslicer...straight at empty air. The other runs at Xogar, so loud and shiny...but its own dogslicer swing is distracted by how fascinated the goblin is by the way the light reflects off of Xogar's armaments. Rhanloi mutters a few arcane words and throws out a hand at the goblin stuffing food into its pockets and the goblin that just failed to climb a table. Both immediately fall into a deep sleep and begin snoring. The huge Shoanti woman cloaks herself in magical protection and the half-orc paladin swings his scimitar - to no avail, the tiny creature dodges out of the way. Loruk draws back on his bow and fires at the creature assaulting Kyra, striking it in the shoulder. Khalbar moves to assist the half-orc paladin and cleaves the goblin assaulting him directly in twain. Arturus scans the crowd of goblins for a stray one, and finding one he fires a bolt. It drops. The "helpless, unarmored woman" delivers a shockingly powerful kick to the goblin's neck, crushing it and cutting off the thing's air supply. The thing gasps for a few moments before realizing that it's died and falls.
Above, the duergar waits.
Behind the heroes, another wagon is lit ablaze, and a flaming cat runs out from behind the wagons before falling.
The duergar waits, yes, and watches. The goblins' shrill, nerve-wracking song makes his thick, stubby, scarred fingers tighten on the leather strip of the sling. His other hand twitches and jerks, and finally dips into the belt pouch that holds the round, balanced stones.
Hssttt. Shut them up. Maddening, ear-burning, loud little songs. The sooner they were all dead the sooner things would be quieter again. And maybe the flying bits of color would happen again...
Also, he notes where the cat-on-fire collapses. He can eat cat. This one would even be partially cooked already.
Loruk turns to face the fiery inferno the goblins have created, the bright light and towering flames reflect in his dark-green eyes. He sheathes his bow and picks up speed towards the fire.
"Hold them off if you can, if we let these flames spread - they will consume the town!" he yells towards the other defenders.
Kyra nods to Loruk. As she takes a swing at the next goblin, she also tries to maneuver in such a way as to block the rest of them from advancing. Sweat forms on her brow and she can't help but smile among the chaos.
The burning cat sent shivers up and down A'letta's spine. Cats were expressions of the whimsical nature of the spirits and to see the poor thing on fire could only mean one thing - impending doom and destruction. She ran towards the creature and then called upon the spirits to show pity on the cat. A downpour of tears rained down upon the cat, hopefully putting out the fire.
Perhaps she had been just in time to turn the tide, to push away the spirits of doom and destruction. She then looked around to find a goblin she could take care of. The green menaces would pay for this.
Round 2
Khalbar looks around to see that his friend Rhanloi is safe. Seeing him unthreatened, he moves to a shoulder position with the unarmed female with the strange fighting style. He protects her flank while she attempts to block the passage of the green horde, striking one dead as he arrives.
If any close in, Khal's axe snickers at it's oversized head.
The barbarian's axe chalks up his second of many victims, it's head rolling back toward it's mates. A strange Shoanti song begins to escape Khalbar's lips, softly at first but building.