Vrindel stares in horror at the scene around the old tree. "What sort of abomination is this. Plants don't do this! I don't understand".
He then starts as a clap of thunder comes from the direction of the Inn, and he hears the high pitched panicking voice of Ibrox.
"Well we need to do something about this, but that sounds more urgent. Don't think anything fast is happening here. Let's go bail out the others first".
Vrindel casts healing word on the still twicthing figure trapped in the tree.
"Fear not Bee woman. We'll be back to rescue you soon enough".
|
Aterro seethes with rage and confusion as his brain tries to take in the...what is this? Torture? Cannibalism? Surely this is something beyond merely clean murder.
Even simply taking a life pales beyond the...HERESY...that must have conjured magicks black enough to put a bee's head on a woman's body.
Just then the gnome's cry of WAR comes, accompanying a holy sound of thunder.
Something within Aterro knows this is not Thor's thunder, but he is beyond caring, and needs but little excuse.
"OH BY THE HAMMER OF AND THE SPEAR OF THIS HOUSE OF EVIL CAN NOT STAND!
The dark heart that beats within this heinous sepulchral can only achieve salvation through CLEANSING it with PAIN!
Aterro cries, charging in the direction of the front door, lifting high Thorspear and singing the warcries of the ANCIENT kings.
At the sight of the muck on the floor, muck fresh from Trevor's mouth that is, Scramsax' first thought was the ale...what did he just drink? But when the paladin's weapon was drawn and the myriad halflings jumped into action at the bartenders command, he was on high alert...
...his pipe had snuffed and needed relighting. "Eh, excuse me...sorry to interrupt, but could I bother you for a brand?" he inquires of the woman.
The gnome looks around to take cover in the forest within line of sight of the door. Until his companions arrived, he would not be starting a fight.
"Certainly my dear." She says lighting a long thin stick from a nearby lamp and handing it to Scramsax. "You just sit back and enjoy your smoke." She adds with a wink as a several other inn patrons rush out the door. "I've handled more than my fair share of drunken young men. Won't take a minute to get the lad settled down. Where did you say he's from? Sometimes it helps to be able to speak of it to calm them down."
"Now careful lads. We don't want to bruise the boy too much." She says to the other halflings as they circle the big human brandishing cutlery and short clubs to protect themselves from the knights growing panic.
The goblins close in on you circling carefully while the witch at the bar actually helps Scramsax relight his foul smelling pipe. As the halfling puffs the pipe back to life, the smoke continues to burn your lungs and make your eyes blur and itch terribly.
Meanwhile two of the goblins run around ducking in and out as they feint several attacks toward your legs and knees, but never really do so. What it does instead is force you to defend the potential blows allowing the other two to take advantage of the extra openings in your defense. One lands a nasty hit on your knee which almost gives way as you are too slow to get your axe back around in time. The second little beast slices your calf leaving another bloody wound.
"*kork*" he sputters before becoming locked in an awkward pose, for the second time reality rushed back across his senses like cold slap to the nape.
Ibrox scurries away from the door and dives behind a patch of dry shrubs. Moments later Aterro and Vrindel come rushing out of the garden away from the big willow tree. The big clerics battle cry echoing through the dark night.
His words are answered as the front door of the inn and six halflings step outside. The six abruptly turn into six short, green skinned goblins bearing handaxes and rusty swords as the step across the threshold from the inn. Immediately spotting the cleric and druid they fan out and move toward the two.
"They're not Halflings!!! Scramsax! Hey! Get moving! Swing your blade, fool! HEEEELP!!!" shouts Trevor as he swings at the Goblins, aiming for the closest's head.
"That can't be good. I swear can't leave those two alone for five minutes".
Move If Vrindel can reach them on this round he'll close on one.
Bonus: Cast Shillelagh on his Quarterstaff
Action: Swing, batter...batter...batter.
Q-Staff Attack
Q-Staff Impact
Healing
"Ibrox," says the gnome in a stern voice to Hex a goblin (the one Vrindel wounded if not dropped). He levels his crossbow and shoots the cursed goblin.
The bone pipe, constructed from what might roughly be the lower half of an elf or human humorous, sits tightly between Scramsax's suddenly frozen lips. The halfling's limbs go completely numb and frozen as he sits quietly on the stool, still leaning against the bar. His eye function all too well though as the scene before him unfolds with all it many horrors, the worst of all being the hideous old witch lumbering behind the bar.
She gives the bold halfling a yellowed, pointy-toothed, smile as she pats him on the cheek.
"Ah....that's a good dearie." She says, her dark beady eyes peering into the halfling's with smoldering hate and malice. "You just sit there and enjoy your smoke while mother sees to the rest of your friends." A loud cackle erupts from her lips and echoes throughout the dilapidated husk of the Golden Thistle.
Trevor wields his axe and shield frantically blocking, parrying, and feinting his attackers to try to create an opening. Finally one of the goblins ducks left, directly into the knights swinging blade. While Trevor does hit, the axe doesn't bite as deep as he would hope and the beast slips away, cut and bleeding but not out of the fight.
"So many visitors, so few pots to stew them in." She adds with another cackle. With a flick of a flabby arm and hiss of spite she douses all of the lamps plunging the room into complete darkness.
"Precious!" She hollers back toward the kitchen. "Let Mog out to play. Poor boy hasn't had any fun in weeks."
"Yes miss! Right away miss!" Squeaks the 'maids' voice from somewhere back in the kitchen.
The goblins continue to swarm around the knight using their quickness and small size to harass and duck beneath Trevor's guard.
Vrindel strides toward the nearest snarling goblin and lays into it with is enchanted staff, yet the little beast is quicker than expected and he avoids the angry trollkins blow.
Neither the fury of druid or cleric deter the creatures as they swarm forward. Splitting into two groups the goblins attack Vrindel and Aterro using the same hindering and aiding tactics as those inside practice against the struggling Trevor.
One of the gibbering, snarling creatures manages to slide a knife across Vrindel's thigh leaving a narrow, shallow cut. While another slips past Aterro's defenses, but he suffers little more than a scratch.
Ignoring or not realizing the gnome is hidden in the shrubs, the goblins pay a price when Ibrox let's loose with a blast of eldritch fury that punctures and passes right through one thin green skinned chest. Heart, ribs, most of its lungs are all vaporized in one fell instant and its body topples to the ground. A tiny column of purple smoke rises lazily from the corpse.
Trevor pales even further as the hag mentions some kind of nasty creature about to be let loose on him: "We're dying fast in here!!!" he shouts as he swings his axe while trying to keep his shield between him and the Goblins, but there are just so many...
|
|
"I KNEW IT!" Aterro roars as a bevy of goblins comes chittering and warbling out to meet them. "Only such skittering ankle-biters as these would set so OBVIOUS a trap! See here how many noble warriors are UN-fooled by thy poor parlor tricks!"
Just then Trevor's cry comes floating out to him. Aterro chuckles. "Ha! Once again Khors hast rewarded you with a NEW way to prove thy virility! I am certain you shall prove as successful with the new threat as you did with the last one.
But as for these vermin, let us wipe their threat from this life!" he yells, invoking the power of THOR to join him in battle as he targets the one that hampers his knees.
"Hold still and take your punishment. You're making me angry"!
Big Magically infused stick
Result of said stick.
And just to add insult to injury...
Critical Damage
And the silly goblin listens to Vrindel and not only holds still, but opens himself to a mighty blow from the angering Trollkin. The Goblin flies off his feet from the mighty blow, and lands on the roof of the Inn.
Plunged into darkness, Trevor swings wildly with his axe cutting nothing but air as the old witch cackle's in glee.
"Aiieeeehehehehehe! That's right my little ones. Hurry and bring him down before his nasty friends come to spoil the fun."
She tosses the filthy rag she'd been using as a 'bar towel' onto Scramsax. The moldy, dirt and blood encrusted piece of clothes drapes haphazardly across his stiff arm while his eyes flick back and forth helplessly staring into the dark. "Hold this. Aiiieeehehehe." She cackles patting Scramsax on the head. "You two!" She says to the two goblins lingering on the stage. "This one wanted a bath, so put him in the pot. We'll make sure his bones are nice and clean. Heheheh."
The two 'musicians' obediently hurry over and grab the paralyzed Scramsax off the stool ready to carry him back into the kitchen. Fearing being turned into halfling soup, the rogue tries to will his limbs to move, but he is simply unable to overcome the toxins flowing through his body from smoke and ale.
Using the cover of darkness, the goblins close in on the struggling knight, their blades hacking and slashing with wicked abandon as Trevor fumbles around, blinded by the dark. He feels on blow bounce off his shield, while he miraculously catches another with his flailing axe. But then the knight's luck runs out as a sharp pain erupts in his back as he feels metal drive deep into the muscle. Then another suddenly slashes across his left thigh and Trevor feels the blood flowing, life ebbing out of his body once again.
Aterro skewers one of the goblins with his pike as lightning erupts and arcs through the little creatures frame. The cleric follows this up with another blow that slams into a second creature, but does not take him down as the goblin shrugs off the blow and continues the fight.
A loud THWAK! echoes through the night closely followed by a sickening crunch as Vrindel completely crushes the skull of one of his attackers, dropping the goblin instantly.
But the victory seems a bit short lived as the squeal of old rusty metal hinges opening cries out gratingly from within the darkness of the former stable. The is followed by a startled squeak and another goblin wearing an apron comes running out of the stable and dashes back around toward the back. It was hard to tell in the dim light provided by Aterro's glowing hammer, but it looked like the little creature was bleeding profusely from a bloody stump that used to be its left arm.
"Aiyee! Mog!" Shout the goblins in near unison with varying degrees of fear. The creatures take a few more swipes at both Vrindel and Aterro, using the sudden distraction to slip past the heroes defenses. The goblins then quickly retreat from the melee and away from the dark opening of the stable.
A great snarling and growling erupts from within the stable as another goblin appears within the double doors of the stable building. The creature is immense in size for a goblin, standing nearly a tall as Vrindel, but probably twice as wide with two beefy arms that end in oversized hands with terrible claws. A small hand disappears into its mouth with a final loud crunch as it rolls a purple tongue across bloody lips and big incisors. It stands on two almost barrel thick legs glaring at the scrum in the compound with a pair of large red and yellow eyes.
"Mog bored!" Rumbles the big goblin, smacking it lips. "Mother said to come play! Who plays with Mog?"
Trevor feels blood pouring out of him and his vision muddies. He thinks of the stuffed Dwarves piled in the corner and shudders, then cries, for he can't see a happy end to this madness.
Then he remembers Khors, and summons a bit of strength back as he rises and shouts, lifting his axe defiantly: "I'M NOT DONE YET! BACK! YOU WRETCHES!" as he ignites his axe with holy light that cuts through the darkness around him.
|
|
"Ah! A hit! A palpable hit!" Aterro calls out as the goblin's blade makes a mark, though it does not cut him as deeply as it might a normal man not wearing so thick a make or armor. "Glory to you, knee-crawler! I would be insulted were this fight a pushover!"
Just then the goblin giant comes wadling into the field, feating upon his kinsman. "Ha! It seems our broodlings have a champion among them. Oh, fear not, Moggy Gutsqueezer, we shall find diversion enough for you."
Thus said, the WarCleric stalks forward, pike thrusting and spirit hammer crashing down.
"Ouch! Your turn"!
Stick of goblin bashing
Above referenced bashing results.
"I'll join you in a minute Aterro. Got some cleaning up to do here first".
The gnome moves out of the forest when the pack of goblins retreat to the barn beyond the the big goblin who looks like he ate another pack of goblins.
He shifts his curse to Mog with a thought to Ibrox and points his finger at the big goblin saying, "Ibrox" in a stern voice.
The two goblins lift Scramsax off his stool and trundle him around the bar and into the 'kitchen.' But it little resembles what one would hope to find in their inn's cooking center. A big black cauldron sits steaming on a bed of warm coals. Surrounding it are glass cages filled with all manner of spider, insect, and creeping crawling thing that one can imagine. From hourglass marked black windows to fat, hand length night crawlers. But what hangs from the hooks along the back wall is much more disturbing to the halfling's frantically shifting eyes. A half dozen, skinned dwarf and human sized bodies hang dripping into slime filled barrels. Oddly intermingled with the humanoids are a handful of giant bees. Their big black and yellow bodies cut open with several parts still lying on a nearby, fungus covered countertop. Several bottles contain a powdery yellow substance, very similar to the pollen that still hangs to the hairs of one or two of the dead bees.
A light breeze drifts through the dank, stinking room emanating from the open door near the back. It partially busted frame causing the door to swing loosely on old rusty hinges.
Out of the corner of his eye, Trevor sees the paralyzed Scramsax hauled into the back by the two goblins. But there is little time he can spare for his companion as he is still surrounded by the snarling, slurping creatures. Although slightly surprised and momentarily blinded by the light of Khors, two of the creatures step away from the gleaming white glory of the knight's holy weapon.
"Oh my! Interesting. Not just another sell sword this boy. No indeed. One of that nasty sun boy's scamps, are we." The witch says leaning her elbows on the bar while she watches the scuffle. She slides the remains of Trevor's pie over, casually plucking a squirming roach from within and pops it into her mouth like popped corn and crunches it down. "Not bad...not bad...have to tell Precious to add more nettle root next time though." She mutters mostly to herself.
While the witch ruminates over her pie recipe, two of the goblins press forward despite still blinking eyes from the sudden return of light. Fortunately for the knight, neither creature is able to land a solid blow as shield, armor and axe keep them at bay for the moment.
Frowning at the goblins performance, the witch grumbles and growls. "Oh now, that will never do!" She waves a clawed hand at the two beasts who moved away. "You two get back in there and help your brothers, or I'll add you to the pot with that simpleton halfling. Or better yet, make you play with Mog next time he's in need."
The witches threats have the desired effect and soon enough the goblins are ready to charge back into the fight.
Scram could only hope the magic of Morrin's Misery concealed on his back might somehow cool the water enough for him to regain his senses and escape...rather than fry instantly.
Ibrox launches a blast of eldritch energy toward Mog and although it hits the big goblin right in the leg, it seems to have little effect except to cause the big creature to giggle softly.
"Hehehe....funny light, tickles Mog." He says lumbering forward on his big legs.
Shortly after Ibrox, there's another loud smack and squeal of a goblin and Vrindel's hardwood staff connects with the ribs of one of his attackers before it staggers off into the night diving into the thorns and shrubs not far from where Ibrox was hiding.
Aterro brings the Thorspear to bear and attempts to catch the advancing Mog on its tip, but the creatures hide is tough and he is a bit quicker than he appears as the big goblin slips to the side causing the attack to miss. Thinking to follow up with his other sacred weapon, Aterro drives his spiritual hammer toward Mog and sees it strike the beast in the shoulder. Unfortunately the blow has no effect except to attract Mog's blank, blinking gaze for a moment before he turns back to Aterro.
Stepping inside the slightly inside the spear, Mog lashes giggles and lashes out with his long meaty arm. His big fist connects against the cleric's face with a resounding crack. Mog's follow up left whistles past missing as Aterro knocks the blow away with the spear.
”Vrindel, get inside to help Trevor. I’ll help Aterro. Burn the house down if you can.” THe gnome moves to the door to open it and moves to put Vrindel between himself and any threat.
The gnome points his finger at the big goblin saying, "Ibrox" in a stern voice.
"Khors Guard Me! Scramsax! I'm coming, hold on!" shouts Trevor as he lets His blessings course through him and heal his body.
|
|
Mog charges in, brushing by the tip of the spear.
As Aterro is pushed back by the blow of the meaty fist, his spiritual hammer take advantage of the opening, un-distracted by the realing WarCleric and crashing down.
Aterro gets his feet under him again. "Yes! At last an opponent worthy of a mighty battle! I was beginning to fear these woods would provide no good sport! Have at thee!"
Vrindel jumps a bit in surprise at Ibrox makes himself heard, then with a nod goes bursting in through the front door of the Inn, looking to take out his anger on the Innkeeper, who he suspects is the mastermind of this terrible place.
If possible - Attack on Innkeeper
Quarterstaff swing
Q-Staff Impact
BONG! The deep tolling of a bell rings through the courtyard causing a chill to run through Mog's body. The big goblin shakes his head, his bristly brow furrowed in confusion for just a moment. A few wrinkles appear around his red eyes and a patch of the fur covering much of his body suddenly goes gray.
The echo of the bells tolling still drifts through the air as Vrindel dashes inside the inn where Trevor's frantic screams and the sounds of fighting burst forth from the front door.
Aterro uses Mog's distraction to his advantage striking with hammer and spear. The hammer once again simply bounces off the goblins, thick skull. The Thorspear on the other hand, glides through armor, hide, and innards like a hot knife through butter as it crackles with electrical delight.
Mog screams in pain as Aterro pulls the big spear back. Lashing out with both beefy fists, the goblin misses with the right, but like one of his own hammer blows, Mog's fist connects with the war cleric's ribs. Wind involuntarily evacuates from Aterro's lungs but fortunately none of his ribs give way. Mog lets loose an angry howl, his eyes growing redder as a bloodthirsty madness boils in his simple mind.
*ggggkn..nghh..* he tried to wit, failing quite miserably. Even his legendary mustache couldn't save him now. The halfling focused, taking in his surroundings as much as his paralyzed limbs might afford...looking for something, anything that could help his situation...
The two goblins engaged with Trevor dive after the retreating knight as he hurries toward the kitchen. The first simply misses, cutting nothing but air with his rusty cleaver. The second not only misses, but manages to catch his foot on a warped floorboard and falls jabbing himself with his own knife in the process.
"Oh...I just knew you couldn't stay away my pet." The ugly witch says flashing her horrible smile toward Trevor as he tries to squeeze past her bulk to the kitchen beyond. "Come give me warm hug and we'll forget about the whole thing. Aiyeeehehehe."
Trevor feels the witch's will pulling at him and for a moment he thinks that she is right and perhaps this all was just a horrible mistake.
While Trevor contemplates making up with the witch, Vrindel comes charging in. His staff whirling furiously as he makes a straight line for the old hag in the rotted clothes and wicked smile.
"Now who are you?" She wonders but doesn't get much further before the trollkin's staff raps her across the face. "Now that wasn't very nice." She mutters while spitting out a loose tooth.
"Make him pay for hitting mother like that my dears." She adds waving the goblins toward Vrindel.
The creatures quickly surround the druid and once again start their deadly dance of duck, dodge, stab, harass, slice and dice. One of the creatures manages to get through Vrindel's defense, jabbing a rusty knife deep into the trollkin's leg.
In the kitchen, Scramsax watches with growing horror and dwindling hope as the bit iron stew pot grows closer and closer. Eyes frantic, he sees nothing to save himself except Trevor, who is partially blocked by the fat form of the witch. The goblins begin to swing him back and forth. Once...twice....on the third upswing they toss the halfling into the pot of hot, simmering, foul smelling, putrid water. The scalding heat burns and hisses and boils his skin. A muffled gurgling scream is all that can escape his frozen lips as a partially cooked hand bumps up against his cheek.
Yet the excruciating pain has it benefits as the body and mind team up to do everything possible to escape what is certain death. His heart beats faster, stomach and muscles scramble to contract and flex against the poison as every last ounce of his mind is focused on willing his muscles to move enough to pull himself out of the scalding cauldron.
The worst part was his mouth was slightly open where it once held the pipe...gallon after gallon of dwarf stew rushed down his gullet as he slowly died.
The gnome moves a bit to have line of sight to Vrindel at least 15 feet beyond the front door threshold and 15 feet away from Mog. He points his finger at the big goblin saying again, "Ibrox" in a stern voice causing a deep tolling of a bell ringing BONG throughout the courtyard.
"No thanks!" replies Trevor as he moves past her and swings his axe at the Goblin trussing Scramsax.
|
|
"BWAAAAF!" Aterro exclaims as the massive Mog begins to take his toll on the WarCleric's battered body. O, had he his full powers, this would be but a trice. But he'd had precious little rest since the fight with the hydra, and then the struggle with the meadow did no one any favors.
Seeing the gnome's spell continue to take its toll, while his hammer still diligently stalked the goblin from above, he decides to take a different tack.
"Honor to you, champion. You have past the Trial of Tactics. Congratulations. Few indeed have such an honor.
Also, that is but the first of the Trials to become WarCleric. Let us see how you do in the Trial of Strategy."
Aterro shifts his grip on the Thorspear, bringing it up more, and centering his approach. Not this time does the spear lash out, but rather he waits patiently in defense.
With things getting a bit dire, Vrindel continues to pound on the leader, hoping that might dispirit her hirelings.
Stick
Struck
And as a bonus action, calls upon his troll blood heritage to heal some of his wounds.
Inhuman Vigor:
"Oh Pooh!" Exclaims the witch and Trevor avoids her charms. The knight slides past the big, ugly hag and swipes at one of the goblins who was busy grabbing a big spoon to make sure Scramsax gets good and stirred into the stew. The warning squeal of his partner manages to prolong his life, at least momentarily, as he turns and instinctively ducks the big glowing axe that otherwise would have caused him serious bodily harm.
Scramsax bobs a few times within the pot, ever so slowly and excruciatingly cooking and drowning. A bright light flashes somewhere near the pot. Seen through his tightly closed eyes, but there is little the paralyzed rogue can do save make peace with his gods.
With the scent of spiced halfling starting to fill the air, Vrindel lands another blow to the face of the hag. For just a moment her bulbous nose collapses only to expand back into its long sausage like form.
"I bever bid like brolls." Mutters the witch. She claps her hands, grabs a big curtain of shadow and steps through it much as Zove did upon occasion. "Kill him..." Are the last words that echo to her minions as she slips through the shadow stuff to appear...who knows where.
Rushing to obey, the goblins continue to swarm Vrindel. Again the small beasts work in pairs and again their weapons come away covered with a bit more troll blood.
In the kitchen the one goblin recovers and lashes out with the big cooking spoon, but it bounces harmlessly against Trevor's shield. The second goblin, picks up a rolling pin and attempts to bash the knight in the leg, but the old broken cooking implement slips out of its hand and lands across the room.
The bell tolls for Mog once again and another patch of his fur turns a shade of white. Yet that doesn't deter him in the least as he pursues the only strategy his simple mind can think of, punch it until it doesn't move anymore. Pure ferocity and strength nearly overwhelm the war cleric and Mog once again lands a rib cracking blow. Mustering the last of his reserves, Aterro blocks the follow up left with the Thorspear. The cleric's holy hammer batters away at the thick skull of Mog, but it simply doesn't penetrate the thick skull, of if it does, it has little noticeable effect on the dull witted beast.
Scram tried his best to secrete foul tasting sweat out of his glands. If he was going down this way, at least he could give the witch an upset tummy.
"C'mon big guy! You have bigger bells than that! Get him." He points his finger at the big goblin saying again, "Ibrox" in a stern voice causing a deep tolling of a bell ringing BONG throughout the courtyard.