The hobgoblins, having no possible way of conceiving what is about to happen to them, each move to the middle of the bridge. They were so focused on their prey, neither of them noticed the odd contraption that seems to be sizzling at their feet.
In the distance, you can hear the clamber of many, many more boots and the war cry of a large force, but they are going to be too late. Unless Oreld's experiments were flawed? Or Kining underestimated the amount of force it would take to bring down the bridge?
You will find out in a few seconds.
Oona (20/20 hp)
Mac (20/24 hp)
Freyja (22/22 hp, +2 attack [1 round])
Katia (16/16 hp)
Aubrin
Taidel
Lirosa
Hob 3 (6 damage)
Hob 5 (3 damage)
Hob 6 (28 damage, unconscious and dying)
Bold may act.
Freyja fires at #5.
She misses, but this time instead of being frustrated, she simply winks and smiles at the hob while she walks off the bridge.
Taidel and Lirosa run off the bridge.
Oona smirks at the hobgoblins before turning and hustling away to the other side. "Everyone run! Mac! Come!"
Mac has no idea he's standing dangerously close to the blast radius of an explosive powerful enough to level a bridge, but he certainly senses the urgency in Oona's voice and hustles toward her.
In the moments before the bomb explodes, Oona calls to the hobgoblins in their own tongue:
The hobgoblin next to the bomb bends over and picks it up, turning it over in his hands quizzically. He looks at #5 and holds it up, shrugging, as if to say, "What the hell is this thing?"
As he brings it up to his nose to smell it, the fuse runs out. The blast is more impressive than even Katia could have anticipated, and the concussion leaves everyone momentarily deaf . The entire structure of the bridge almost seems to jump, and when it settles back down, it does so hard. The temporary wooden structure where the keystone should have been shatters, sending splinters and shards of wood flying at impressive speeds. Stone and rock erupt into the air in all directions from the blast, pelting the refugees.
Once the dust settles and the smoke clears, you see the hobgoblin that picked up the bomb, headless and handless. It stands for a few extra moments, unaware that it is dead, then collapses to the ground.
The other hobgoblin managed to survive the blast, but was blown to his back by it.
The entire bridge is listing hard to the south. It hasn't collapsed yet, but the impossibly loud groaning and creaking suggest that it won't be long.
Oona (20/20 hp)
Mac (20/24 hp)
Freyja (22/22 hp, +2 attack [1 round])
Katia (16/16 hp)
Aubrin
Taidel
Lirosa
Hob 3 (blowed up)
Hob 5 (11 damage, prone)
Hob 6 (28 damage, unconscious and dying)
Bold may act.
Freyja waves everyone along. "Go. He is mine."
When she misses terribly on the first shot, she thinks better of this. He will never make it off that bridge before it collapses anyway. She turns and runs after the others.
Oona and Mac both hustle after the others.
At least two dozen hobgoblins come running up the road on the other side of the bridge. They stop short, in awe of the absolutely ruined structure they see before them. A few briefly seem to consider testing it, but think better of it.
#5, for his part, manages to stand up. He makes it about 5 feet before the ground beneath him simply disappears. The Phaendar Bridge, the only crossing of this river within 50 miles, the only reason Phaendar even exists, falls into the Marideth River, and #5 along with it.
The party and their followers run the remaining way to the edge of the Fangwood. None of you have any idea what lies within, or whether you have any chance of survival. But, looking back at what you are leaving behind, you know that your chance of survival is far better than anyone on the other side of that river.
A ceiling of smoke hangs over the city, reflecting the orange glow from burning houses. Ash drifts in the air like falling snow. The screams of townsfolk have died away, leaving an eerie silence broken now and then by the howling of wolves or the harsh tones of the Goblin tongue. Bodies lie in the streets, sprawled in pools of blood where they fell. It seems everyone else in town may be imprisoned or dead except for the hobgoblin invaders. Phaendar has fallen.
Oona stares despondently into the darkness, where the town she has lived in for two decades is outlined in wreaths of flame. "That is two homes now that I have lost," she says quietly, to no one in particular.
Mac presses reassuringly against her leg, licking her hand once and then following her stare into the night to watch the smoke and fire dance in the darkness.
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Katia, never one to be very good at pep talks, simply gives the oread's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She's surprised to find her flesh pliable; she had honestly thought Oona's skin was pure stone. It has a strange consistency that makes her draw her hand away quickly.
She looks down the path toward the forest. "It might be slower, but perhaps we should stay off the beaten path. I can use the dust of tracelessness we found to cover our tracks for a short distance. If we enter the Fangwood at an angle opposite of the direction our footprints vanish at, we may throw them off for awhile. But it would mean not sticking to the main road."
Oona knows that the road is heavily patrolled by bandits. This group of people is in no shape to deal with that.
Aubrin gathers everyone around. "We have all been through some s$$$ today. I'm not going to pretend it's over but I believe the worst of it is behind us, at least for today. I know these woods. I have allies in these woods. Tonight we need to get far enough into the woods that we are not easy to find, and then we will rest, I promise."
She looks everyone in the face, lingering a bit longer on the party. "We have done a wondrous thing today in the face of impossible odds. Cayden smiles down on us, the bastard. Follow me." She turns and walks away into the woods.
Aubrin leads the group on a hike into the woods lasting about two hours. Some of the weaker among you can simply go no further, so she calls for everyone to stop at a small clearing.
You set up a makeshift camp, giving the weakest or most injured the few available spots in tents. It is an uncomfortable night for most, but it passes without incident.
Once everyone is settled and safe in camp, Freyja melts away into the night. She walks for about five minutes until she is sure she is out of earshot, then she drops her bow and falls to her knees. Her hands cover her face and she screams into them. Then again. And again and again, until her voice is utterly gone. Then, spent, she falls to the ground, pulls her knees into her chest, and begins to tremble. She remains that way, trembling and softly sobbing, for what feels like hours.
Eventually she stands, wipes the dirt and leaves from her clothes, picks up her bow, and heads back to camp. She wordlessly finds a flat spot on the ground and, using her pack as a pillow, falls into a fitful sleep.
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Katia nods at Aubrin, directing her to lead the group to the woods at a sharp angle from the road, and begins erasing their tracks with the dust of tracelessness. Even once they reach the treeline, she continues spreading the dust until it is gone. Due to the size of the group, it doesn't last as far as she'd hoped, but she made sure to use it over half the recommended distance in order to cover so many tracks.
***
Once camped, Katia stares at the shadows of sleeping bodies around her. She knows what Aubrin has said is true, logically, but she can't get the stench of fire and death out of her nostrils. You have smelled fire and death before, she reminds herself.
Somewhere in Cheliax there quite possibly still stands the ashen ruin of a wealthy merchant's estate. A twisted, blackened corpse was left within that smoking ruin, but the body was dead well before the fire even began, his throat cut all the way down to his spine, his head nearly severed by the savagery of the fatal strike.
He had been a depraved monster, who liked forcing girls to marry him and then raping them. She hadn't been the first. She wouldn't have been the last.
And yet, she still has nightmares about what she did.
She looks down at her bedroll. She needs to sleep to commune with Mother's Harrow deck and regain her magic--which she has no doubt they'll need tomorrow--but she knows the nightmares will come tonight. She can feel them creeping up on her already.
She practically jumps out of her skin when she feels a shadowy presence behind her, but when she turns, it is only Oona. "Nine Hells," she whispers fiercely. "You scared me near half to death!"
Mac appears by Oona's side, practically melting out of the darkness, and lies down next to Katia, his massive head rested on her thigh. He smells apprehension in her; he hopes it isn't because she doesn't like him. Maybe he has a bad smell? He has lots of big-goblin blood on his muzzle he hasn't been able to clean off, maybe she smells that. Regardless, he gives a low groan of worry.
Oona shakes her head in exasperation as she sits in the grass and twigs next to the witch, resting her shortbow next to her and adjusting her scythe on her back. "He isn't growling. I think he wants you to pet him. Relax, he likes you." She scratches the spot between the wolf's ears, which makes him close his eyes in pleasure. "Put the back of your hand next to his nose. Let him sniff you. If he likes you, he'll lick your hand."
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Katia looks at Oona askance. "And if he doesn't like me?" Oona gives her a sardonic look, and Katia relents, slowly putting the back of her hand to the wolf's nose. He lifts his head and sniffs a few times, then gives one big, wet lick before plopping his head back down on her leg.
"Gross," Katia mutters, but despite herself she's smiling. She slowly begins to stroke the wolf's fur over his head. He makes the groaning noise again, but this time it isn't so frightening.
"Can't sleep?" The witch shakes her head, still stroking the wolf gently.
"I'm so exhausted I could sleep for weeks, if I could fall asleep. That is the problem of course. I have taken two watches now because I can't sleep. But I doubt many here are. Today was..."
She stares off into the darkness, a sixty-foot span of black-and-white, where the depth of everything seems just a little off. She can see shapes, even make out some details if she gets close, but it never compares to the riot of color she sees during the day. The juxtaposition is sometimes off-putting. She likes simple. She likes the dark.
"This is not the first time my home has been sacked," she says quietly.
Oona shakes her head. "Not Phaendar. A druidic circle far to the north, in the Hungry Mountains. I was an orphan. I have no idea who my parents were. We oreads usually come from two human parents, the elemental magic in the lineage lying dormant for generations before... before I happened. So they could be anyone."
She looks down at McAnally as she speaks. "My first memories are playing with adult druids. Hide and seek, tic-tac-toe, anything they could find to pass the time. But they grew old, and frail, and could not play anymore. Younger druids came to take their place, and they were not playful. They were stern, and brooked no nonsense, and began my education in the ways of the forest.
"Then one day they brought me to meet the Herald. It was a being unlike any I have seen to this day. It held immense power over Fate. It taught me of Magdh, the Eldest of Fate, she of the Three Faces. It was a... strange experience. But it also taught me much.
"When the orcs came... everything burned. Gardens that had been shaped by three or more generations of druids, riots of color and shaped into runes of such beauty and power that the world may never see its like again... the orcs... did things to them. They didn't just set them aflame. They desecrated them with bowel movements, spilled the guts of eviscerated druids over them.
"The Herald told me to run. To Phaendar. He said, 'Your destiny lies there.' And now Phaendar is gone. I have no more destiny. I don't know what to do." She stares down at her slate-gray hands as if they are alien to her.
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Katia sighs. Oh, Hells. I was never very good at this.
She tries to think for a moment to find the right words. "My mother taught me the ways of the Harrow when I was very young. She died not long after, but I have honored her teachings since then, the same way you honor the Herald with your actions. Living, breathing, and drawing magic from the Harrow has taught me many things. Most of all it has taught me that, while you can glimpse the future, or at least the possibilities of the future, there is no true destiny. The future is mutable and nebulous. A great many things are likely to happen, but nothing is guaranteed to happen. Personally, I take great comfort in that. I am mistress over my own destiny."
She searches for Oona's hand in the dark, and the oread tenses, but Katia doesn't relent. She grasps the hand and gives a gentle squeeze. Eventually Oona's arm relaxes a little. "You can rule your own destiny too. You have satisfied the Herald's command. You went to Phaendar. You waited. You found your calling. These people need you. This can be where you are meant to be, if you want it."
After a few moments of awkward silence, Katia gives Oona's hand one last gentle squeeze, then returns it to the wolf's head, stroking his ears. "You should probably get some rest. I will try as well. I just... I hope I can."
Oona nods. "Keep Mac with you. He can be a great comfort."
She rises and stalks in the dark to her bedroll, dropping down onto it unceremoniously but not falling asleep right away. In the dark, she sees Freyja slip through the trees to her own sleeping spot and collapse. Oona frowns. Perhaps she can talk to her tomorrow and see how the ranger is feeling.
Tomorrow...
She closes her eyes and drifts into sleep.
Mac sleepily raises his head as his new friend shifts in place and lies down. He stands, moves to the front of her, and plops down with his back against her belly and curls up, resting his great head on his paws. He feels her spindly arm wrap around his stomach, but he doesn't complain. Pups need reassurance when they're frightened, and since there are no female wolves to care for her, he'll have to do. Soon he feels her breath against his fur become steady and slow, and he himself drifts off into sleep.
The first night in the Fangwood passes uneventfully (relatively speaking). Everyone is awake at dawn; well over half weren't even sleeping anyway. You are able to scrape together a meager breakfast from the provisions people grabbed on the frantic evacuation of the town. Though everyone brought what they could carry, it is clear that even that will barely last a single day. The mood is somber and everyone eats in silence.
Afterwards, Aubrin stands. She looks each of the 27 gathered people (and 1 wolf) in the eyes. It seems like a long time before she begins speaking, but when she does, it is with her characteristic flippancy. "We're good and well f+*%ed, aren't we?" Everyone knows Aubrin's style, but this is an odd way to start a pep talk, even for her. There are audible gasps and confused murmuring. "We've escaped, for now. But we are exposed, in the wilderness, with barely any food and no shelter. F*##ed, right?"
She pauses. "Maybe. Maybe we are f++&ed. But we're not dead, not yet. I spent many years in the Chernasado Rangers. I have friends in these woods. We have high capable people with us" -- she nods at the party -- "who can protect you and teach you how to survive. These first few days, we have three priorities." She counts on her fingers. "First, find food, and find a way to get more food everyday. If you're starving, nothing else matters. Second, stay safe. The hobs won't just let us go, downed bridge or not. They'll be coming, bet on it. Third, find shelter. This camp is exposed and easily attacked by hobs or forest creatures, and there is no protection from the weather. Winter will be here quicker than Shelyn rebuffs another Cayden come-on."
"That's all I've got. You all have skills. We're going to need all of you to help. I won't see any crying or feeling sorry for ourselves. Let's survive. There will be plenty of time for mourning our dead when all the hobs are dead."
She gestures at the party. "These people are your leaders. You'll do what they say without question because they will keep you alive." She sits and offers the party the floor. "That's all I've got. Anything to add?"
Oona stands reluctantly and addresses the survivors. She's unused to dealing with so many people at once. "We will need to divide up tasks in order to survive. There were quite a few goatherds in he area, and while the hobs doubtless killed a great many, still more may be found wandering about. Freyja and I will see if we can track any down. Their milk would be an excellent source of food. Others with the skill will hunt and forage. We need the rest of you either guarding the camp or helping to build shelters, as your skills allow. Once we have established a steady supply of food and water, Freyja, Katia, and I will start scouting the outlying area for threats and potential resources.
"I won't lie. Things will probably get worse before they get better. But Phaendar wasn't built by weak hands. You're a tough lot, as tough as they come, and we'll get through this as long as we work together."
She glances at Katia, eyebrows raised, and the witch shakes her head emphatically. Oona shrugs. "Alright. Let's see about distributing duties."
Oona moves over to one of the survivors she hadn't spoken to yet, a young half-elf. His name is Borden, if she recalls correctly. "Borden, yes? I need to go goat-hunting. Care to help me track down some herd animals?"
Borden is slight, even for a half-elf, but could almost pass for full human. He's 18 or 19, has a mop of sandy blond hair, and seems utterly out of his element. He stares at Oona blindly for a few moments when she speaks to him, as if the words don't make any sense to him. Eventually he just nods and stands and walks after Oona. He follows her instructions and is even rather competent, but doesn't say a word the entire time, his eyes fixed in a thousand yard stare.
Freyja is in her element. She has never been much for leadership, though, so she finds a quiet corner and builds shelter for as many people as she can manage. She doesn't say much, only speaking when spoken to. Her eyes are bloodshot but determined.
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Katia rolls out her bedroll under the stars when night comes; she has a few rations and uses them, rather than taking up any provisions. She watches the others stuck outside of shelters--most of them, in fact--and wonders how they're going to make it. They have enough food for today; what about tomorrow? The next day?
She chews mechanically on some nuts from her ration tin, watching the children sit listlessly and stare at the adults. She's never been good with children; they always put her a little on-edge, and she never knows how to treat them. Are they babies? Tiny adults? She generally avoided the children of the caravan. Now she wonders if any of them are alive.
What did I do? she thinks. What did I do today? I'm useless here. They need hunters and builders. I can't do those things. I'm useless.
She lies down on her cot and stares at the night sky, feeling small and insignificant for the first time since Mother died. At some point, she eventually drifts off to fitful sleep.
Oona watches the camp wind down. Today was progress, but it's slow going. They need more shelters. Worse, they need more food. Perhaps she will direct a few more of the survivors off shelter-building and into the outlying forest to hunt tomorrow. It's not sustainable, however. They need more herd animals, and more goods. She may have to head out tomorrow with Freyja and Katia to scout the nearby forest, see what they can find.
She spends several minutes walking around to the survivors, filling bowls, jugs, canteens, and waterskins with water, a gift from Magdh. She doesn't smile as she moves among the people of Phaendar, but gives nods of appreciation when they thank her, and reassuring squeezes on arms and shoulders to those who look particularly destitute.
When she reaches Freyja, she refills her canteen and says quietly, "How are you holding up?"
Mac spends much of the afternoon playing with the children of the camp. Despite his size, he's surprisingly gentle, treating them as he would the pups of his own den. He is more or less useless in the day's tasks--Oona leaves him behind to hunt for herd animals, since he'd more than likely spook the poor creature--and he has no opposable thumbs to help with building. Unlike Katia, however, he looks supremely unperturbed by his inability to be a valuable member of their little society.
He pads alongside Oona as she makes her way around the camp, mouth open in a contented pant, his size radiating a silent strength as the oread moves from person to person.
Freyja nods her thanks to Oona. "I am fine, thank you. I had nothing here so I lost nothing. These people" -- she motions around the camp with her chin -- "lost everything. I don't understand how they are functioning, but I want to help. This town never treated me like an outsider. They are good and kind, and what happened yesterday was wrong." Oona can see tears welling up in Freyja's eyes. "I am so angry, Oona. I want to put an arrow between every hob's eyes. We need to find somewhere these people can be safe and then I'm fighting back. I hope you'll join me." She looks Oona in the eyes for the first time.
Oona snorts. "Of course I will. Phaendar was my home, insofar as I have one. The Three have already decreed the fate of the Ironfang Legion. They will burn to ash, and so long as I draw breath, I will see it done. But you are right, these meager accommodations will not last. We need a more permanent home for this group."
She shifts her weight and glances up at the night sky, her eyes pitch-black orbs that reflect the wan light of the campfires. "To that end, I would like to start exploring the area around us. For one, we cannot stay so close to the edge of the forest for much longer, and for another, we need to seek out threats to the camp and any resources we can find. The food will not last another day, and foraging and hunting simply will not yield the amount of food we need to keep all these people fed." She turns back to Freyja. "What do you say? Are you up to some exploration tomorrow?"
"Yes, absolutely. Let's leave at dawn."
The second night passes as quietly as the first. There is a bit of a nip in the air but not so much that sleeping outside is too much of a detriment; with luck, the refugees can build enough shelter for everyone tomorrow. It won't be long before the nights are cold, and there is a good bit of rain this time of year as well.
The mood is marginally improved over yesterday; people are grateful to have something to do and it is gratifying to most to be helping. Aubrin seems on edge, though; something will go wrong soon, and she is bracing for it.
The sun rises around 7am.
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After communing for her spells, Katia sits at her bedroll, the cards of her mother's harrow deck loosely splayed out before her, concentrating on channeling the deck's power as she reads her fortune. One question burns in her mind as she goes: Will we find anything to aid us in our venture out into the forest?
Oona wakes just before dawn, facing east as she kneels in supplication to the forest and the swift sun, muttering quiet prayers to the Eldest of Fate. Once her prayers are complete, she rises, checks her belongings, and goes to find Freyja and Katia to begin their exploration of their surroundings.
Katia's harrow reading unfortunately doesn't reveal much of import.
Katia, Oona, Mac, and Freyja consult with Aubrin on what needs to be accomplished today, then set off to the east . The Tamran highway runs through this area so you make additional efforts to be quiet and unseen.