PART 1: NIGHT OF IRON FANGS
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MARKET FESTIVAL!
The scene opens in the town of Phaendar, nestled along the southern bank of the Marideth River, a stone’s throw from the Southern Fangwood Forest.
Trade comes through the town over Phaendar Bridge, the only suitable place to traverse the swift, rapid-coursed river for 50 miles in either direction.
The town of 400 residents rarely sees any excitement, making the Market Festival a major source of news, entertainment, and revenue.
The 2-day affair, held once every 3 months, gathers farmers and herders from across the Nesmian Plains, as well as woodcutters from the nearby Fangwood and prospectors from the Hollow Hills, to trade for supplies and raw materials. Even traders from the “big city” of Tamran make their way to the event, swelling the town’s population to half again its normal size.
Elandra, a tall tomboyish Taldan Woman thinks to herself as she arrives in town Ahh, Market Day, I just missed the last one when I first passed though. Glad I was able to trade my fancy steed for a reliable mule and plenty of supplies. It's been good working with the Fox Claws but I couldn't definitely use a restock on various things.
Elandra will spend the day perusing stalls and buying various sundry goods, such as twine, arrows, needles and thread etc.
"No, I'll just take the brown thread, I don't need the fancy one, it's a better match and a bit cheaper too."
Elandra seems not overly sociable but not particularly dour either. She'll haggle a bit over goods and sticks to buying practical stuff. She keeps an eye out for other wilernessy types and will share recent news of owlbear tracks and other ferocious beasts.
Elandra gets space at the Taproot in for herself and her mule and tries to go the bed early. With all the festival noise going on at dusk though she has trouble sleeping and decides to visit the Riverwood Shrine with hopes of finding solace with Erastil there...
Arlen smiles to himself as he approaches Phaendar. He had always been sure to make it out to the Market Festival when he had lived outside of town. Before those bandits burned his house down. He slowed his pace for a moment, remembering stumbling out the back door before collapsing in the dirt. His companion slowed and looked at him with big eyes. He smiles. "Everything's alright; just remembering darker times. I'm going to leave you in the stable, okay?"
---
Work before play he reminded himself after dropping his companion off at the inn. "I'll be back before dark" he'd told it before leaving.
He makes his way to the store and walks in. A harried worker greets him and then does a double take. "Oh, I didn't recognize you with that--ah" they said and went red.
"The scar, yes." Arlen gives him a friendly smile, "It's alright. The gods saw fit to do me a bit more mischief."
They shook their head "Haven't you seen enough mischief? I--" the rest of their sentence is cut off as the owner or a customer (or maybe both) yell for their attention.
Left to himself, though far from alone in the crowded store, Arlen sorts through his list, but the sound of the festival catches his ear. It will be here tomorrow. It doesn't make sense to cart it all back to my room at the inn tonight anyway.. He folds his list and heads out to join the party.
---
After playing a few festival games and greeting a few friends he has not seen for too long, Arlen makes his way back to the inn. He checks on his companion and then settles in for a meal and a good drink.
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He trudged along the trading stalls his hand idly reaching up and patting his companion behind his ear. He could feel the tension in the large canines neck. Part wolf and part dog, more than one eye stared at the animal uneasily as it plodded alongside its master tail motionless except for the slight movement that its gait made. They were a strange sight to anyone not from the town itself to be sure. For about five years now the halfling and wolfdog had lived here, part of the small towns very rarely used militia. Despite the fierce look of the wolfdog children of all ages shrieked in excitement and usually ran up to give the large canine a hug. It placidly reacted with a patient large lick and a few tail wags before going back to watching everything carefully. The halfling, bright blue eyes and almost whiteblond hair shared small talk with the tall folk and friendly nods. He wore simple well made breaches his chain shirt barely visible under a cream colored shirt he wore over it. He was armed, despite his small stature the weapons looked like they belonged on his waitline though his smile was good natured enough. Tattoos of all sorts covered his arms, another oddity on the halfling.
He paused at a stall selling housewares... pots pans, things like that.
" Hoy there. You seen the Applebough caravan come in yet? I know they bring you dwarven pots sometimes?"
He began the large dog paused and sat back on its hindquarters almost looking the merchant in the eye. The man made the mistake of looking at the wolf not the halfling and froze for several long seconds, dropping a ladle on the collection of pans and making quite the racket.
With an exasperated sigh the halfling snapped his fingers catching the man's attention again.
"Down here chap, dont look at 'im look at me."
He began laughing as the man finally managed to peel his eyes from the large calm animal.
"Master Darry, Sorry about that, you would think i would have learned by now, No, I haven't seen their caravan yet. Early in the day and all, im sure they will turn up. Do you need a new travel pan?"
The halflings smile faded a bit and he shook his head.
"No, thank you though, perhaps tomorrow eh? "
He answered turning away and continuing on.
"Don't worry Sebastion I'm sure the girls are alright. Don't you worry."
The wolfdog whined slightly giving the halfing a large lick that covered his face causing him to laugh with real mirth. It wasnt really the animal whom was worried. Ever since he had come across the Applebough families trading caravan a few summers ago his mind drifted often to them, especially now when he could see them. He still couldnt decide which of the sisters he favored. Mable, Molly, or Mae.
He had no doubt he would marry on of those lasses one day, just how does one choose between three lovely triplets?
"Bet you could use a boy eh boy? I could go for a pint. Let's head to the Tap eh?"
He begin. Stew and drink, a large leg of lamb for his best mate, Darry found himself laughing gambling and drinking late into the evening...
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Yaron spins, finishing his silly story with a flourish, "...and she said, 'No, no. I asked if you'd seen an elder gnome.'" He pauses, holding, waiting that sliver of a second as the punchline lands, This is both the best and worst part, the fear mixed with anticipation..., then releases his breath as the laughter begins. In one continuous motion, he spins again, bowing to the crowd. ...and there's the release.
As he straightens, he catches the eyes of an older half-orc across the path, and blinks, You know, this may be the first time I've seen him smile, I mean really smile, without a hint of sadness, since the attack.. He holds up a hand to the crowd and says, "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, but I need to find myself a cider or an ale if I'm to be able to continue telling tales... and, of course, any contributions toward that ale or a meal would be most welcome." He waves his hand over a cloak before him, having already seeded it with a small handful of silver and even a gold coin, Never hurts to have them think their peers are more generous than they would have been when they're reaching into their coinpurse...
He collects the coins, sliding them into a pouch, then waves a hand over his cloak, prestidigitating it clean and throwing it over his shoulders. Finally, he crosses over to the stall against where his father is waiting, talking to one of his fellow 'tribesmen' who's selling the honey from their new apiary.
"Mulg, if you're going to have any success, you need to turn some of your sweet nectar into mead," he offers, then bows his head to his father, "I know, I know, you'd have preferred a stirring rendition of The Battle for Ramsgate or The Overthrow of the Empire, but these people just wanted to have a spot of fun and maybe forget about the need to fight for a while."
Mokosh chuckles at his son's opening volley, wrapping a thick arm over his slighter shoulders, saying, "Nonsense, lad. An epic story lets people leave their lives for the ones you're telling them about... At least, it does when the story's told well, and not by someone looking for a cheap laugh."
Yaron clutches at his chest, "Wounded. Grievously injured, stabbed through the heart, and by my own father...", then stumbles before turning the movement into a graceful dance, sliding back under the arm that was holding him, "..and besides, my laughs aren't cheap, they're just affordable. And I'm rather sure that there's enough in this pouch, now, to buy the cider I was planning on, as well as one for you, and a couple of hot meals, if you'd like to join me at the inn..."
The boy blinks when the older man shakes his head, "No, lad, not tonight. Not that I don't want to spend time with my son, but I didn't expect you until tomorrow, and so I've made plans with..."
Yaron cuts off his father, quickly guessing, "--the herbalist?"
Mokosh laughs, nodding, the surprise on his face quite clear as he asks, "You've been in town for, what, three hours? How did you know?"
The boy laughs and says, "Well, I saw that you actually seemed happy, so I knew something had changed... and I saw you glancing over at her stall and locking eyes across the crowd when I was doing those pratfalls you've always loved so much. In any case, it's all good, I was planning on staying for a few days even after the festival, so we've ample time to catch up... Though, I will act wounded and hurt so that you'll be forced to pay for dinner so you don't look like a lout before your new girl, or her community."
Mokosh pushes the boy gently with a laugh, "I thought you were losing your voice if you didn't get a cider? We should all be so lucky. Go on, get to the inn, make an appearance... And remember, people you made laugh just now might want to buy you a cider or two, so don't spend too much of their coin... or get too deep into your cups, I want to show you the new homestead tomorrow."
Yaron smiles, giving his father a hug before stepping back and bowing with the same flourish he used to finish his last story, "I wouldn't dream of missing it... See you in the morning." With that, his spins on the point of his left foot, heading toward the Taproot Inn.
You have to be f+$&ing kidding me, Sor thinks. Of all the times to make a whiskey run, I forget about this gods-damned festival! Look at all these f+~#ing people! His hood up and veil across his horribly-scarred face, the elf grunts in frustration. Oh, nasty. Human children! All over! So disgusting! Oh, gods, they smell! A toddler with melted chocolate covering a large portion of his face stares with mouth agape. Sor snarls and the little larva skitters away. "I need a gods-damned drink," he says to no one in particular and starts walking to the Taproot with visions of whiskey dancing in his head.
Having set up her stand near Orelds Fine Shop, Faerieth lays out her full display of herbs, curatives, poultices, and herbal concoctions. While there were a number of already bottled tinctures, she and Durun had found that her making concoctions to order on the spot helped them both out, since the need for good glassware containers made his supply of them rather convenient.
As the day progressed, business was rather good, along with the opportunity to catch up with familiar faces and old friends, while introducing new people to the wonders of what the natural world around them had to offer.
The highlights of her day so far, had been the innkeeper's daughter buying her entire supply of anti-nausea tincture, a sure sign that she was expecting and just not showing yet, and the trio of hunters who came for her special concoction that rendered the drinker able to ignore the weather. It was good to see that the first to try it had brought friends this time.
As the sun begins to dip, she considers packing up for the evening, debating between that and staying open later today catch those avoiding the heavier foot traffic.
Durun slips another coin into his small pouch and nods his thanks to the man for his custom. He glances over at Faerieth nearby and waves, the orange glow of the setting sun adding a strange glimmer to his pale eye. ”Business good today, eh? How do you feel about sharing a drink at the Taproot?”
"That sounds like a good way to end a good day." the herbalist answers with a smile as she starts packing up her booth. Brushing a stray lock of snow-white hair out of her eyes, she takes a deep breath of the evening air, the scent of the wildflowers she usually kept in her hair or as random accents on her person, offsetting the random smells of the bustling town.
It really had been a pretty good day, and the Market Festival was becoming increasingly profitable, never a bad thing even if it wasn't her biggest concern. ”It’ll be nice to get off my feet for a little bit. Aren’t you afraid not being seen at your usual table in the shadows by yourself might diffuse the whole ‘aura of mystery’ thing you’ve got going?” she teases, her tone clearly joking.
In the time she’d known Durun it was clear that he was a man with his demons. As curious as she was about things like his unusual eyes, she also respected the man enough not to pry. He was good people, one of the few that seemed to share her connection with the wilderness around them.
Big John walks into town with his travel pack thrown over his shoulder.
Townspeople come up to greet him and while he talks to them briefly it is apparent that he is going someplace with a purpose and can’t tarry long.
As he picks through the crowd his way is blocked by a small throng of children. All of whom begin trying to talk to him at once. Where the adults had been given the time of day and a few sentences, Big John appears happily resigned to give a little bit more of his time and attention to this group.
He kneels down, but still towers monstrously over the children.
” . . . Heh, heh, heh. Hold on! Hold on! I just made it back in to town you guys! Give me a minute to make it into the town gate!”, he smiles widely.
A little girl tugs on his shoulder. She appears to be about five years old and has an anxious and hopeful look on her face. ”Were you able to fix Maddie’s arm? Did you bring her back with you?”
John puts a puzzled look on his face and scratches his head. ”Huh? Maddie? Do I know a Maddie?”
A wash of worry and concern storms across the little girls face briefly before she realizes he is teasing her. ”You better not let Maddie hear you say that! You will hurt her feelings Big John! Is she in your bag or not!?”
The mention of the bag sets the kids into requests for John to open his pack and reveal its contents.
The big man crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows.
”Oh!? Maybe you all are getting a little spoiled thinking that I have got something for you every time I come into town.”
The majority of the children pull back, but the little girl holds her ground.
”You said you would bring her back today John, so Maddie wouldn’t miss the gathering.”
Totally disarmed by the little girl, John gives up his ruse.
”Okay, okay Miss Kinley. Hold your horses.”
He opens his sack and removes a well loved wooden bodied doll dressed in clothes made out of rags and decorated with bits of flashy cast off materials.
The little girls face lights up as she jumps up to reclaim her prized possession from Big John. She quickly inspects the doll lifting up its dress to inspect an arm which has been crudely, but carefully, repaired an reattached to its body using what appears to be a chainmail link and a socket fashioned out of tin attached to the upper arm. She then closely examines the doll’s neck.
New emotions play over John’s face and he begins to explain apologetically. ”Well now Miss K, you have to understand when wood sockets break like that there really isn’t a way to repair them back to new, but I was able to save her original arm and I was able to put Maddie’s head back on my putting a dowel up into the head and down into the body, but now she can turn her head and she couldn’t do that before. I put a little necklace on her to—
The girl shuts him down. ”I LOVE IT! Her head moves and it looks like she has armor on her arm now. She’s a warrior princess now!”
He blushes. ”Well, I am glad you like it. And please tell your brother not to throw her again or I will break his arm next time, I’m just kidding about the arm part, but tin isn’t easy to come by out here and he should respect other people’s things.”
A little bit older boy peers into the bag.
John pulls his eyes away from Miss Kinley hugging her doll and digs deeper into his pack. He pulls out a bundle wrapped in damp cheese cloth and gives it to an eleven year old girl obviously tasked with managing the smallest of the children.
”Here you go. Three pounds of dried deer sticks in pork casing with black pepper and a dash of spice. Now! No grabbing and Kendall is going to divvy it out equally, but she gets an extra stick for herself.”
The kids begin making more requests and asking additional questions, but John resolutely detangles himself.
”I would love to take more time, but an old friend is here tonight and I have to go. What’s that? The sword? Oh, no no. I am not expecting any trouble I just have my sword and shield here for old times sakes. It’s for the meet up I am on my way to. Okay now, I have to go! Yes I am sure. I will see you all later though, but I have to go now.”
John smiles as he pries children off his legs and tussles a few heads.
Gods and demons, I need whiskey. How did I forget this gathering of the d%*@&&$ masses AGAIN? Sor makes a beeline for the corner of the bar, hoping someone who had served him before was working and wouldn't ask stupid questions about his veil.
Big John walks past the Tradehouse and pauses in front of the Old Bastion. He looks over it’s worn, scarred and ruined walls.
”Heh. You’ve been standing here for centuries and I bet I’d find skeletons of buildings far older than that under your foundation . . . I wonder if the men that manned your walls were as young and idealistic as I was . . . How many lives were cut short, how many dice games in the snow, how many looked out, like me right now, to reflect, take stock or remember lost loves? Wondering about what might have been?”
Durun stares at his friend for a moment, lending some credence to his ‘aura of mystery’ before cracking a smile and laughing, his voice cracking now and again from the permanent scarring from his near death experience so many years ago. ”Is that how I am seen by the young ones? The Mysterious Ghosteye, sojourner and fishmonger!” He chuckles again. ”Come, let us imbibe. I find myself craving a cool ale now and perhaps some mysterious company. Mayhaps we could cause a ruckus among the womanfolk with rumors of romance.” He winks as he jokes.
'Heheh, like they need much to get rumors started." Faerith says with a melodious laugh as she gathers up her things and takes Ghosteye's arm, heading to Taproot.
As dusk falls, most of the festival goers retire to their campfires for a meal while more liquid celebrations last far into the night.
Inside the Taproot Inn itself, the Market Festival draws a crowd from all over Nirmathas, many solely to hear Aubrin the Green—the retired Chernasardo Ranger-turned-Caydenite cleric—recount bawdy tales of adventure from her youth.
Outside, the celebration continues, as raucous shouts carry on the night air. Warmed by the firelight after a long day, any levity comes as a welcome reward to the rough, earthy souls of this riverside trade town.
“So there I am, thinking, when will I ever be able to talk to a bear again? So before the grizzly can stand back up, I turn to it and say, ‘All I need is the honey. You can keep the bees!’”
The room erupts into laughter as Aubrin finishes her winding story and takes another draught from her tankard.
“But it’s fine now. All’s good. She named a cub after me. Someday I’m going to have to check in on little 'Ow Oh Gods That’s Too Many Bees'.”
Crowd members share their own boasts and jokes, but eventually someone tops off Aubrin’s tankard and pushes her back into the center of the room.
“All right, all right! Don’t shove,” she slurs a bit. “Okay, Cayden strike me down if this isn’t true—“
.
.
The front door explodes into flinders!
A cry of agony pierces the chaos. Aubrin is leaning against the fireplace, gasping and clutching at the blood gushing from a wound in her chest. A ballista bolt still quivers, pinning her in the wall behind her.
Three hobgoblins in military dress stand beyond the shattered door, blades drawn.
You can see outside behind them, lit by the glow of burning homes, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of hobgoblin soldiers march the street. Phaendar burns, shouts of celebration now replaced by the panicked screams of the frightened and dying.
Behind them, above the flames and humble rooftops, rises a tower of black stone.
The three brutally hack down several tavern celebrants nearest them. One's life blood gushes over Elandra, warm and slippery.
The leader poses dramatically, letting out a bloodcurdling scream as he licks the blood off his blade...
Round 1___________
Players take their turn in order of posting, enemies will go last.
The NPC crowd is currently stunned and not moving.
Aubrin the Green is bleeding out.
The hobgoblins all wear an insignia on the shoulder of their uniforms.
Arlen, unsure of who in the crowd can defend themselves and who cannot, moves to engage the attackers in melee, drawing his bardiche.
"RUSSET!" he yells, trying to get his companion to break out of the stables and come to his call, but he is almost certain he is unheard. He swings his polearm at the middle hobgoblin.
"Animals outside upset," he growls, drawing his rapier.
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Letting loose s shrill whistle one of the tavern goers a small halfling fellow crys out. "Sebastion! Kill!" as he hustled for Miss Aubrin. He was no healer, but she would die with that damned bolt struck through her, maybe someone had a potion, or healing magic or something.
Focusing on the striken bard for a moment he wondered if it would be easier to leap up and grab the bolt and push off the wall with his legs, or something else.
"Im not big enough someone help me damn it!"
He began angrily.
Yaron blinks, the shock of seeing a hobgoblin making him pause and giving him a flashback to younger days and what would almost surely be as terrible a night for this town as that one was for his family. Thank Ketephys that father isn't here... though now I hope he made it home. Still, let's not let this turn into the hellscape it could..
He picks up his bow from the floor, Glad I didn't lock my gear away in a room, raising it and quickly casting a spell over it, magically reinforcing it's haft, even as his other hand adjusts his quiver, to ensure he can quickly draw the soon-to-be magically boosted arrows.
Elandra spits a dark coppery substance as she wipes the blood from her face in horror and disgust.
Elandra's training quickly takes over though as she stands up, kicking her chair away and whistles as a bird shoots out of nowhere behind the middle hobgoblin and tears into him
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Elandra Hawk is on the map, Elandra should be able to control it.
”Aubrin!!!” Faerith screams as she sees the ranger impaled against the fireplace, blood pouting from her mouth. Everything seems to slow for moment as her mind takes in the utter chaos that has erupted. Fire everywhere, hobgoblins attacking…cutting off the exit, some were already moving to face them, fighting when others were frozen in fear. Aubrin was dying.
Jumping up without thinking, the druidess catches up her staff as she hustles over to the fireplace, seeing the halfling wolf rider…..Darry if she remembered correctly…. Running over to help her as well.
She comes up to them as he calls for help, looking at the ballista bolt with a keen eye. They had to remove it, but if they did this wrong se wouldn’t survive the night.
Studying it briefly, she gently places a hand on the ranger's chest taking a deep breath as softly whispering in druidic as she calls upon the Will of the World to aid her. Her other hand grips the bolt as she moves to remove it.
Durun was enjoying the night, the stories, the drink, the company... then suddenly everything changed... just like it did nearly a decade ago. The door exploded and as Durun leapt to his feet he spots the hobgoblins in the doorway as they began to cut down his neighbors and friends. His throat suddenly tightens as he feels the phantom hands around his throat as he sometimes did... just like 10 years ago... Except one thing was different this time...
As Faerith rushes over to save the mortally wounded ranger, Durun’s pale eye flashes a deep blue. Geometric shapes begin to appear along Durun’s forearms of the same blue glow... He glares at the nearest hobgoblin and thrusts his arm toward the monster as a ray of freezing cold energy streaks across the room and slams into the hobgoblin!
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Big John had just been about to work up enough courage to speak his piece with Aubrin and share his admiration and respect when the attack came. Already emotional from having forced himself to attend the sight of the woman impaled to the wall and the appearance of his enemy most hated brought it all rushing back.
. . . The smoke, the screams of the dying, children crying out for their mothers, the sounds of desperate men fighting for their lives against overwhelming odds, the smell of entails exposed to the night’s air, the steam rolling off of bright blood spilling to the earth.
Big John flies into a murderous rage. He draws his heavy broad bladed longsword. His iconic shield slides to his arm with a powerful shrug of his now engorged muscles cording at his neck.
”You shall not take them!”, he screams as he hurtles towards the Hobgoblin leader like a man having nothing left to lose!
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Didn't even get my whiskey. Gobs gonna die rough for this.
Round 1 completed___________
Arlen, unsure of who in the crowd can defend themselves and who cannot, moves to engage the attackers in melee, drawing his bardiche.
"RUSSET!" he yells, trying to get his companion to break out of the stables and come to his call, but he is almost certain he is unheard. He swings his polearm at the middle hobgoblin.
.
"Animals outside upset," he growls, drawing his rapier.
.
Darry let loose a shrill whistle and cried out; "Sebastion! Kill!" as he hustled for Miss Aubrin.
Focusing on the stricken bard for a moment he wondered if it would be easier to leap up and grab the bolt and push off the wall with his legs, or something else.
"Im not big enough someone help me damn it!" He began angrily.
.
Yaron blinks, the shock of seeing a hobgoblin making him pause and giving him a flashback to younger days…
He picks up his bow from the floor, Glad I didn't lock my gear away in a room, raising it and quickly casting a spell over it, magically reinforcing it…
.
Elandra spits a dark coppery substance as she wipes the blood from her face in horror and disgust.
Elandra's training quickly takes over though as she stands up, kicking her chair away and whistles as a bird shoots out of nowhere behind the middle hobgoblin and tears into him
.
”Aubrin!!!” Faerith screams as she sees the ranger impaled against the fireplace, blood pouting from her mouth.
Jumping up without thinking, the druidess catches up her staff as she hustles over to the fireplace, seeing the halfling wolf rider…..Darry if she remembered correctly…. Running over to help her as well.
She comes up to them as he calls for help, looking at the ballista bolt with a keen eye. They had to remove it, but if they did this wrong se wouldn’t survive the night.
The haft at that point has 5 points DR and 5hp to sever.
Studying it briefly, she gently places a hand on the ranger's chest taking a deep breath as softly whispering in druidic as she calls upon the Will of the World to aid her.
.
Durun "Ghosteye" Yesterday, 06:52 am | FLAG | LIST | REPLY
Durun was enjoying the night, the stories, the drink, the company... then suddenly everything changed... just like it did nearly a decade ago. The door exploded and as Durun leapt to his feet he spots the hobgoblins in the doorway as they began to cut down his neighbors and friends. His throat suddenly tightens as he feels the phantom hands around his throat as he sometimes did... just like 10 years ago... Except one thing was different this time...
As Faerith rushes over to save the mortally wounded ranger, Durun’s pale eye flashes a deep blue. Geometric shapes begin to appear along Durun’s forearms of the same blue glow... He glares at the nearest hobgoblin and thrusts his arm toward the monster as a ray of freezing cold energy streaks across the room and slams into the hobgoblin!
.
Big John had just been about to work up enough courage to speak his piece with Aubrin and share his admiration and respect when the attack came. Already emotional from having forced himself to attend the sight of the woman impaled to the wall and the appearance of his enemy most hated brought it all rushing back…
Big John flies into a murderous rage. He draws his heavy broad bladed longsword. His iconic shield slides to his arm with a powerful shrug of his now engorged muscles cording at his neck.
”You shall not take them!”, he screams as he hurtles towards the Hobgoblin leader like a man having nothing left to lose!
.
Sor thought; Didn't even get my whiskey. Gobs gonna die rough for this.
.
Hobgoblin 1 joined in on attacking Big John.
for a possible slashing damage.
.
Hobgoblin 2 stepped up and attacked Arlen.
for a possible slashing damage.
.
Hobgoblin 4 ran in late, then moved up on the left to hack down a Halfling girl next to Elandra. Again Elandra is splashed by the life blood that gushed from the girls neck as she fell…
.
(out of sight; Hobgoblin 5 is having difficulties with Darry’s mount. Despite having hit Sebastion for minor damage, he was also hit and tripped. Now, he started to get up and was AoO hit by Sebastion for more damage as well as tripped again.)
Round 2___________
Players take their turn in order of posting, enemies will go last.
The NPC crowd screams and runs around, getting in the way. All terrain is Difficult now.
"We need to cut through the bolt to sever it from the barbed part stuck in the wall!" Faerith says urgently to Darry, quickly chanting in a lilting tongue, laden with natural power, reinforcing the bandages in staunching Aubrin's bleeding.
Looking towards the door, she sees Durun and a few others fighting the hobgoblins that had begun butchering patrons. With a steadying breath, she draws the sickle at her hip.
"sorry miss Aubrin, this may hurt."
He began as he took his battle axe in both hands and took a mighty chop at the wooden haft. He frowned at the solid chunk of wood still left. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the few halfling lasses in the area go down and his scowl deepened.
"I'll end your whole legion for that you ugly bastards!"
He growled adjusting his grip prepparing to hack the bolt again.
Arlen clenches his teeth in pain and blinks for a second. He grimaces at the hobgoblin before him and punches at it with his cestus before returning his grip to his bardiche.
Sor growls out in a guttural, staccato language as he steps forward.
Elandra steps back from the onslaught of hobgoblins and casts bless.
"Erastil guide our hearts and our bows."
Meanwhile Elandra's eagle friend flutters/hops through the doorway and attacks the hobgoblin to its northwest.
Big John screams, but if anyone was actually watching him in all the chaos, it is clearly apparent the big man isn’t phased by any physical pain. He is a man awash in desperately suppressed anguish.
He watches the hobgoblin leader sink down from his mighty blow, the monster had died too quickly, escaped wrath far too painlessly. Mindless to his own peril, John was about to smash the leaders head open like a pumpkin on All Hallows’ Eve when Hobgoblin 4 ran in late, then moved up to hack down a Halfling girl next to Elandra. Again Elandra is splashed by the life blood that gushed from the girls neck as she fell…
”Noooo! Not again! Nooooy again! Damn you! Gwaaaaaaaarrrr!!! he bellows with vengeance sweeping his sword in swift reprisal!
He spins back to hobgoblin 1 and roars pure hatred into the humanoid’s twisted face. The veins in his neck bulge and spittle flies forth as his wounds begin to close up through some supernatural means. He keeps his shield up to block a blow, but looks to be fighting the urge to throw himself at the hobgoblins sword.
”Cayden help me! Let me die and be with them!”
He sobs aloud . . .
”Or!”
He fixes his dreaded enemy’s eyes with a seething glare . . .
”Or! Let me become their living hell! Their never ending torture! ”
Dancing at the rim of madness he issues his nemesis a challenge.
”What are you waiting for!? Come at me! Come at me! You’d better pray to whatever motherless god you pray to, because if you let me bring you down. I will hack off your limbs, peel the skin from your face, spill your entrails into coals, then load them back into your worthless still living carcass and make sure you writhe in agony for as long as I possibly can!”
As the common room erupts into chaos and the fellows around him rail against the bloodshed, Durun allows himself to use the cold fury growing around him to fuel that empty pit he often feels within himself. That same empty pit that formed the day his family died... The one that seems to try and steal away any positive emotions he feels... and the blue glowing pattern upon his arm begins to flare simultaneously with his blue eye. He quickly leaps atop the bar for a better vantage point of the melee.
He pulls at the icy depths and sends yet another ray of freezing energy streaking towards the hobgoblins intent on dealing death to everyone around!
Yaron steps forward, getting the panicked bodies -- and other fighters --- out of the line of fire.. He raises his enhanced bow, drawing back the string and feeling the magic sing as he takes a breath, aiming at the nearest hobgoblin, and then releasing.
for
Round 2 complete___________
"We need to cut through the bolt to sever it from the barbed part stuck in the wall!" Faerith says urgently to Darry, quickly chanting in a lilting tongue, laden with natural power, reinforcing the bandages in staunching Aubrin's bleeding. She Cast Stabilize.
The bleeding seems to fully stop now.
Looking towards the door, she sees Durun and a few others fighting the hobgoblins that had begun butchering patrons. With a steadying breath, she draws the sickle at her hip.
.
"Sorry miss Aubrin, this may hurt." Darry began as he took his battle axe in both hands and took a mighty chop at the iron haft.
Aubrin gasped as Darrys axe bit halfway through the haft of the bolt.
He frowned at the solid chunk of metal still left. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the few halfling lasses in the area go down and his scowl deepened.
"I'll end your whole legion for that you ugly bastards!" He growled adjusting his grip preparing to hack the bolt again.
.
As Hobgoblin 4 darted by, Arlen took the opportunity to lash out and cut him for modest damage on his left leg.
Arlen grimaces at the hobgoblin before him and punches at it with his cestus before returning his grip to his bardiche. He tagged Hobgoblin 2 hard in the arm for modest damage.
.
Sor growls out in a guttural, staccato language as he steps forward.
Why attack now? Are there more outside?
Sor stepped forward over the Halfling girl and stabs out at hobgoblin 4, but he caught the lunge on his shield and deflected it away.
.
Elandra steps back from the onslaught of hobgoblins and casts bless.
"Erastil guide our hearts and our bows."
Meanwhile Elandra's eagle friend flutters/hops through the doorway and attacks the hobgoblin to its northwest. Catching him in the leg once for minor damage, all other attacks were caught by his armor.
.
Big John screams, but if anyone was actually watching him in all the chaos, it is clearly apparent the big man isn’t phased by any physical pain. He is a man awash in desperately suppressed anguish.
Mindless to his own peril, John was about to smash the leaders head open like a pumpkin on All Hallows’ Eve when Hobgoblin 4 ran in to hack down a Halfling girl next to Elandra. Again Elandra is splashed by the life blood that gushed from the girls neck as she fell…
”Noooo! Not again! Nooooy again! Damn you! Gwaaaaaaaarrrr!!! he bellows with vengeance sweeping his sword in swift reprisal!
Johns backhanded slash caught hobgoblin 4 right in the helmet as it moved past, causing a tremendous wound to its face. The only thing that saved it was that much of the energy John dished out was absorbed by the helm as it was penetrated and torn from the hobgoblins head.
He spins back to hobgoblin 1 and roars pure hatred into the humanoid’s twisted face. The veins in his neck bulge and spittle flies forth as his wounds begin to close up through some supernatural means. He keeps his shield up to block a blow, but looks to be fighting the urge to throw himself at the hobgoblins sword. You look on as whatever damage John had taken is healed up entirely as you watch.
”Cayden help me! Let me die and be with them!”
He sobs aloud . . .
”Or!”
He fixes his dreaded enemy’s eyes with a seething glare . . .
”Or! Let me become their living hell! Their never ending torture! ”
Dancing at the rim of madness he issues his nemesis a challenge.
”What are you waiting for!? Come at me! Come at me! You’d better pray to whatever motherless god you pray to, because if you let me bring you down. I will hack off your limbs, peel the skin from your face, spill your entrails into coals, then load them back into your worthless still living carcass and make sure you writhe in agony for as long as I possibly can!”
.
As the common room erupts into chaos and the fellows around him rail against the bloodshed, Durun allows himself to use the cold fury growing around him to fuel that empty pit he often feels within himself. That same empty pit that formed the day his family died... The one that seems to try and steal away any positive emotions he feels... and the blue glowing pattern upon his arm begins to flare simultaneously with his blue eye.
He quickly leaps atop the bar for a better vantage point of the melee.
He pulls at the icy depths and sends yet another ray of freezing energy streaking towards the hobgoblins intent on dealing death to everyone around!
But in the jostling of the crowd and the rapid dodging of the combatants, he missed; frosting the doors lintel instead.
.
Yaron steps forward, getting the panicked bodies -- and other fighters --- out of the line of fire.. He raises his enhanced bow, drawing back the string and feeling the magic sing as he takes a breath, aiming at the nearest hobgoblin, and then releasing.
But the hobgoblin took the shot on his shield for no damage.
.
Hobgoblin 1 screamed back in Big Johns face.
for a possible slashing damage.
.
Hobgoblin 2 screamed and attacked Arlen.
for a possible slashing damage.
.
Hobgoblin 4 attacked Zor.
for a possible slashing damage.
.
(out of sight; Hobgoblin 5 is having difficulties with Darry’s mount again. Despite hitting Sebastion he ended up hurt and tripped again.)
.
Barkeep Jet scrambled back to the rear door and held off a crowd of panicky patrons, firmly keeping the door shut and waiving around something like a priests aspergillium wrapped in burlap sack in their faces. For such a small girl she is very intimidating.
Round 3___________
Players take their turn in order of posting, enemies will go last.
The NPC crowd screams and runs around, getting in the way. What with that and all the blood, all terrain is Difficult now.
"RUUSSETT!!" Arlen screams again, trying to get the creature to bust out of the stables. Meanwhile, he tries to finish off the hobgoblin with his cestus before gripping his bardiche again.
They're panicking and running into the line of fire... I need to get outside where I'll have the space to shoot... And to do that, I'll need those fighting back to clear me a path... So, I guesd it's time to help them out.... Yaron closes his eyes for a moment, centering himself, then opens them, a mischievous spark in his eye as he begins reciting, "There once was a goblin named Creet/Who was remarkably light on his feet/He asked an Irregular to dance, and ended up on a lance/Little beast should've known he was beat.".
Big John takes the blow without comment. His eyes burrowing into his foe’s with furious hatred. The two swing and block one another’s blows until the big man sees an opening and thrusts the tip of his sword towards hobgoblin 1’s abdomen.
”Anyone able bodied grab whatever you can use as a weapon! These dirtbags murder women and children, so spare them no mercy! For they will show you none either! Rally! To arms! To arms!”
”Put up a fight, escape to the hills, save who you can, but do something!”
Elandra finally draws her bow and feathers a shot between Arlen and Sor.
Her Eagle then continues the assault on that one
Pecking and clawing as best it can.
The sight of the sheer numbers of enemies distracts Sor as he thrusts at his direct foe.