The small, brick walled smithy had been fired up for work. The dull copper-colored bricks of Forgril's tiny home extended out to a corner of the stable styled smithy he had built so many years ago. The wooden supports and siding long since worn and seeming a bit tattered.
Speaking of Fogril, the dwarf didn't look in much better condition than his smithy most days. While everything was in it's proper place, much like his smithy, he was a largely unkept and unfit individual. His black hair was always hanging back in a wild and shaggy mane, and his long beard was simply tied in a knot around his bulging belly. He wore no jewelry, bore no tattoos, and his dark eyes left his current emotion hard to judge. Thankfully, he at least bathed regularly and wore clean clothing. Though you would be forgiven for thinking he had nothing outside his working overalls, boots, and gloves.
He had come to Dagna the day before, mentioning a large task Tel Bays had requested of him. First though, was a new set of shoes for the Toom's draft horses. The older dwarf would occasionally fiddle with the piping to his still, studying the joints of it carefully.
"Milana should have a fine spread for the stump today." he mentioned as he finished up after Dagna's own set, "Finer still with my latest batch of hooch." The dwarf wiped his brow and then laid his handkerchief onto his shoulder. He looked up into the sky, noting the sun reaching the noon mark and nodded.
The two story inn had been repaired completely, and decorated expertly in the last three years. The thatch on top of the ranch style structure brand new. The shutters, the paneling, and even the furniture were maple that had been stained dark and detailed by Miles on request. Milana all too happy to keep the man busy.
She had been expanding her craft as well. Making her own cheeses, curing meats to keep them fresh, and even experimenting with new baked desserts to try and curry favor with the surviving villagers old and new. While there weren't enough living residents to keep the inn and surviving farm full, a proper weekly lunch around the stump outside Fogrils always fostered a sense of community.
Honestly, no one would have blamed the woman if she had left her inn mostly destroyed. If she had grieved for her husband and let things sit. Milana however, had never stopped being an adventurous woman simply because she had settled down. Indeed, her favorite rapier was mounted above the hearth of the inn. Crossing her husbands longsword across a small banner of their old mercenary group. She had been a leader in the community before the attack, and after burying her husband and friends she had made up her mind that she was going to take on that role entirely now.
She was on the shorter side. Barely two feet taller than her helpers. She was also fairly slender with a wealth of curves despite. Just nearing middle age, it could be argued her best years were ahead of her. Still, she kept her husbands portrait near her. A slight smile on her fair features, and humming his favorite tune when she would brush her waist length wealth of wheat blond hair. She favored simple dresses, but she had a variety of them. Each a different color, but several a rich cardinal red.
The inside of the inn had been quiet, but Milana's thrice expanded garden yard and animal pen were active. The chickens, rabbits, ducks, pigs, horses, and cows had all needed tending to. Milana had milked the cows and brushed the horses before moving into the garden with Timothy. Leaving the smaller animals to Miles as she picked some ripening tomatoes. "I thank you two for coming to help me." she said over the noise of the livestock, "It's always a big production making the weekly noon meal. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"
Tel Beys had also been active at the windmill with Ulthak's as a strong armed helper. The steady ring of hammer on stone had been wringing out regularly. She had borrowed the inn's wagon earlier in the week and went to dig rock further down the road. She had been thrilled to discover some marble, and quarried out some heavy stones she intended to turn into tile. With his help, of course.
In three years the mill had seen barely more than enough work to keep it turning. Three of the four arms on the windmill had been repaired, the fourth remaining tattered and half burnt. The insides not much better off. The supports for the granary attached to the windmill were all new. Even the good ones that remained had been properly replaced. The outside however, had many opening in the siding and scorched planks of wood that remained as they had ended up after the goblin attack.
This was mostly due to the woman's attitude toward the windmill. She had wanted to get it back running, and had also wanted to build a watchtower along the side of the structure. When it came to shoring it up however, she was forever finding other projects more worth her time. The marble, for example, would be for a bathhouse near the river. Whenever one would ask she would wave it off. Stating that if she ever finished it she would have nothing to do.
Tel Beys had been a hospitaler before the sharding. Riding between the small villages and shoring up the various windmills, small bridges, and road as needed. Keeping an eye out for bandits, goblins, and kobolds. She had a rather interesting conversation with Ulthak the day the half orc had wandered in. One that brought a faint smile to her stern features if anyone asked her of it.
The half elf woman was tall, lithe, muscular, and seemed perpetually at half-attention. She was middle aged, and her stern features might be seen as pretty if not for half of her face being badly scarred from fire. She also had a slight limp in her left leg. Her head was shaved on the side of the burning, her scars reaching back across her scalp, and was pulled back into a side ponytail on the other side. Her platinum blonde hair doing a fair job of hiding some of the gray coming in. She wasn't very sociable, preferring her own company, but she did come in to share meals with others at Milana's request. On occasion she would check in on the Tooms as well. With the help of a borrowed horse.
Now, as the sun started to climb toward noon she paused, taking a moment to wipe her brow with her sleeve and look back in the direction of the Inn and Smithy down the road. "Well, big man." she mused, "Suppose we should make an appearance for the weekly meal eh?" The woman regarded him, looking at him as if measuring him. This was something she had done at their first meeting, and something she still did every meeting since. At first it had seemed as if she had some bias against him, until he noticed she did the same to anyone who could obviously fight. Not so much those that were less obvious, though she knew Milana could use her a rapier expertly.
Things were quieter at the Toom's farm. The animals already taken care of, and much of the field work done the day before. Martin Tooms was a dark haired, wiry man of middling years. Currently he was using a scythe to cut grass on the back end of his farm. Removing any cover near his fields.
His son was with his mother and adopted sister back at the homestead. Nearing adolescence and looking every bit his father's son Thomas would likely start working the farther stretches of land with his father soon. The boy had practiced regularly with a bow so he could look out for his mother and new sister. A sister that honestly had a bit of a crush on her older brother. The mousey haired Thompson girl was often seen at her brother's heel rather than her new mother. Despite how often he told her not to. Yana was also dark haired, and there had been a rumor in the past she was actually Chell. Having escaped some dark fate only to end up marrying a poor farmer. This had been nonsense of the highest order, and nonsense she had tolerated with a soft chuckle and a shake of her head. She was almost painfully thin looking at her, but with a quiet strength and a deceptive smile.
Martin had asked Lathliss to stop over the evening before, and now the cleric was nearing the field in question. It seemed odd that the man would stay at the farm when a proper lunch was going to be served shortly at the stump in town.
As the half-elf approached the farmhouse he saw Yana seated on the porch doing needlework. Little Alberta was sat on the step drawing in the dirt with a stick. Thomas was not in sight at first, but he saw the lad swing down the rope from the hayloft a moment later. Sporting bow and quiver. "Morning ser." Yana greeted him, "Martin's out in the field, but if you'd prefer to wait he should be done around noon. I made some lemonade earlier. You're welcome to a glass."
He spreads his hands in the shape of an arrow and mutters a blessing, "Old Deadeye, give this youth your aim." He turns back to Yana, a small smile breaking out. "I appreciate the offer Yana, but I would like to know why Thomas asked for me. Perhaps I'll take that glass when we're done." Saying such, he turns and strolls into the field, breathing deep the scent of the farm around him. Approaching the farmer, he raises a hand and calls out, "Erastil's blessings Thomas! Would you like assistance clearing the area?"
"I'm with Miles, there," the nearly middle-aged cobbler says, "almost always up to try something new. I'll be glad to help carry things to the stump as well. I may not be strong, but an extra set of hands can never hurt."
In contrast to Miles' upbeat demeanor, Timothy is generally more reserved. Between his age slowly catching up to him, somehow faster than it should, losing his apprentice, and everything... his enthusiasm has gradually dwindled over the years, but he is still open to help the community at any chance after the Sundering.
With a grunt Ulthak lifted another slab of marble and carried it over to the pile. Him and Tel Beys must have been quite a sight. She was tall, lithe, muscular, and scarred by fire. But through it all, she had a presence about her that commanded respect. He was tall and bulky, his body covered in tattoos. But where she stood up tall, her aura one of command, he kept his head down. Despite his size and strength, he had spent his life in Belkzen, where orcs of similar build were a dime a dozen. Many were even larger, and all were violent. He still didn't see himself as being especially dangerous, even if his new community seemed to be made out of people who were remarkably frail. Even now, being physically free, he was mentally still shackled by his former life. While others might have been put off by her constantly sizing people up, to him it was merely a survival skill. Even when working, he wore his leather, for without it he could not relax. One never knew when someone with an axe might make a swing at you, afterall. Furthermore, he had his spear and shield slung over his back. It was a weapon made in the style of his tribe, with the two attached to each other. It left the other hand free to throw javelins on the approach, a style of warfare that the orcs had been very proud of. It was the only way he knew how to fight, and to be without a means of self-defense felt suicidal...even after years of living in peace. Not having it on him caused his heart to beat faster and his palms to sweat. Even then, working as he was, he would periodically glance to the doors and windows.
Truth be told, he liked spending time with Tel Beys. She accepted him without restraint, which was a welcome change. That, and he could tell that she was a warrior who knew how to use a blade. Not only did he respect that, but it made him feel safer to know that the person he was working with could watch his back. That was a luxury he had rarely known. And moreso, she was always working. Belkzen had been slowly falling apart, with the orcs living there refusing to do anything to better their city. Instead, they merely relied on the craftsmanship of the dwarven architects and masons who had built it. Actively working to make something, rather than tear it down, was cathartic. It was why he enjoyed leatherworking so much. It was not just a practical skill, but it represented to him a true change in his life. It was adopting a lifestyle truly different from the one he had fled from.
He looked up when she suggested heading down the road for a meal. He didn't say a word. Rather he grunted in affirmation, stretched, and dusted his hands off. Motioning for her to lead the way, he followed her into the town proper.
Phew. She wiped sweat from her forehead, putting her tools down. You mentioned a big task Tel Bays had for us?
Fogril waved off the question as he wiped down his tools and prepared to head over for the lunch. "I am of a mind she might mention it at the stump." he explains, "So you may as well hear it from her." He wastes no time in bending over his still, hips rocking to and fro as he hums and fills a pair of gourds with the potent brew. Once that was done he nodded to Dagna and made his way to the stump.
*****************************
Milana moved to the kitchen after collecting her goods and tending to the livestock and crops. Humming as she worked in the kitchen she put out the low fire beneath the stove and transferred the fresh bread to a basket. She pulled her delicate fingers back and kissed them lightly after they were scorched from the freshly baked loaves.
As she works on finishing some prepared dishes and collecting sides she hands the baskets and woodwork dishes and utensils to the two men helping her. "I think you'll like today's meal." she reasons, "There is a little of everything today."
******************************
Tel Beys led the way back down the lane. The pair of them walking in silence. The woman seemed deep in thought, likely going over her plans. As the two made their way to the stump they found others gathering there. Timothy heading from the inn with Milana and Miles not far behind. The two dwarves from the smithy coming to the stump as well. Ulthak noticed a thin smile come across Tel Bey's lips at the familiar gathering. Her walk becoming easier despite her persistent limp. Unlike the half orc this woman could let herself relax some of the time. Whether he would learn to follow her lead remained to be seen, but she had never brought the topic up to him.
**********************************
As the cleric approaches Martin he notes that Thomas stays back with his mother. The farmer doesn't look away from his work, and Lathliss notes his gaze was on the tall grass beyond. "There's a pair of goblins wandered around here last night." Martin explains with a pointed look toward a small cluster of trees in the tall grass, "They came back early this morning and have been laying low out there. Though they occasionally pop their heads up. You think you could get some of the others to come out here from the stump? I don't dare leave Yana and the kids."
Walking into the Stump, Ulthak looked around warily. Instinctively he moved away from the dwarves, not wanting any trouble with them. Not that he had ever had any, but it wasn't exactly logical. It was more of a gut feeling. That and he disliked crowds. He took a deep breath to calm himself and focused on the calming weight of the shield on his back. Being high strung was counter productive, as he had come for a meal. With that in mind he followed Tel Bys.
Lathliss stretches his arms out, doing his best to casually look in the direction indicated. "I understand. Keep an eye out if they try to withdraw from this area. We can't have them leaving and reporting back to their tribe." He searches his person and sighs, coming up empty. "We should ask Fogril if he can make some alarm whistles, try and give us a bit more warning should these things continue to happen."
Saying his piece, Lathliss begins to hustle back towards the Stump, unlimbering his bow along the way. As he gets there and sees everyone gathered, he lets out a quick sharp whistle, drawing eyes his way. "Everyone, we've got a problem. Goblins are poking around the Tooms' farm. It seems they're just observing at the moment, and Martin is keeping an eye on them, but they need to be taken care of." Lathliss pulls out his holy symbol, praying quickly, "Erastil, grant your protection to this community, and to those about to embark on a hunt to keep it safe."
Making the symbol of the arrow, he waves behind him, "All who wish to partake in this skirmish, follow me back to the farm."
Food would have to wait. Immediately the half-orc turned. He knew Lathliss, he was a good man, who followed Old One Eye. If he needed assistance then that he would have. Pulling his spear and shield from his back, he took them in hand and walked towards the door, only slowing to see who else would come.
Miles carries his load of items to the stump and sets them down. He then walks up to Ulthak noticing him shy away and smiles and claps him on the shoulder. "It's a good day for a fine feast my friend!" he almost sings to him.
When Lathliss hurries in and makes his pronouncement he says "You have my aid. We should probably try to approach the goblins from the side or better yet behind if we can so they have less of a chance of getting away." He then looks to Tel Beys and Milana to see what they have to say.
Any mention of goblins is sure to get Timothy's attention, so once mentioned, he immediately speaks. "You hardly needed to ask for me to join you. The Toom's farm? I'll ensure only the goblins deal with the brunt of my damage."
Lathliss pulls an arrow out of his quiver, sight checking its straightness and running his thumb along the fletching as he hustles back to the Toom's farm. Satisfied, he nocks the arrow and keeps moving.
The group gathers together in a hurry and makes their way back to the Toom's farm. When they find Martin he has not moved from where he is keeping watch. He nods to the party as they come in.
"They're still in there." he explains as he gestures to the copse of trees in the tall grass, "They were up to something over there a moment ago." He indicates the space directly between two different groups of trees.
Miles makes sure his bow is ready and tries to look where Martin indicates they were up to something and nods that he is ready.
Lathliss nods, "Appreciate the warning Martin. Hopefully they don't have a nasty surprise waiting for us." He turns to the rest of the group and asks, "Shall we take a two pronged approach? Ranged combatants circle around the copse while everyone else slowly approaches from the front?"
"That works." Ulthak said, keeping his eyes firmly focused ahead. Spear and shield out, he cautiously approached...
"Line them up if possible, is the only thing I have to add to that, as otherwise I agree." Timothy sounds very ready to torch goblins, and you can almost hear the man crying from either anger or grief already.
Lathliss quickly stows his bow, realizing only Ulthak would be going up the middle. He draws his own spear and shield and begins slowly advancing, giving Timothy and Miles time to flank out to the side of the copse.
As the group creeps forward through the tall grass almost everyone noticed a small figure hunched in the weeds ahead of them. Pulling up short to peer ahead they consider their options. The squat shape doesn't move at all.
As Miles peers at the figure he noticed it had an odd bit of hay protruding from it's neck, and that there was a gap between it's stuffed head and it's padded shoulders!
As Ulthak stands hunched forward and poised to strike he notices something about the odd form just as Miles had, unlike Miles though he also spots a bit of color to his right. Turning his head he notices a goblin about twenty feet away squatted down in the grass. It was fiddling with a misshapen and discolored glass vial.
Miles looks to Timothy and whipsers "Watch out! That is a fake! It's some sort of diversion or trap so keep an eye out for goblins." He then stops advancing and gets lower in the grass.
Seeing the goblin fiddling with a vial, Ulthak’s eyes narrowed. In one fluid motion he had a javelin taken from his back, a step forward was taken, and he launched it. He had no idea what it was doing, or what it was holding, but he didn’t quite care. Whatever it was, they could figure it out when it was dead.
Standing next to Ulthak, Lathliss is surprised at the half-orc's quick movement and tenses, expecting more to come.
The goblin only noticed the movement by the half orc at the last moment, and by then it was far too late. Hunched over as he was the javelin plunged down between it's neck and collarbone. The last sound the goblin made a cut off breath as pointed tip carved through diaphragm and organs. It sunk forward from it's hunched position.
A pop and a hiss came a moment later before the vial it had been preparing ignited when exposed to the air and erupted into flames that consumed the goblin and the grass around it.
It was at this time another goblin popped up from the grass on the other side of the dummy goblin. Not more than ten feet from miles. One hand was raised high and clutching a similar glass vial, which it hucked at Ulthak with a curse. It didn't stay to see the result though, turning and moving away from the group through the grass.
The half orc gets his shield up just in time, and as the glass vial shatters and splatters it's contents they erupt into flames. A few flaming drops dribble off onto his weapon arm, but the pain is little worse than he would get around a campfire were he not careful.
Initiative Order:
Lathliss
Ulthak
Timothy
Goblin
Miles
The goblin is 30' from miles, 50-60 from the rest of the group.
Lathliss curses, dropping his shield and spear, and whipping out his bow. He sights down the shaft of his arrow and breathes a prayer, "Erastil grant me your vision." He releases the string and looses the projectile in the span of a breath from his draw.
Timothy decides to try to fry the Goblin alive, anger present on his face as he recalls what their tribe has done.
Grimacing as the wave of fire washing over his shield, Ulthak charged forward. The fleeing goblin was not going to get away if he could help it. If for no other reason, he owed it a debt of pain.
The remaining goblin only grows more panicked as Lathliss arrow slams into it. Stumbling as it runs. The feathered tops of the grass around it ignite as Timothy casts his spell.
The goblin itself shrieks and ducks to the side as it's face is engulfed, wailing and wheezing as it runs. Ulthak is able to catch up with it while it was distracted and it looks up horrified before trying to escape.
It ducks under the heavy sweep of his spiked shield, hands hitting the ground for a moment before taking off in a full sprint.
Initiative Order:
Lathliss
Ulthak
Timothy
Goblin
Miles
The goblin is 120' from Ulthak, more from the rest of the group.
With a grunt, Ulthak took a running start with a javelin in hand. Deciding that all that he really had to lose was the javelin, he launched it with as much strength as he could, and with a prayer on his lips watched as it flew towards the fleeing goblin.
Seeing the goblin take off Miles fires as he runs.
Timothy tries to fire off one bolt at the Goblin, none of his spells able to reach the thing.
Lathliss moves forward, trying to reduce the distance between him and the goblin and keep a clear sight-line.
Nocking and raising his bow to account for distance, Lathliss fires off another shot.
"Stag's horn!" he curses as his arrow ranges ahead of the goblin, landing off in the field.
The group hustles after the goblin, fumbling with weapons and trying to make a desperate kill on the fleeing goblin.
Ulthak, with the confidence only someone with orc blood could have hurling a weapon, launches a javelin in an impressive arc through the air. It was a throw most men couldn't make, let alone accurately, and it was hard to tell how he could have even aimed such a toss.
...and it hit. Burying itself into the back of the goblin who planted face first into the tall grass. When the group caught up to the spot it fell they found it facedown in the ground, and the javelin was stuck clean through into the dirt below.
Once the party was done admiring his work though, they noticed smoke at a distance. Not from the discarded alchemist fire in the grass behind them, but rising from the distant inn.
Miles looks up and sees the smoke from the inn. He says "Quick! We need to get back to the inn!" He then takes off running the quickest way to the inn. He shouts to Mr. Tooms "Keep a sharp eye! They may send more! We must get to the Inn"
Ulthak had finished retrieving his first javelin and was about to go for the second when Miles called for everyone to rush back. He hesitated, not wanting to let the weapon go. That, and he was curious to see what the goblin had on it. Still, it wasn't worth it if the delay meant that something unforgiveable had happened while they were gone. With a frustrated grunt the half-orc turned and stalked after the bard, heading back towards the inn.
Turning around and stopping only briefly to pick up his spear, Lathliss hustles after the others. "We need to ask if Fogril can make warning bells in case something like this happens again!" He begins praying in between his controlled breathing, only audible to those paying attention, Elk Father, give us the swiftness of your Sacred Stag, that we may protect the community under your watchful eye from the harm that befalls them.
"I swear," Timothy says as he starts running after he picked up his bolt from the Goblin, "if the goblins cause this all of them are going to get the fire they love so, so much. Personally."
As the group rushes to the inn they notice the smoke did not belong to a wholesale blaze, thank whatever gods they will. The open porch had caught fire as what seemed another vial of alchemist fire had hit the front corner and crawled it's way up. For now the fire had not spread to the inn proper, though it might in time.
The main entrance to the smithy bore a charred circle in the dirt, and Fogril had been dragged aside by Tel Bays who was splayed over him protectively. Her spear was discarded to the side and her lame leg had started to bleed. She lifts her head as the group approaches, blood running down her face from a forehead wound. Fogril himself lay very still under her, a nasty burn wound running from one side of his chest and up his collar to his jaw on that side.
"The inn!" she forced out looking on with horror, "They're inside the inn!"
Lathliss pulls to a stop next to them. "Tel Beys, where are the others? And how many goblins are there?" He looks at the fire, trying to consider the best way to disperse it before it reaches the inn, but not knowing where the rest of their small community was holed up was eating at him.
"They came from different directions." she says as if trying to recall, "F-five, maybe six. Milana is in there!"
"Right. I'm going in the front. If someone wants to go around the back, then do it now." The half-orc said. His eyes fixed on the inn he stalked forward, shield in hand and threw the door open.
"I will aid you in anyway I can," Timothy says as he hoists his crossbow and follows Ulthak.
Miles looks at the porch and then to Lathliss and says "Can you put some water on the fire and then head around with me?" He then looks at Tel Bays "Can you move him and then finish putting the fire out or failing that knock it down and away from the inn while we take care of the goblins?"
He then places his and on an unburning part of the porch and releases energy into it mending it.
Lathliss finds a nearby bucket and begins praying, working to create water and throw it at the base of the flames. "Erastil, fill this vessel with water to save this pillar of the community!" After throwing the water, he leads the way around the back, spear out.
Lathliss hoists a bucket and throws it over the fire. The fire isn't extinguished, but the soaked timber and partly smothered flames make it seem unlikely what remains will spread. At the same time Miles approaches the scorched base of the porch and manages some minor repairs through mending. Charred wood smooths and knits together while the burnt ashes remain on the surface.
Meanwhile, hearing that goblins are running amok in the inn, and that Milana is still inside Ulthak wastes no time in running to the door. Ignoring the flames and throwing it open to get at the goblins inside. Tim is right behind him, and as they look inside they see a sight of carnage.
Milana is backed defensively between a table and shelf by the hearth. Her rapier pulled from the decorative plaque above it and her husband's sword in her free hand. One goblin lay dead near the hearth, with two more standing before her menacing the woman with clubs. They seemed hesitant to commit to an assault, but were working up the courage with the numbers advantage.
Meanwhile, there were two other goblins present in the middle of the inn. One jumped up and down on a table near the conflict with Milana. Cursing on his fellows and alternating between eating some of the food left from trays brought in from the afternoon meal and throwing dishes at Milana. The other one stood on the bar, drinking from a large bottle and looking on bleary eyes and blinking.
If that wasn't bad enough, a pair of goblins were marching down the stairs at that moment. Sporting woman's undergarments on their person and smiling gayly. One had a corselette across his torso and the other one had underpants atop his head.
Initiative:
The goblins blink and turn as the door opens. With the two nearest Milana noting the reinforcements and deciding to attack.
Milana is surprised by their rush, and both their low strikes come in at hip level. She dips her rapier down to defend, but doesn't have the strength to push back the strike she tries to block with such a slender blade. She moans in pain as she takes a blow to both her hip and opposing thigh, but returns a dangerous swipe that makes the two ease back.
The goblin drunk on the bar watches, the scene taking a moment to process before he chuckles.
The goblin on the table cheers his fellows and picks up a plate. He throws it at Ulthak, but the distance of the toss left it shattering on the wall several feet off target.
The two goblins on the steps widen their eyes and rush over to try and engage the two newcomers.
Ulthak grunted as a club bounced off of his back. It would certainly leave a bruise. Thus far, goblins had tried to set him on fire and to break his bones, two things which did little to endear them to him. The half-orc turned, shield and spear in hand. Too close to easily stab, he instead used the shield to backhand the goblin across the face. The shield channeled the elemental power within him, causing it to dance with electricity.
Timothy lines up a flame arc, his old reliable magic trick from a combination of study and sheer luck, and hurls it at two of the goblins who are all, already, neatly lined up. (DC 14 Reflex). His face portrays an angry snarl at the mere sight of goblins.
Initiative Order:
Goblins
Ulthak [Current Initiative]
Lathliss [1 round delay]
Tim
Milana
Miles [0-1 round delay]
Ulthak moves forward to attack but the goblin leaned back just enough the shield waved past it's face, the electricity causing it's hair to stand.
Milana faced down her attacker bravely, but seeing held had arrived she did the smart thing and brought both blades up in a guard against the pair of goblins trying to get at her.
Miles picked his choice of paths to join the combat in the inn.
The two goblins facing the woman scowl at her, and decide to turn and move toward the larger combat. Meanwhile the two Ulthak approached split up. The thought of attacking Timothy more appealing to one goblin than even considering a two against one against mighty Ulthak.
The one curling around to Timothy gives an unexpected hop, swinging high and catching the arcanist's brow. The one facing Ulthak swings wide, but is easily intercepted by the half orc's shield.
As the other goblins pile in the one at the bar takes a large bottle of wine and comes closer so he has a clear throwing arc at Ulthak.
This throw also goes wide, smashing on the wall behind the half orc. The final goblin near Milana readies it's club, regarding the woman warily.