Round 4 Init 19
"Much thanks, Ansruath," Alyoma says as Ansruath strikes down the threatening goblin leader.
Looking out over the battlefield, she spots one last goblin still standing. With a sharply spoken arcane word and gesture, she launches a bolt of force at it.
Round 4 - Init 7
Ansruath nods and says "You are welcome Miss Alyoma." He than moves to get closer to the far goblin.
Round 4 - Initiative 8
Roll to confirm Critical:
Flitter cranks up his crossbow for another shot as Alyoma flicks a magic missile at the wounded goblin. The bolt of energy slams into the little creature causing it to stumble and falter as it clutches its side. Some of Ansruath's wounds start to knit and Dehrisan moves to him and uses his healing powers. The goblin looks at the sparking firework rod, but shakes as though he is too weak to continue holding it and drops it to the ground where it spins as it harmlessly fires off flaming bulbs in all directions before begining to flee, albeit slowly. Shalelu pulls her bow as if to fire two arrows, both aimed at the remaining goblin, but holds back a few seconds hesitant to waste shots.
+ modifiers
The dwarven priest rushes forward, the keen edged curved blade of his scimatar cutting deep into goblin flesh, felling the disgusting brute into the mud and muck of the trail.
Gorgoron stands over his most recently felled opponent, taking a moment to assure himself that the creature is dead, or at least no longer poses any threat. He cleans his scimitar on the creature’s clothes and then solemnly sheaths the blade. Then, recalling the details of the scene, he makes a quick movement to the side of the fallen man. He whispers a quiet prayer, and waves a hand in blessing over the man, and then begins to search for any signs of life.
As you move to the fallen man an utter a saving prayer, you feel no divine warmth flow to the body. Kneeling beside him to examine him closely, you see a great amount of blood mixed in with the wet sludge of the Brinestump trail. Rolling him over to check for any signs of life you see that one of his legs has been nearly severed by the heavy, turned over carriage. His face is locked in lifeless horror, and teeth marks on his upper torso along with some strange wounds makes it appearent that he has been partially eaten, or at least chewed on by the voracious runts. A quick glance at the horses tell you they faired no better.
Dherisan gives a snap of his fingers as he approaches one of the fallen goblins, his light spell winking out. He takes a quick look around to make sure no one is seriously injured, and then places a boot on the wretch, rolling it over to examine it.
"Shalelu, can you tell which tribe these creatures were from?" There is a tone of weary resignation in his voice - he knows the questions is just a formality.
Swinging his blade so the blood on it falls away than says [i] "The poor man." He than walks up to Father Gorgoron.
"Licktoads. [Shalelu's nose wrinkles as if she tasted something foul just by saying their name.] You can probably guess how they came by that moniker. They can be brutal to engage in combat; half the time their minds are so far away they don't even feel pain."
The elven warrior goes to crane her neck and peek into the broken carriage.
"There's not much left in there beside empty chests and barrels. The goblins must've looted it pretty good. At least they are just as likely to hurt themselves using those stage fireworks as weapons as they are to pose a threat to others."
"We'll need to be wary nevertheless. The fire was bad enough - I don't relish the idea of goblins armed with explosives." His gaze moves to Ember, who is perched solemnly before the partially eaten victim of the gonlins' attack. Dherisan's lips purse tightly as he regards the carnage, and a his fox issues a low growl.
"This should not have happened," he moves to the body, kneeling beside Gorgoron. "An attack on Sandpoint, a roadside murder, and now feasting on the dead. We need to find out what's driving these creatures to such boldness."
He rises to his feet and retrieves his horse. "For now, we need to get this man back to town so he can be properly buried."
"I agree Dehrisan, this is a poor end for any man. He deserves to be laid to rest with respect."
Gorgoron spends the next few minutes kneeling by the man, softly whispering prayers for his soul. Upon finishing, he looks around for something in which to shroud the man's body. If he cannot find anything, he uses his own cloak.
Flit steps out of the undergrowth and moves towards Tar, slapping the man on the shoulder. "Well done consultant. Great throw!" grinning acidly, he moves up beside the others and stares down at the man on the ground. "Interesting idea but... Shouldn't we ask Shalelu what she thinks?"
"Perhaps it would be best to return to Sandpoint before nightfall. As much as I'd like to hunt down every last little bastard that did this, we simply don't have the manpower to take on an entire tribe of insane, explosive wielding goblins by ourselves. While we could probably take down our fair share I imagine we wouldn't make it out alive, and after nightfall this swamp can get so dark that even I can't see without a torch, which makes it difficult to use my bow. And with the lessened watch in town nobody will want us to lose our heads."
Gorgoron is able to find a couple sets of tattered and slightly singed curtains on the interior of carriage windows which together would large enough to adequately wrap the man's corpse.
"I would guess that this makes Cyrdak's play a bit problimatic without any fireworks," Alyoma speculates. "Unless good Tardek here can create some for him."
She pauses, remembering something. "Ah, Cyrdak has also extended a chance to "trod the boards" to any of us who wish to try for a minor part in his play. He seems to think that having us involved will boost the play's popularity with the citizens of Sandpoint. It might help raise morale in Sandpoint and allow them to momentarily forget that they are beset with these goblin vermin."
"Is anyone interested in taking Cyrdak up on his offer?"
"That might make a welcome distraction for the people of Sandpoint, but it sounds as if Cyrdak might be more concerned with profit. I doubt that anyone in Sandpoint yet grasps the gravity of this situation. A play might serve to keep them blessedly ignorant, though I think we should begin taking measures to improve Sandpoints defenses in the short term."
Ansruath shakes his head than says "It is all well and good to try to get people to forget hardship but the threat is still out there. We should not try to get them to forgot that fact. If we do these things may happen again. I agree that we should improve the defense with the goblins are being as bold as this."
"A play?" Flit frowns thoughtfully, pulling a cigar from his pocket and setting it ablaze, before taking a pull from it. "Well I do not see how I would fit in, maybe as a footstool or something... But if it will help moral then... Okay!" Grinning wildly, around the cigar, Flit moves towards his mount.
"Come Shep. Let us away from this madness!" Patting the beast between the ears, he vaults up in to the saddle.
Tardek pants heavily, surveying the scene of the voilence. Terrible things.
Finally, the queit alchemist pipes up. 'I could make some flash powders and pyrotechnics with the right materials and time, and will do my best to offer my services to Mr. Cyrdak, as I did on the day of the festival. I can do that and make some alchemical weaponry for the guard, and a trained militia.'
'Shall we return to the town to discuss it? No point standing out here and drawing more unwanted attention. Shalelu has the right of it.'
"I agree that Cyrdak has a profit in mind," Alyoma says, "But a play may relieve some worry. I don't doubt the seriousness of the situation, nor the need for guards and caution, but life loses much if some joy does not relieve the grimness."
"But Tardak has the right of this, we should return to town. And not everyone need be part of Cyrdak's scheme."
Alyoma then regards her horse again, noting that it is a much finer and better trained beast than she would need. With a sigh, she mounts up.
Gorgoron finishes wrapping up the body of the deceased cart-driver. When he is finished, he respectfully lifts the man, and ties him in place across the back of the pony. He then takes the pony by the bridle and starts leading it back towards the village.
Ansruath listens as the others speak than goes back to Lorcan. After getting on Lorcan he thinks to himself "What could this boss want that it is sending the goblins after people like this." He than gets Lorcan to go towards the village.
The group manages to make it back to town quickly and without further incident. Reaching the bridge over the river to enter the Southern end of town you can see a nervous Cyrdak Drokkus waiting, pacing with worry. He hails you, raising his lantern. His eyes full of anticipation, his expression falls as he sees the heavy bundle on the back of Gorgoron's mount.
"Your search didn't go well? [His statement doesn't sound like much of a question.]"
Dherisan gives a slow shake of his head as he bring his horse up alongside Cyrdak. "I'm afraid your fireworks have found their way into the hands of goblins, though take solace in the fact that they're just as likely to set themselves ablaze with them as they are to harm others." He raises and arm towards Gorgoron. "I am sorry to say, Cyrdak, that there were no survivors, goblins nor men. We have brought your driver back for a proper burial."
"I will take him to the temple and assist Father Zantus in preparing him for burial. Cyrak, do you know if Karlanis had any special religious observances or requests that he would of liked us to honor in his final rest? Any family or friends in the area should also be informed. I will speak to the father, but unless he possesses means to extend the period your friend can lie in state, he will likely need to be interred by morning. If however we can halt any decay, we can invite his family, and give them time to come for the funeral."
If you will excuse me, friends."
Gorgoron turns the pony towards the temple and leads him to find the father.
'Mr. Drokkus, I can however offer my services and skills with alchemical admixtures. If you provide the supplies, I can make some for your show, not a replacement, but and adequate alternative. I may even be able to use the time to provide the town with alchemical weaponry.' Tardek says as he dismounts carefully, clearly not entirely comfortable on the horses back.
Flit hops down off the dog and pats the beast on the side, scratching his fingers lightly through its coat. "Fearless mount you are boy!" Laughing softly, Flit takes a step back as the dog licks him, before moving up beside Tardek, pulling his leather gloves from his hands.
"And I shall be more than willing to help, in any way I can!"
Cyrdak grimly nods as he listens, turning to address each of your questions and comments in turn.
"Thank you for bringing him back. It simply wouldn't suit to have him rot on the roadside. I hope the goblins torch themselves for what they've done. Karlanis had no family that I am aware of, but as a traveling merchant the name of the Wanderer was always included in his prayers. I'm sure he would want to be buried beside Desna's house. I hope he'll be the last of the dead the father will need to bury anytime soon. Sir, it would be wonderful if you'd be willing to help with the pyrotechnics for the play. As they say, the show must go on, and if we cancel it now then poor Karlanis' death is meaningless. I will dedicate it to him. You are all such a boon for this town."
Gorgoron stays with Father Zantus for the evening, helping to dress the body, and prepare it for burial. Once complete, he returns to the inn for a late diner, before turning in for the evening.
Ansruath after making sure that the body gets to the church safe goes back to the inn to rest. While at the inn he wash up and cleans his gear before going to his room to rest for the night.
Flit yawned and stretched before slinging his Crossbow on to his shoulder. "I feel like a walk along the strand. I'll catch up to you all later!" Strolling off, the Halfling pulled another cigar from his pocket before peeking in and groaning. 'Need to resupply tomorrow..'
Striking the cigar alight, he grinned around the foul smelling smokeable. 'At least there is a tomorrow. Praise Iomedae for that!' Laughing softly, he set off through the town.
That night the group is once again invited to dine and drink with Aldern Foxglove at the White Deer, who retires himself shortly after due to the hour. Before he goes to his suite, however, he tells you that he has a handful of balcony tickets for the Harpy's Curse, and would be delighted if any of you who aren't planning on involving yourselves in the play would join him. Sandpoint citizens continue to praise you all for your fine work and ask of your adventures; you've not needed to purchase a single drink or meal since the goblin raid.
The next morning is quiet, allowing you to catch up on any rest you might have been missing with the hectic couple of days past. Midmorning there is a burial service held by Father Zantus and Mister Drokkus for Karlanis the merchant. Gorgoron is invited to say a couple of words as a fellow priest, and as a representitive of your group which risked their necks to retrieve the body, if he is interested in doing so.
The service is somber, save for Cyrdak's numerous humerous anecdotes about the man's life and exploits, but ends soon enough, and the sorrow of those who knew the traveler is quickly washed away by excitement over the upcoming opera.
Moving slowly through the crowd, Flit nods softly to those who meet his eye. This man had been a well known and liked man. He was sad to see the end of him. Why is it never the mule headed louts who die prematurely? Well... By saying that do I mean they have any less right to live than good, nice people? No. I suppose death is sad, no matter if the man dying had drank every waking hour and pounded on his wife and kids in anger, or had been a saint and a Priest to boot. Death is the great leveler after all!' Nodding softly he moved slowly to his Consultants side and looked up at him.
"Ah Consultant. Pleasant day for it yes? I will accompany you to this Opera. See if I can lend a helping hand!"
Dherisan spends the first hour of the morning in quiet meditation as he communes with Ember, the fox serving as a bridge to some realm beyond the physical world.
That being done, he attends the funeral, observing a respectful silence, and even his familiar displays an uncharacteristic somberness.
He spends the day milling about town, unused to remaining in a settlement of this size, and unsure of what to do with himself. He mingles with the people and attempts to get a sense of where the town's thoughts are at, stopping by the Rusty Dragon at midday for lunch, and heading towards the opera house in the evening, ready to offer whatever magical aid he can to the performance.
Tardek looks down at his friend and partner and nods, he can see the sad track of the man's thoughts today. 'Indeed, oh tiny one. Perhaps you can wear the children's clothes for practice? Come along then, you can watch a respectable member of society do some work for a change,' Tardek says, his face straight and serious.
Tardek is trying to distract his friend by provoking a fight, he is genuinely concerned for his friend.
Turning away Tardek gestures towards Cyrdak Drokkus and calls the man over. 'Mr. Drokkus, my companion and I are ready to help you out however you wish, Can you direct me to a place where I can work on the alchemicals, and provide me an assitant to fetch reagants and such that I may need?'
His face darkening with rage and malice, Flit stumbles after Tardek silently plotting his demise. 'Oh yes Consultant... Laugh it up!'
Alyoma attends the service for the poor man.
Afterwards she joins Cyrdak, Tardak, and Flit as they go to the playouse.
"I will try for one of your play's parts, Cyrdak," she says, "I hope I've enough skill for the task, as I've never tried to sing."
Cyrdak's mood rises as he sees so many people looking to help out in various ways.
"Don't worry about it, Miss Alyoma. Many actors in the play are first time performers, but plenty have raw talent. I think enjoying this event as a community is far more important than presenting the performance of the century. Just don't let Allishanda know that I said that. [He winks with a good-natured smile.] She tends to be very serious about these matters. Why don't you just showcase your strongest points? A dance, a song, a poem. Whatever you feel you excel most at. [He turns to Tardek.] I have some raw components in the back of the theater. If you need any extra ventilation, there are trapdoors that open to the roof which are sometimes used in the performances. You have no idea how much it means to me that you are all so willing to lend yourselves to this project in light of the recent unpleasantness."
When Dehrisan offers magical aid for the play cyrdak inquires which spells he might have available; things like, Ghost Sounds, Silent Image, Ventriloquism, ect.
Tardek nods to Cyrdak and rolls uo his sleeves, making his way to the playhouse. When there he puts on his leather apron and sets to work.
Tardek mixes various ointments and tinctures, viscous potions popping and fizzling, a small flame burning nearby allows him to dessicate some powders and store them in small clay receptacles, bound with paper and string. A blue liquid spills over its containers edge and marks the table, producing a smell of oranges and burnt wood. all the while the half-orc moves with exacting precision, his face entirely intent on the creation of alchemical admixtures.