Grevayne growls and swings out twice with his newly-empowered fist.
Sarge swings his sword around some more, and while he has the mihstu's attention, Grevayne finishes it off. Its form dissipates and almost seems to dissolve into the air. At the end, there is nothing left.
"That was bracing," Grevayne mutters. "Let us see what we can find of use." He goes to do what he'd originally intended to do, which is cast detect magic across the room.
Sarge scours the room for anything of use.
Sarge finds that the well at his feet has been trapped; if anyone had stepped any closer to the wood covering the hole, it would have collapsed and dropped 50' to the spikes below.
Further looking around the room, it becomes clear that this building was used for completed munitions storage. Dozens (maybe hundreds) of acid flasks and alchemist's fires line the shelves. Additionally, you find four large devices; it doesn't take a genius to learn that they are explosive, but they require further study to suss out their exact nature.
These are breaching charges, most likely intended to blow through Longshadow's walls. You could use them here to destroy the Legion's entire stock of alchemical and explosive weapons, or you could take them back to Longshadow with you. Perhaps they could have some strategic use in the upcoming battle?
The only problem with this plan is that they look extremely unstable and volatile; transporting them back via horseback is sure to detonate them in transit. A padded wagon would probably work, or an interdimensional space.
Grevayne frowns and rubs his chin. "These pose a serious problem. We could use them in the town's defenses, but they are far too volatile to carry. If we had a padded wagon, that would be something. Or a bag of holding." He sighs and shrugs. "We may just have to use them to destroy the lot, which we will need to do either way."
Sarge grunts. "Before you go blowing everything up, let us see what we can find, ya?"
Sarge scours the grounds for materials they could use to make a padded wagon.
Freyja pulls out her haversack. "Would this work?"
"Ah! Perfect." He loads up the charges carefully into Freyja's handy haversack before turning to face the rest of the room's contents. "Let us take what we can carry, and destroy the rest. No sense leaving them any weapons to use whatsoever."
Once he's taken a good chunk of the items, he motions for the others to step far back. "This might be, erm... ostentatious. Best to keep your distance."
Once everyone is far enough back, he takes several steps away from the doorway, mutters an incantation, and fires a trio of white-hot rays of flame into the building, targeting the alchemist's fires.
Sarge stands well back and watches the fireworks.
With the breaching charges and other alchemical weapons safely stowed, Grevayne blows s!*# up. Thankfully, it takes a few moments after setting the building aflame before the explosion happens, giving him time to escape the blast radius. The blast is deafening and the fireball reaches above the treetops; it surely was seen and heard from miles away. Stone and other shrapnel erupts outward from the building at incredible speeds, tearing through the walls to the east and south.
When the dust settles, there is nothing left of the building except the hole in the ground where the well once was.
Once the ringing in her ears subsides, Aubrin laughs hysterically. "Now that was cool!" She laughs until tears are streaming down her cheeks, but as she does, she looks around and notices that all is left of the mining settlement that was once Ecru is two buildings. She wipes her cheeks dry and clears her throat. "So, um, what's the plan, boss?"
Grevayne dusts his hands off and idly slaps a small lick of flame off his pant leg as ash and bits of flaming debris float down. "The Legion was sure to see that. We need to get out of here quickly and head back to Longshadow. I do not know if we will be able to assist in building their defenses today, but we should try."
He leads the party back to their horses and begins the trip back to town.
By the time the party begins heading back to Longshadow, it is barely mid-morning. If nothing unforeseen happens on the journey back, there should still be enough time to make some preparations in the town.
Aubrin is clearly thinking the same thing as Grevayne, because she brings it up as you ride. "Let's take stock. We have destroyed the Legion's siege engines and their explosives. Dargg's notes also mentioned the warbeast camp and the wyvern scout camp, but we only have a few days left and there is still a lot to do in Longshadow. I do expect the Rangers to arrive any day now, and they can probably help us. What do you think is most important?"
Grevayne purses his lips. "The town defenses, definitely. We should continue preparing Longshadow for attack. If we reach the last day or two and we are satisfied with our progress on those defenses, we should look into taking out the wyvern scouts. Aerial attackers will be able to bypass our walls with relative ease, which I do not like."
Sarge frowns and tries to recall anything he can about his time in the Molthuni army and what kinds of monster tactics they used.
Sarge vaguely remembers there being strife between the Molthuni leadership and Kosseruk's desire to employ beasts in place of siege engines. He knows that she never got a chance to test her strategies while part of the Molthuni army; perhaps that is one of the reasons she broke away and formed the Ironfang Legion?
Beyond that, he doesn't remember any specifics.
He listens to Sarge as he relays the information, then sighs and stares off into the middle distance. "If even the Molthunis were hesitant to unleash such creatures, that is of great concern to me. It sounds like this Kosseruk intends to deploy them in the same manner as the catapults--or perhaps something more insidious. Imagine living siege towers." He shudders at the thought. "But the town needs our help preparing more than anything. If it comes time and we have a day to spare, we will have to choose between the warbeasts and the flyers. For now, let us focus on Longshadow."
With Mac gone, he ponders how best to distribute the group. "Freyja, you will have to take the place of Mac seeing to the provisions. Sergeant, I assume you have experience training soldiers?"
The old man grunts a laugh. "Ya, a little." About fourteen years, to be precise, but he opts not to boast.
Grevayne nods. "Good. You see to training up some more fighters for the siege. Aubrin, if you could see to getting the townsfolk ready, that would be lovely." He scowls. "I will continue doing the only thing I am good at, apparently."
The mixed emotions are clear on Crawbert's face when you finish filling him in on the Ecru situation. "Between the siege engines and the explosives, it sounds like our walls will hold them off quite a bit longer than they would have a few days ago. It's terrible about Ecru, though; as far as I know, we've received no refugees from there. I fear the worst for them." He shakes hands with each of the party members. "It sounds like you have much planned for today, so I won't keep you. If you need anything, find a guard to get a message to me."
Grevayne nods, shakes the mayor's hand, and gets to work.
Sergeant Vargus gets to work finding capable young men and women and running them through basic drills. He's not hopeful of much, but if he can teach them how to properly hold a shield and swing a sword without cutting their own arms off, he'll be happy.
The fatigue that was abated by the potions this morning begins to creep back into the party around sunset, but you all fight through it and have quite a successful day of preparations. Grevayne places the alchemical weapons pilfered from Ecru at strategic locations around the city, and guides some skilled workers in town in making more. Sarge takes the healthiest of the refugees and former slaves that you have rescued and begins their basic training. And Freyja and Aubrin work with the farmers and trappers to fill larders in case there is a long siege. By the end of the day, every spare square inch of storage is taken up by foodstuffs and water.
You have dinner at The Canary around 8pm, and the exhaustion is really starting to sink in.
Grevayne sips an herbal tea, resting his deformed hand on the table as he lets his meal settle in his stomach. The city's larders are full; he'll have to find a new task for Aubrin and Freyja tomorrow. Thankfully he has yet to run out of places to put alchemical traps around town, or he'd be sitting here twiddling his thumbs and feeling useless.
Tomorrow will bring what it may. Perhaps Aubrin and Freyja can continue running drills with the militia while Sarge trains up the new recruits.
"For the first time in recent memory, I actually feel tired enough to sleep at a normal hour. I will see you all in the morning." He takes a last swig of his tea, then gives Freyja's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before nodding to the sergeant and heading upstairs. He gives an awkward smile to Gestelle. Say something, stupid.
He doesn't, of course. He simply gives her an even more awkward wave, then heads up to bed. He's too exhausted for conversation, anyway.
Sarge watches Grevayne leave, then rests his gaze on Freyja. "You have immense skill with that bow," he notes as he stabs a hunk of boiled potato with his fork. "Where did you train?" He shoves the starchy chunk in his mouth and chews mechanically, curious for her answer. He's seen plenty of archers in his time, but few with the kind of violent precision of Miss Vildmark.
For the first time since Phaendar, Freyja's past rushes back to the forefront of her mind. Her mouth goes dry and she gives Sarge and appraising glance. Can he be trusted? His showing up at Navah's tower at their exact moment of need was pretty convenient. Still, he has done nothing but support their cause since joining. No, her doubting him is simply her insecurity and paranoia returning.
Funny, she hadn't even realized that those feelings were gone. Too busy saving the world, she guesses.
She clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably in her chair. "Um. My pa taught me a little when I was a girl. Other than that, no formal training. Just lots of practice, I guess."
Change the subject. Change the subject. Change the subject.
"Do you have any kids?"
Nailed it.
Sarge's brow furrows as he studies Freyja's face. She is definitely not telling the whole story, but he can't tell if she's outright lying to him. He files it away for future reference. He likes his new companions, but he definitely doesn't trust them yet.
To her new line of inquiry, he chuckles. "No children. That's not really, erm... Oh, what is that term my XO used to call me? 'Confirmed bachelor,' that was it. Molthune is not a terribly progressive place, so I did not have any opportunities to marry. And when I joined the Knights of Ozem, my job was so dangerous that building a family was the last thing on my mind."
He moves his potatoes around with his fork, suddenly less hungry. "When I left the Knights, I thought about it once or twice. Settling down, adopting. But... again, new line of work just as dangerous as the first. But also..." He shrugs, returning his wrinkled gaze to the young ranger. "I did not feel I was a terribly good example to children, by that point. Seemed... hypocritical to want such a thing."
He sighs and pushes his plate away. "I think it is time for bed. We have busy days ahead of us and I fear I will need all the rest I can get. Good night, Herr Vildmark."
He stands, bows, and makes his way upstairs. In his room, he chastises himself quietly as he unbuckles the plates of his armor. Stupid old man, getting morose about could-have-beens. Is that what his old age is coming to? Regrets and crying about the family he never had? He chides himself again as he slips under his blankets, still grumbling as he drifts off into sleep.
Freyja nods knowingly; now here is something they agree on! Bringing children into this ugly world seems like a sin of the greatest degree.
She is lost in thought and doesn't initially reply as Sarge gets up and walks away. Right as he is disappearing around the landing of the stairs, she comes back to herself with a start. She calls "Oh! Good night, Sarge!" after him.
Idiot. Ugh, I hope he heard you.
She flushes and smiles an embarrassed smile at Gestelle, leaves a couple of silver on the table, and retires for the night.
4 days until the invasion
You awaken to snow and bitter cold. It's going to be a brutal day of working outside, but what must be done must be done.
As usual, Elise meets you at The Canary and escorts you to Crawbert's office. He greets you with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "Good news! I received word from the temple that Navah is expected to be fully recovered today. She has taken well to the treatments and is currently resting. I asked them to inform me immediately when she is lucid. Will you be staying in town today? I imagine you will want to hear what she has to say as well?"
Grevayne nods. "We are. There are still many preparations to be done, and besides, I am very curious what happened in that tower. Whatever it was, it cost our friend his life." He rests his chin on his hand, allowing melancholy to sink in for a moment.
But only a moment. There is still too much to do before the town is safe.
"Sarge, keep at those recruits coming for now. Aubrin, take Freyja and see to the townfolk's general readiness. Blankets, food, weaponry, you know the drill. Pay particular attention to medical supplies--there will be a lot of wounded regardless of how well this goes for us. I..." He sighs. There is literally only one job for him. "I will continue making little surprises for our incoming guests."
Sergeant nods solemnly and, after a hearty breakfast, gets to work whipping these sorry louts into shape.
The party works on their various tasks throughout the morning. All three tasks are coming along well, and at lunchtime, each group receives a summons from the Mayor's office.
You return to the town hall and find Crawbert, his advisors, and Navah! The crazed, distant look in her eyes is gone; as each of you enter, she meets your gaze with shame and sorrow.
Crawbert stands. "Ah! Here are Longshadow's heroes. As expected, Navah has fully recovered from her affliction. I am sorry to have interrupted your tasks, but I thought it was important to hear her story. Navah?"
Before Navah can respond, Seneka and the other advisors stand. "Begging your pardon, Mayor. We are going to go assist with the preparations." They each nod to Navah and to the party and leave.
Navah remains sitting, but she nods. When she speaks, her voice is small and weak, but steady. "I am a changeling. That means my mother was a hag. As a child, I never knew -- my mother wasn't around and my father told me she had died -- but, during my studies as an apprentice, I put the pieces together. I shifted the focus of my studies to transmutation and began creating... companions... to protect me if she ever returned to claim me. And return she did. She told me that it was time to move on from Nirmathas, since a Legion victory was all but inevitable. I disagreed, and we fought. You saw the aftermath of that fight. I managed to defeat her, but she cursed me with madness and paranoia before she fled." She looks down at her hands. "I am sorry that my creatures attacked you. That I attacked you. I know that one of your friends died. I am so sorry." She looks up with tear-filled eyes.
Grevayne realizes he's been clenching his jaw, and reluctantly unclenches it. He tries to keep his voice steady. "No one deserves to be imprisoned on a path they did not choose. You had every right to fight back. So far as I am concerned, Mac's death lies on the shoulders of your mother, not you."
He isn't sure he entirely believes it--his grief wants to settle the blame on someone close, someone he can lash out at--but he knows it's true. Or, at least, mostly true. She probably shouldn't have had so damn many dangerous creatures in one place, regardless.
He regards Navah with a steely gaze. "The hag. What is her name and kind? And did she mention a coven?"
Sarge watches Grevayne with equal parts curiosity and trepidation. He's seen that look before, when a soldier loses a squadmate with whom they were particularly close. The need for answers.
The need for vengeance.
He puts a hand on the dhampir's shoulder. "Perhaps these questions can wait until after the siege?"
Grevayne turns a withering glance at the sergeant. Its message is painfully clear: butt out.
It's Sarge's turn to clench his jaw, but he reminds himself the magus is still in grief. Besides, he does have a point. Sarge is new to this group; he didn't know this Mac person. He raises his hands in surrender and steps back wordlessly.
Grevayne flinches slightly at Sarge's response. He'd probably been too harsh. But at least the old man got the message.
Ha. "Old." You're probably older than him by a couple years.
Of course, that isn't middle age for him. He's already outlived Wu. Who else will he outlive?
The thought makes him both morose and dour as he returns his gaze to Navah, awaiting answers.
Navah holds a hand up to Sarge. "It's okay, really. My mother's name is Kusana and she is a blood hag. I have only met her the one time, so I don't know about a coven. I have no intention of becoming like her; in fact, I am terrified of it. The priest who healed me told me that her curse was especially effective on me because of this fear. She made me think that I was already transformed. It was awful." A sob wracks her body as she looks down at her hands again. Crawbert puts an arm around her and she turns her face into his side.
The Mayor looks at you. "Maybe that is enough for now. The schizophrenia is cured but she is only just beginning to recover."
Grevayne purses his lips thoughtfully and mutters, "Kusana. Blood hag." He nods. "Thank you." He strides out without saying another word.
Sarge raises his eyebrows at Freyja in a silent "yikes" look, before following Grevayne out, nodding to the mayor on his way. He is making good progress with the recruits, he thinks, but there is still much more work to do.
Crawbert comforts Navah as the party returns to their duties.
Grevayne continues the production of and placement of alchemical weapons at strategic places throughout the city. By the end of the day, he feels as if he has accomplished quite a lot and that one more full day at it will maximize Longshadow's readiness in this area.
Sarge and Freyja aren't so lucky. Sarge returns to the training field to find that about half of his recruits are no longer there and the rest are morose and unmotivated. Freyja, meanwhile, has it even worse: a fire broke out in the makeshift triage she and Aubrin had begun organizing; many medical supplies were lost and several of the apprentice healers they were training were pretty badly burnt.
Sarge strides into the training yard furiously and bellows, "At-ten-"
When he has their attention he snaps, "This is the lauded Nirmathas spirit? Pathetic! You live your lives on the edge of one of the world's wildest frontiers, a forest whose danger is legendary, and yet here you are! Moping and simpering at the thought of a few hobgoblins! HOBGOBLINS! My grandmother, Pharasma bless her soul, could take a f&!$ing hobgoblin. YOU are Nirmathi! You are iron-blooded and steel-hearted! So start acting like it!"
Sarge is accustomed to training soldiers and, as such, he is accustomed to discipline and obedience. This group (or what's left of it) is most decidedly not made up of soldiers. Almost no one reacts at all to his tirade. In fact, one particularly surly farmer (armed with a pitchfork) steps forward, mutters, "You need to get on the same page with your crew, man. If we stay here, we all die," and keeps on walking, right out of the training ground.
"Fine," Sarge snaps. "Go die out there then, and let your neighbors get slaughtered because you were afraid to stand and defend them. Cowards."
He storms off, huffing in disgust. He never thought he'd actually miss the Knights of Ozem.
The mood back in the Mayor's office is tense. Though Grevayne had a good day, no one else did. You are standing around, discussing what went wrong and what changes you could make to prevent those things happening again. The Mayor and his advisors are arguing about whether the efforts are even worth it and whether it would have been wiser to evacuate the city days ago.
During a particularly heated exchange, Solomon Zane points his finger angrily at Crawbert. As he does so, the sleeve of his vestment pulls back, and you notice a heavy bandage on his forearm for a split second before he pulls the sleeve back down.
Sarge raises a hand and snaps, "Achtung!"
He then slowly points to Solomon. "You. What happened to your arm?"