Clover follows the big man into the room at the back, slipping past him when he stops nearly in the entrance. She figures she should take advantage of the hobgoblin being busy dodging the man's attack to make one of her own since for some reason she doesn't understand it worked last time.
As she does so she tries to make herself more notably fearsome. She can't think of any warlike shouts or threats off the top of her head, so she settles for growling at him sort of like a dog. After all, if the big man dies, the rest of us will too.
Her attack is useless, but she immediately switches up, trying to keep her spear tip in the way of the hobgoblin's sword.
Yielding the path to all the people trying to rearrange who fight the hobgoblin, Barhador realizes that he's going to have to either find a polearm, or see if he can manage to squeeze an arrow into the hobgoblin. "Don't see any polearms." he mutters as he tries to line up a shot.
Barhador: 22
Arryn: 7
Elrik: 5
Clover: 20
Antagonist: 5
Elrik and Clover rush into the room, the latter just ducking under a slash that if she'd been human size might have decapitated her. In the rush, they throw off Barhador's aim, but the arrow forces the dark-skinned hobgoblin to flinch, throwing off his own aim as he tries to cut at Elrik. The old soldier slashes back at the hobgoblin, but his blow is turned aside by the goblinoid's blade.
There were only a few ways this was going to end, and Elrik knew it needed to happen swiftly. The barricade at the front door wouldn't hold for more than a moment or two and now that the backdoor was also being assaulted they needed to get out of the inn before the hobgoblins decided to burn the building down.
Dodging the off-put blow from his opponent, Elrik spit at the hobgoblin's face before swinging in with his sword and shield, opening with a swift stab and following with defensive bash with his spiked shield. "Drive it back into the corner," he said. "And keep an eye on that door!"
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Elrik’s spittle flies only a few inches from his face before stopping in mid air, compressing into a ball, and shooting at the hobgoblin’s eye with more force than humanly possible.
After another flurry of quick blows, the hobgoblin falls to Elrik's blade, leaving you -- for the moment -- apparently alone in the inn.
There's no sign of Phaistea or Jet in the kitchen, but you know there's a pantry, which Barhador (and possibly others) know has a cold cellar.
Arryn certainly would know. As soon as the hobgoblin is dead, he pushes past Elrik, hops over the still-bleeding body, and almost absently waves his hand at the door to the outside, pushing it closed with his mind. He reaches out and pushes open the door to the pantry as well and, if there are no hobgoblins, calls out, ”Phaistea? Jet? Are you in here? The hobgoblins are gone for the moment. We need to get out of here”
Slowly panting, Elrik was about to make sure the hobgoblin was dead when the kitchen helper pushed passed him in a rush. Elrik went to turn but had to double take as the man slammed the back door with a wave of his hand - from across the room. Then he tugged open the pantry door from several feet away as well.
First that elf grows fur, now this? What is going on? Elrik questioned to himself, then he realized that wasn't the most important question right now. The kitchen help was shouting down into the pantry - there were probably people hiding down there. Elrik stabbed down into the hobgoblins hear, making sure it was dead, before cleaning off his sword with a nearby rag and sheathing it.
"We need to get out of this Inn," he said loudly. "They'll realize we're in here eventually and might just burn it down around us instead of risking more soldiers. Aubrin is right, we need to make for the forest."
"Which gets us back to 'do we have a preferred path to try to get out of town?' I mean, if we want to just follow-the-leader and hope, we can do that, but I doubt you can stay hidden and keep up both. A plan of were to go and where to meet could prove important."
Somehow, the feathered face and big eyes, and the extreme stress of the quick fights, combine to make it really hard to take Barhador that seriously right now.
"We get out any way we need to," Elrik replied to the... extremely odd featured being. A changeling?
Shaking his head lightly, Elrik walked past the archer and into the main room again, stopping beside the counter for a moment to lean against it as his head swam with the scents and smells of the room. The bodies, the blood and other visceral fluids. Crying from some of the villagers. He was back in the war, the war was here. Shaking his head again, trying to clear it and push through the haze, he stepped closer to Aubrin. "If the forest is our best chance, we'll need supplies. We'll also need to bring out as many survivors as we can - if we take down the bridge anyone else will be stranded. That's a lot to manage in a short amount of time, and they're more likely to kill us if we're resisting. If anyone here fears death more than the fear the lash and chain, you should scatter into the town and away from the bodies. Otherwise, if I can get to my home I have tools and supplies that can help and there should be at least some foodstuffs we can empty from the larder here - better we take it than the Ironfang."
"Arryn, is that you?" you hear a familiar voice -- Phaistea's -- call from below. It's followed by the sound of the trap door being unbarred.
Jet and Phaistea's faces look up, along with a blond elf that looks somewhat familiar to Arryn.
Aubrin nods distractedly at Elrik's words -- it seems obvious that she's still in shock at her wound.
"Yes. They might have some valuable supplies, and the rest of us can carry other goods in the inn. Also, there may be people upstairs..." she says.
She seems to try to gather her wits about her again.
"There might be more people at the Riverwood Shrine -- they'd probably have been gathered there after the festival -- and maybe Oreld's shop or the Phaendar Trading Company. Those places might have supplies too!"
”Oh thank the gods, you’re safe. Both of you!” Arryn says, giving Phaistea a hug. ”We’re preparing to make a break for the Fangwood, after we secure supplies. Can you two find whatever foundstuffs that are portable and bring them up? We’ll be on foot in the forest so anything dried. Tea, too.”
Leaving them to that task, Arryn heads up the stairs to look for people hiding in rooms.
"Supplies. Right." The elf moves down into the cellar and helps those hiding there pick out the best available, that they can carry. The barrel of flour would be great, for example, but they can't carry it. "There's a lot of food down here, but we need a way to carry it. Look for bags or sacks. We might need to swap what's in them out for some of the other choices."
Clover is dismayed at the talk to fleeing into the forest.
"I have to find Rhyna!"
But when talk begins to include going to the shrine, she calms down some. Clover scrambles to gather stuff from the inn as quickly as possible so they can get moving before the others have time to change their minds.
The three women nod, seeming in a bit of shock, but Jet shakes herself out of it first.
"Are any of the guests here? Anyone upstairs?" she asks. "We can all carry some! We have enough bags and sacks that we can put things in!"
You quickly begin ransacking the inn, Jet leading you to a number of nonperishable stores.
In addition, your scrambling leads you to the hobgoblins, one of which has a very nice backpack stuffed with a heavy crossbow (with 20 bolts and 10 masterwork bolts); eight clearly labeled potions of guidance; a wand; a divine scroll containing the spells calm animals, cure light wounds, and magic stone. It also has a supply of dried goat meat, sheep’s cheese, and a jug of sheep’s milk .
It's a wand of magic missile, first level, 11 charges
Elrik took a moment to start getting the villagers and visitors organized, then set about handling the corpses of the hobgoblins themselves. Stripping them of anything of worth, he glanced at the stoppered potions, the carefully rolled scrolls and the carved stick in confusion. "What in the nine hells was he doing with this?" he muttered. And who did he kill for it? he wondered, keeping the thought to himself.
Stashing most of the items back into the backpack, he spread the potions out on top of the bar and then put the crossbow next to them. "Any of you folks know how to work this? If you've hunted with a crossbow, this warpiece is similar enough."
Hearing Aubrin give suggestions, Elrik nods. "They'll gather that the Shrine, more like than not, but we won't want to head their until last - too many people moving about will get the attention of the Irongfang. We should head to the Oreld's first, it should be closer and we can take the back alley. My home isn't too far from it either, and I can pick up some things we could use."
"That works well. I'll take point and let you know when to follow onto the next section. Trust me, I won't be going very far ahead. Too many enemies for me to want to get that isolated." He points at the crossbow. "Nearly anyone can use a crossbow. Far less skill than my bow. Just point it and pull the lever." He glances around at the others, especially those who were not in the fight. "Everybody ready?"
Arryn shoulders the few provisions he’s strong enough to carry, squeezes Phaistea’s hand, and nods. He’s also wearing his cloak, backpack, and belt pouch he left in the pantry.
"Alright, you'll go first," Elrik said to Barhador. "I'll take up the rear unless you find something we need to take on together. Otherwise I'll make sure we aren't getting picked off from behind."
Elrik looked around the room at the villagers hurriedly packing sacks and hefting their loads. There was the mark of combat on all of them - the dirt and dust one accumulated just being near a fight, let alone the ones who had ripped clothing and the stains of blood about them.
The walking wounded. A line of men nearly to the horizon, stumbling home from battle. Not nearly as many who walked that same road weeks before.
Elrik blinked hard to shake the memory, swallowing against the bile in his throat. "Someone be sure to support Aubrin. When we move, don't go running off if you see someone you know. We can always stop and make a plan to collect anyone else we find, but we need to do it carefully and quietly. The easiest way for us to get killed is for us to get spotted by just one Irongfang who gets away."
As soon as the supplies are gathered, Clover hurries upstairs to get her own things from her room. After stuffing the things she had out back into her pack, she goes to the other doors on the floor. At each one she knocks frantically and calls to anyone who might be inside "it's too dangerous to stay here! We must all leave right away! Come on!"
Once everyone indicates they are prepared, the still-feathered elf cracks the back door and peeks through. If the coast seems clear, he will sneak out and start verifying a safe path for the others to follow, waving them on towards each relatively safe checkpoint.
As Arryn and Clover check upstairs, they realize two traders have locked themselves in their room.
"Go out there," a male voice with a Chelish accent calls out. "Are you mad? They'll kill us! We're safer here until the raid is over!"
Clover knocks on the men's door again.
"Please Sirs, this isn't like a regular raid! There's dozens and dozens of them and there're going through the whole town and killing everyone! There's a giant stone tower outside now! Just out of nowhere! They're not going away this time! They brought their own tower! We're going to go all together to flee into the woods, it's the only way you'll survive!"
Clover might have exaggerated just a little, but she's sure it's for their own good.
The door opens and a heavy balding man, with elaborate facial hair peeks out.
"I, I guess ..." he glances back as he exits the room. "If she says it's the only way, Farrow..."
He nervously clutches a coin purse and a heavy satchel of goods.
The other man shakes his head. "That's insanity, Clidon. Surely this is just a raid. What would a child like that know about it? Stone towers? That's ridiculous. This is Nirmathas! Going out there is certain death," he says his his nasally, Chelish-accented voice.
Elrik went back to the bar, pocketing two of the potions he had lined up there, before calling out, "Someone carry the rest of these, they'll be of use. Split them up if you can."
When he heard the shouting upstairs he stopped to listen for a moment, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Tell him he'll be all alone in a few moments, and hobgoblins hate cowards even more than they hate people fighting them. Locking himself in the room is only going to make them more angry when they find him. If he won't come out, leave him. We need to go and the Ironfang are going to realize their soldiers aren't coming back out of here."
"It's the Ironfang Legion, you fool, not a raid," Arryn says, pushing past Clidon into the room. Turning to Clidon, he says, "There are folks gathering supplies in the common room, ready to make our move. Looks like you've already thought of that, too. Good man. Let them know we'll be down in a moment." He gives Clidon a gentle shove out into the hallway to get him moving.
"As for you," he adds, turning back to Farrow, "I might be inclined to just leave you here to feed the hobgoblin's love of sport, but unfortunately you now know where we're going and some of our plans." He gestures with his hand and a pillow rises into the air near Farrow's head. "So you can either come with us, or have a good long nap up here."
Child? Is he daft? Clover alters her tone to be calmer and weightier.
"I'm not a child Sir, I'm a halfling. The tower is real, all you have to do is look outside. It's sitting right in the middle of the commons. We are going right now. There's no more time. If you stay here alone you'll be killed."
The man, Farrow, gulps at Arryn's words and -- reluctantly nods -- grabbing his own goods and joining you.
"No need to be nasty," he reprimands Clover as he walks. "I didn't realize. It's a common mistake, with you people being so short and all, and everything else going on outside."
Barhador exits the door -- just hearing a final muttered comment from Farrow, "I can't believe we're going out there!" -- followed by the others.
The scene is even worse outside than it seemed from in the inn. Hobgoblins battle with townsfolk in every direction, and from the sounds of battle, the whole of Phaendar is under attack. Bodies lie on the ground everywhere, run through by hobgoblin blades and left where they fell. A wolf howls in the distance, its eerie cry echoed by the screams of the dying.
Arryn stays close to Phaistea, holding her hand as they move through the darkness.
”Barhador,” he whispers before they head out, ”Take us in short bursts from cover to cover. If we have to cut through the open for too long, the civies will panic and bolt or freeze. We can always urge them on for just one more dash.”
. B
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Civilians
C A
Clover ignores the nasty, stubborn man. There's no time for bickering.
Back downstairs Clover stuffs the scroll into her pouch, but leaves the potions for the others. "I can do the same myself."
With all of the townsfolk gathered and none moving to take the potions, Elrik swpt them back into the backpack carefully cradled into a bundled tablecloth then swung the bag over his shoulder. He was about to get them all moving behind the elven skinchanger when the cook's helper started giving his own directions. Hesitating for a moment over the man's commands, and the way he spoke, Elrik couldn't help but feel inclined to follow the orders - standing in front of the group, the kitchen help seemed more steady than any of the others and had a natural presence.
Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Elrik took up a position beside the back door as the skinchanger pushed through first. "Stay close, stay quiet. If anyone see's anything give me a warning," he half-whispered, then glanced down to the halfling woman beside him. "You covered me earlier. Thanks." With that simple statement he moved through the door after the elf.
You make your way cautiously through the streets, somehow avoiding the attention of any hobgoblins -- any that do seem to notice you seem to already have their hands full, sometimes literally, with stolen items or people destined for slave pens (or maybe even cookpots). It's a short, but horrific walk, one that will likely be seared into your brains for the rest of your lives.
Finally, though, you make your way to Oreld’s Fine Shop -- labeled with a small shingle hanging out front -- one of the few buildings in town made entirely of stone. Mortared white blocks form the walls of this oddshaped cottage. Scorch marks that shift in color from black to dark blue to glimmering violet mar one wall. The door to the shop stands open and bloody footprints lead inside.
The streets, from the glances he got between buildings, were almost worse than the aftermath of a battle. Fires were starting to lick the night sky, smoke sweeping through in waves, and the screams of the wounded and the frightened rang amongst the clash of steel. The bile that had been bubbling in his guts made another attempt to escape, but Elrik swallowed it down and spit out the remainder.
There were a few moments when he lost sight of the elf ahead, but the village wasn't so large that he was about to get lost in his own home. Seeing the elf stopped and looking across the small side street in front of Oreld's, Elrik held up a hand behind him to stop the other villagers in the shadows between the buildings and moved up.
"What do you see?" he whispered, peering up and down the street. It looked like the shop door had been kicked in, and even Elrik could see the bloody footprints tromping around and into the entrance. Is it already looted? he thought. We need those supplies. If they are still in there we might have a chance.
”If there are hobgoblins in there, I can lure them out to where we can see them,” Arryn says. ”Get everybody hidden. We can’t afford to get into a big battle, where the sound might carry.”
If nobody has a better plan, Arryn will see to hiding everybody with him, and then use basic telekinesis to shut the door from his hiding spot. If nothing happens after a few seconds, he opens the door.
The elf waves the others back to their last hiding spot, while he sidles up and tries to identify what might be going on inside . . .. He listens carefully as he moves towards the door, and he tries to remain hidden as he works his way to seeing what's inside (if sounds haven't suggested he shouldn't take the risk).
Arryn holds off his plan as the elf moves forward.
Barhador sees a single hobgoblin in a bandolier rifling through the shelves of the shop. He holds a chain connected to an iron collar around the neck of the proprietor, Vane Oreld, who staggers around, a large javelin sticking out of his gut.
The hobgoblin doesn't seem to have noticed the elf.
The elf points at the door and then raises 1 finger. He points at the group and makes a come here movement, waving his hand back towards himself. Then he pulls an arrow and turns to fire, hoping they got the message as the feathers fade, again, returning to the striped fur . . ..
Clover follows Elrik as they move through the streets. She waits with the cluster of people when they get to Oreld's shop. The elf and the two human men seem to know quite a lot about fighting and such, so she waits for them, holding Jet's hand, before doing anything.
Arryn sneaks up to the other side of the doorway across from Barhador.
Assuming he isn't heard, when Barhador fires his arrow, he reaches out, snags some bit of debris inside the shop, and flings it at the hobgoblin.
As combat begins, the furry elf draw a second bead on the hobgoblin.
Before the hobgoblin has had a chance to do more than turn in response to your entry, Barhador's second arrow sinks into his head, and he falls to the ground with a thump.
You enter into the shop, which consists primarily of a desk, a few crowded shelves, and a cluttered window display, all of which have been ransacked by invaders.
In addition to Vane Oreld, who lies nearly comatose on the floor, you discover a lean half-elf with delicate elven tattoos on her cheeks and jaw lying behind a shelf. Her fine red hair is matted with blood and it looks at first like she's dead, but then you see and hear her draw a slow, rasping breath.
Arryn bends down next to Oreld, trying to tend his wounds. His hands move with the sure confidence of someone trained to tend battlefield injuries. Take 10 for a 15 Heal check.
”Mr. Oreld, do you have healing magic anywhere in the shop?”
"Magic? No," he gasps out, "but there are some alchemical supplies. Or there were. I don't know what they took." He finishes with a choking sob as he looks over ruins of his shops, shelves scattered everywhere.
"Let's get everybody into the shop. If this guy was tasked with searching Oreld's, chances are we have a few minutes of peace before anybody comes looking for him."
Arryn peers out the door, and if it's safe, motions for everybody to make a dash for Oreld's.
Once inside the shop, Clover helps with Oreld and the woman on the floor although it seems about all that can be done has been. Her own magical reserves are already tapped.
After that she begins going through the items in the shop, looking for medicines or their components to bring away.