Morning sunlight spills over the rooftops of Phaendar, gilding the thatched eaves and warming the packed-dirt streets. The town hums with life, the quiet routines of daily work replaced by the vibrant energy of the Market Festival.
The scent of fresh-baked honeycakes and spiced cider drifts from a baker’s stall, mingling with the tang of smoked fish and the sharp bite of freshly cut lumber. Farmers from the Nesmian Plains barter over bleating goats, their voices rising above the steady murmur of the crowd. Prospectors from the Hollow Hills swap tales of hidden silver veins, while woodcutters from the Fangwood unload rough-hewn planks, their axes slung over broad shoulders.
Bright pennants snap in the breeze, strung between stalls overflowing with goods—dyed fabrics from Tamran, iron tools, glass trinkets that catch the morning light. A fiddler plucks out a merry tune near the square, where children weave between carts, chasing each other with shrieks of laughter.
For now, the world is simple; coin changing hands, stories shared over tankards, and the promise of an easy day ahead. It's a rare reprieve for the hardworking Nirmathi, for today they bask in the easy warmth of community and celebration. The air is light, the worries of tomorrow forgotten, and all is at peace amongst the bustle of the festival.
The sun had barely kissed the horizon when Reknar made his way through the streets of Phaendar, the familiar scents filling the air. He had arrived in town the previous evening, just in time for a quiet dinner with Alda and Elmer. As usual, his adoptive father greeted him with a hearty clap on the shoulder, while his adoptive mother had insisted on filling his plate before he could even sit down. The warmth of their home, the crackling fire, and the hearty meal had been a welcome respite. Afterward, they’d stayed up late, laughing at old stories, and he had spent the night under their roof, the creak of the floors and the scent of fresh hay reminding him of why, despite the miles he traveled, this would always be home.
Now, with the Market Festival in full swing, Reknar was eager to take part. The streets were alive with the sound of the crowd, and he made his way through it, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Morning, Mira!” he called to a neighbor, raising a hand in greeting. His voice was deep, but friendly, carrying easily over the crowd.
The stout farmer waved back, her face creased in a smile. "Back already? Didn't think I'd see you 'til the cider ran dry at the Taproot!"
Reknar chuckled, his tusks briefly flashing as he leaned in to help Alda unload crates of fresh produce. "I don’t plan on making trouble today. Just wanted to see how things are going here. Maybe take a walk through the stalls."
As he moved through the market, he paused by the wooden carts where local artisans were displaying their wares, exchanging a few words with familiar faces. Here, many knew his name. Even those who had once been wary of his orcish heritage had come to grant him a measure of respect as one of their own, and he had earned a reputation as someone who could be relied on for hard work and a good laugh.
A small group of children ran past him, giggling as they chased after each other, and the half-orc grunted softly, remembering when he’d been their age, running around the same dusty streets, getting into trouble.
Eventually, he made his way toward the Taproot Inn, his stomach growling as he imagined the warm food and strong drinks awaiting him. A loud voice caught his attention - Aubrin the Green was standing atop a makeshift stage, enticing a crowd with tales of her adventures in the wilds of the Fangwood. Reknar couldn't help but chuckle. Aubrin had a way of drawing people in, even if he thought the stories sometimes stretched the truth a little.
“Maybe I’ll listen for a while,” he thought, pushing open the door to the Taproot Inn, the familiar smells of roasted meat and hops greeting him. The sound of laughter and clinking mugs filled the air, and for the moment, he was content to let the warmth of the festival take him in.
Craig had gotten up early that morning in his family's crowded and rickety dwelling. A bit of banter with the siblings, a chore or two, and then he headed to the town proper. Of course he ran into that idiot who was abusing his horse when the animal had saved the rider from a viper bite. Craig wanted to beat the man till Pharasma wouldn't want to see him, but instead he'd kept his cool, told the man the horse could be saved but there would be a price and... long yarn cut short, now Elder Noelin had a horse in his care that was recovering from a snake bite but would belong to the town if it lived.
The Riverwood Shrine was a haven to many in the town, few more so than Craig. He remembered praying before the statue of Erastil with a heart full of guilt and regret as understanding that Old Deadeye's ways were still there ready for him to come home. A lot of folks seemed surprised at how fiercely the then juvenile had turned it around, but Craig had been helping tend to the Shrine and aiding Elder Noelin for pert near six years. And when Craig found his healing going beyond mere bandaging and into true if minor miracles of true faith, the Elder declared him a right proper cleric of Erastil!
Mama and papa had made a fuss about it, all proud. But Craig didn't put on airs if he could help it; Erastil prized humility. Craig set about to sweeping the Shrine floor, wiping down the statues with the right oils, and so on. And he took a few minutes to pray today, asking his god to look after the folk of Phaendar.
"The horse is put away and resting, lad, " Elder Noelin spoke up once he saw Craig was done, "Go on and have fun. It's Market Festival! You're young. Go have a tankard with friends, dance with a young lady who wants a partner for the hoofing. This is everyone's day to relax. I know I intend to. Go be part of it."
It was about the gentlest way possible for someone to be told to get lost already and it made Craig smile, "Yes, Elder. But don't hesitate to call for me if someone needs tending?"
The Elder made a less dignified shooing motion, but nodded.
----------
By the time Craig left the Shrine, early start to the day or not, the Market Festival was already in full swing when the young cleric came in view of the crowds. The young man had a lot of Varisian in him, his mother's side, with a light olive skin that tanned easily in his hard work under the sun. His dark walnut hair was perpetually tousled and some ladies liked his amber eyes. Still having a devil of a time growing a beard though and THAT was annoying to the young man. He still wore the gear and colors of a cleric of Erastil though, favoring the browns and greens the god seemed to prefer. It wasn't to rub it anyone's face, but rather announce if someone got hurt; a healer was among em!
Mind you, that healer was heading towards the Taproot Inn, both to bend an elbow, and maybe keep a brotherly eye on his slightly younger sister Nayda.
Townsfolk greeted him, the older folk with with inquiry about his parents and how his kin were doing, he answered with warm assurance all was well. His folks were poor but they had each other.
Folks his own age were flirting with each other, most dressed in slightly finer clothes than usual and peacocking just a bit. Craig heard some ladies his age giggling near a fence and wondered if he was the subject of that, and if that was good or bad?
Craig smiled as he saw that Stefan, his ten year old brother was done with his own chores and racing against other younguns in an impromptu foot race, "You got this, Stefan!" He called out encouragingly.
Ahead of him, he saw Reknar entering the Taproot Inn, looks like they had the same idea. He'd call out a greeting to the fellow but the bard had already slipped in.
Man has the right idea.
And he too goes in.
Nayda Lawrence was already there, Craig's sister was only a year younger than him. At one time, Nayda had been quite the tomboy, and still was in a lot of ways, it was obvious she was going just a bit extra this day; her hair was brushed and braided nicely, her peasant blouse was down right fancy by her usual standards, and her breaches fit better than what she usually wore.
He greeted her, "Didn't waste much time getting here did you?"
She retorts "You BETTER not be checking up on me, 'big' brother. It's my day off too."
Craig assured her, "I'm here under Elder's orders." A bit of humor in his eyes.
Tern adjusted his half-cloak, shifting Pippin in place as he did so. He gave the dozing bird an inquisitive look. Then, he pressed a finger into it's downy white chest, stroking it's feathers underneath his fingertip until it stirred and opened a half lidded eye. The man then presented a pinch of his meat pie which the owlet quickly devoured. The little grey and coal dusted coloring of it's back and wings rippling as it fluffed itself and nestled in near his collar.
With his pet tended to the thin man sighed and folded the handkerchief he had been eating out of into his pocket. It was a beautiful day, if you ignored the bustle of the crowds around him. He had wanted to finish his business before the festival came on in full, but had been delayed on his travels.
Looking across the street he saw a pair of children shopping with their mother, looking terribly bored until they caught sight of his little owl. Noting their sudden interest he smiled and lifted his hand, two fingers apart. Between them was a small bone, and as he mouthed a few words and pressed inward the bone folded in on itself. He fiddled with it a bit more, then flicked it over to the children. It was a crude little trinket of an owl, not even worth a copper, but oh how their eyes widened. He raised a finger to his lips and rose from his chair to walk away.
It had been a difficult trip to get here. But he had wanted to secure some gold and supplies. The plants and animal pelts he had brought with him had sold well enough, but he still didn't have enough for the kind of kit and tackle he really needed. At least not with these prices. He had spent a good portion of the previous season trapping and gathering just for that reason.
Even Valtyra had refused to budge, though he expected she had been giving him the fairest offer he would see.
Turning down the main road he sighed again, smoothing his hair back out of his face and considering his plans. He had been lazily putting off considering his future, content to let his parents cabin continue to grow over. But now it was hardly livable, even for him. Well, if worst came to worse he might be able to charm a shopkeeper. Or a horse for that matter. It wouldn't do him any good to convince a domesticated animal to walk into a pitfall, but maybe he could convince it to act lame so he could buy it cheap and make better time on his return.
Not for the first time he regretted coming to such a busy place, but he couldn't help a thin smirk remembering the way the children's eyes had widened so. Well, it was good to see civilization every so often. Rather than turning toward the stable he headed to the inn. Some good drink might help him relax and make a decent memory. His brow rose as he saw some of the people pouring into the place, briefly reconsidering his choice until he eventually filtered in as well.
Aelethea walks into the outskirts of Phaendar as the sun begins to rise, with Shi'ra padding along at her side. The smell of fresh baked bread and cooking meat cause her stomach to rumble as she had left her place in the woods early to be in town for market day with much breakfast to speak of. Pausing at one of the stalls she picks up a loaf of bread and some smoked fish at another where she picks a raw salmon for Shi'ra to eat.
Sitting underneath a tree she settles in to break her fast. She is unsurprised to see that the Trading Company is already open and that the forge is hard ablaze. "Kining is an industrious one, even for a dwarf" she thinks to herself as she finishes her meal, Shi'ra had already finished her meal, bones and all, in almost one gulp. Smiling, Aelethea wipes her hands on her trousers as she stands before heading into the post to purchase a pound of nails to repair some loos floorboards in her cabin.
Afterwards she wanders around the fair sampling some of the delicacies before heading to the Taproot to listen to Aubrin the Green tell more tales from her adventuring days.
Awakening just after dawn as was her habit, Valtyra was at the forge at the Phaendar Trading Company before the majority of the activity of the day began. As an apprentice to Kining, she helped to keep the forge going at all hours of the day, keeping up with the town’s needs, and the increased demand for tools and even weapons, with the annual fair.
Getting an early start on outstanding orders for the first half of the day, she bids the grumpy dwarf farewell at noon, heading to the booth set up at the fair displaying an array of newly forged axes, hunting knives, and even a few swords and spears, that might appeal to the hunters and woodcutters flooding the area over the next few days.
The day’s progress goes well, bringing with it a few familiar faces, both local and from out of town. Overall, it was a good day, both for business and the sense of community she enjoyed so much about Phaendar.
Wrapping up a successful day, she’d even managed to sell the new sickle she’d finished earlier in the week, she makes her way to the Taproot Inn, the smells of hearty food and the promise of good ale guiding her steps as she enters the bustling inn, looking for her preferred table off to the side, though with a good view of where Aubrin usually held court, regaling any listeners with her wild stories of Fangwood adventures.
Macharius starts his day by trying to sleep in an extra half-hour due to nightmares keeping him up for most of the night. He eventually manages to drag himself out of bed, suit up, eat a quick breakfast and go out into the woods to find a good enough tree to harvest for lumber.
He pursues his task with dogged persistence, finding one and hacking it down with a few good strikes of his axe. There's a moment where he has to stop as the scar on his chest briefly flares with pain, but it passes soon enough and he resumes his work.
Soon, he's rewarded with the sound of bark splitting and toppling to the ground, along with the smell of freshly-cut wood. Dragging the modestly-sized tree back to his home, he begins the process of methodically sawing it into more manageable chunks of firewood. Some of it will remain at home for his personal use--the rest will go to Phaendar.
Eventually, as the day concludes, he finds himself wandering to the Taproot Inn for his nightly libations.
The inside of the Taproot Inn smells of rich pinewood, courtesy of the logs crackling merrily within the hearth. Two dozen elk horns line the walls, mounted as proud reminders of the efforts of the local hunters. Within the tavern the festival 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 lies on the floor, gasping and clutching at the blood gushing from a wound in her chest. A ballista bolt still quivers in the wall behind her. Four hobgoblins in military dress stand beyond the shattered door, blades drawn. 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 patrons of the inn, full of joyous laughter moments ago, begin to scream and panic as they press toward the rear of the room, desperately trying to find some cover from the snarling creatures.
Hobgoblins take 10 as per Block Initiative rules (Initiative score 12)
INITIATIVE ORDER
BLOCK 1 - Moragul, Valtyra, Craig, Tern, Aelethea
BLOCK 2 - Hobgoblins
BLOCK 3 - Macharius, Reknar
Block 1, feel free to react in any order. Once all members of block 1 have reacted, the hobgoblins will take their turn.
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Chuckling as Aubrin settles in for another one of her stories, Valtyra actually catches sight of the crossbow bolt streaking through the air, as she turns her head toward the sound of the splintering door.
Hobgoblins???
She thinks in shock, as surprised as anyone else as she tries to process what is happening, the screaming and fire outside, Aubrin bleeding on the ground, heavily armed enemies walking into the inn....everything was under attack.
'Not again!'
A deep primal terror borne of memory so sharp, she could taste the blood in her mouth, wells up threatening to overwhelm her, but with it comes the almost inhuman determination that had kept her alive that night.
Whatever was going on, this wasn't that night. The little girl the bandits had left for dead that night, was not the same woman in this tavern tonight. These bastards wouldn't take her, or anyone else without a fight if she could help it. And oh could she help it.
Greatful that she'd taken Kining's advice and worn her armor and weapons as part of the image of the stalwart weapons smith for the booth at the fair, Valtyra springs into action, her hand grabbing up her shield as she dashes across the room, sword clearing its scabbard in a flash of motion one wouldn't expect from her muscular frame. Clearing the distance between them, the blacksmith brings her blade up in a sweeping cut across the first enemy through the door, following through with all the force she can muster.
Craig nods to various others, even says hello to a few but no one wants to step on Aubrin's fine tale spinning when the muse is on her. Aubrin and Craig may have different faiths, but while she may think he's grown up too serious, she also was there when he turned it around and gave him a chance years ago. It's hard not to take a shine to her, even if she can be a bit bawdy by mama's standards.
And darn it, if he doesn't laugh hard at her tale and even look forward to the other.
Then hell breaks loose, or at least, breaks in! the door shatters, splinters fly, and Aubrin drops down hurt and gasping as Hobgoblins storm in fully armed and armored! Craig was grateful to have his own gear on, he meant it to make him as a healer and priest for all to ask aid of, he hadn't meant it for battle.
Yet battle was here! There was a war on, everyone knew that, but the town was in open space, how the hell ? No time to suss over it now.
He hears his sister gasp behind him, and says "Nayda, get to cover, stay behind it. I'm gonna try to make it to Aubrin." Even as he wondered how he could get to Aubrin while enemies were upon them
'Never Again!!!'
Apparently, Valtyra Slate was how he might have a chance. Her voice came out like thunder on a high rage! Craig felt plumb inspired the way she took the charge to the ambushers! From this angle, he wasn't sure he could shoot past her anyhow.
Instead he weaved past the tables and chairs to get to Aubrin, and helped stop that gushing of blood, praying softly, "Stay with us, Aubrin! Neither of our gods likes a quitter."
Aelethea sits by the bar, enjoying a cup of mead and listening to Aubrin's stories and just the general buzz of people talking about their day and their lives, something she misses be out in the forest alone.
Suddenly her reverie is broken as the front door to the Taproot shatters open. Looking around at the sudden chaos she sees Aubrin lying on the floor, a ballista bolt having pierced it's way through her body. Her instinct to rush to render first aid is quelled when one of the townsfolk rushes to her side and uses magic to stop her bleeding.
Aelethea pauses only for a moment to grab her bow and quiver before vaulting over the bar and knocking an arrow. "Get down, you fool!" she shouts at the barmaid as she clears the bar top.
"Shi'ra, attack" she shouts as her companion, hackles raised, charges the first hobgoblin to enter the room. Shi'ra sinks her fangs deep into the creature's calf and with all her might drags it to the ground.
Instinctively at the first sign of trouble, Moragul calls on the hastening magic of the elk, lengthening his stride such that his heavier armor does nothing to slow him. He casts a quick glance around for Emiko, but his focus is on the hobgoblins. Tiny hobgoblins, but then everyone is tiny to Moragul. Already on his feet, he looses a gutteral, primal roar which should certainly catch the attention of any of the variously inebriated tavern-dwellers that somehow missed the hobgoblin's dramatic entrance. Rolling his shoulders, he hefts his great axe and rolls his shulders. A dense, short 'cape' of cave bear fur, decorated in the claws of the owlbear slain by Moragul and Emiko sits upon Moragul's shoulders, making for a powerful display. "I was wondering when the entertainment would arrive!"
Tern had been enjoying himself sitting alone and sipping an ale when he had spotted Mecharius and waved the other man over. He wasn't a very outgoing person, but he did appreciate the company if only to share the table and ward off others joining. That and he had the sneaking suspicion the half elf was fond of his owl.
He had ordered some simple fare and was enjoying a peaceful evening. When that evening became as shattered as the door. He jumped to his feet, looking about in panic.
As other brave souls charged forward he looked at the melee and moved closer. If only to give them all a chance to escape.
"Salachar poll!" he cried in sylvan as he reached out with an open palm and made a scooping motion. The dirt just outside the door where the next hobgoblin in line waited suddenly compacted down, creating a chest high hole just outside the inn.
"We should make our way out the back!" he calls, "There are more, many more."
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Valtyra reacts instantly, surging forward with shield raised, her sword carving through the first hobgoblin in a powerful arc.
Craig weaves through the chaos of the crowd of townsfolk to reach Aubrin, murmuring a prayer as he staunches her wounds. Her bleeding visibly slows, and her breath becomes steady.
Aelethea vaults over the bar with elven grace, knocking an arrow while commanding her companion to join the battle.
Moragul roars his challenge, his towering frame and imposing orcish presence turning heads even amid the battle. He lumbers toward the fray menacingly, axe in hand.
As the remaining hobgoblins press forward, Tern conjures a pit just outside the entrance, forcing them to scramble. The first dodges out of the way, landing just in front of Shi'ra. The second vaults over the pit with ease, lunging out at Valtyra who expertly deflects the blow with her shield. The last stumbles as he attempts the same, tumbling into the hole with a sharp cry.
Shi'ra lunges at the hobgoblin in front, her powerful jaws closing with a sickening crunch around his knee.
Macharius lets out a mix of a gasp and a grumble as the hobgoblins make their presence known.
"...just wanted a damn drink..." He grouses before getting up from his seat, woodcutting axe in hand. Quietly, he was glad the habit of always being armed and armored while working finally paid off.
He steps up alongside Valtyra and swings his axe at the hobgoblin in front of him!
His mind still reeling at the fact there are hobgoblins simply pouring in and attacking, Reknar grunts in disbelief at the chaos of the situation.
He moves behind the line of combatants and thrusts with his longspear, the weapon glowing briefly before it strikes.
"Are there any other exits?!" - he roars to no one in particular, his military mind at work.
Macharius lunges forward, his axe whistling through the air in a deadly arc but the hobgoblin twists aside at the last moment, the blade biting only into empty space. A sharp, guttural laugh escapes the creature’s lips as it readies its counter.
Meanwhile, Reknar steps in with brutal precision, driving his spear deep into the wounded hobgoblin’s side. The creature snarls in pain, blood welling around the wound as it staggers back, clutching at the injury before falling to the ground.
As another hobgoblin falls to a well-aimed spear thrust, Valtyra twists, lashing out with a deft strike at the hobgoblin facing Macharius, feeling her weapon bite in as she draws blood. "Hold the line! Keep them form getting in!"
"Go ahead, keep laughing." She sneers angrily as she locks eyes with the enemy before her.
Craig has no idea what's going on in that hob's mind, but he knows he doesn't like him.
"I don't think there's another door,"He was going to reach for his bow but with the mass of bodies up at the front door he's as like to hit a townsfolk in the back as the Hob.
Instead he grabs his short spear, and moves forward to at least protect Aubrin and steps closer
Like the spirit of the elk before it, Moragul channels the growth of the mighty Redwoods, doubling in height until his head knocks against the ceiling. He half swings, half thrust his now enlarged axe at the hobgoblin standing in the pit outside and hits despite the difficult conditions. "The front door looks clear to me."
Even as the initial shock wore off Tern still felt nervous as he questioned what to do here. Without anymore immediate hobgoblins it did no good to make another hole behind the first, but more could be on the way. In the end he took the pragmatic approach and muttered an incantation as he held out a finger.
The air around the digit swirled, a green mist coalescing into a wet glob of acid on his fingertip. He then flicked his hand and sent it at the goblin in the melee.
Aelethea takes a step back so she can line up her shot, threading the needle between two of the people fighting the hobgoblins and over Shi'ra's head she lets loose. Her desire not to injure the others causes her arrow to fly wide, missing her target entirely.
Shi'ra twitches her head as the arrow buzzes by and shoots Aelethea a somewhat annoyed look before focusing on the problem before her, the hobgoblin. She attacks tooth and nail but only manages to scratch the hobgoblins thigh.
Valtyra's blade carves a bloody gash across the midsection of the Hobgoblin, shredding armour and finding the soft flesh beneath. Almost simultaneously, an arrow whistles through the air, cautiously placed by Aelethea to avoid harming anyone but one the hobgoblins. Unfortunately, the chaos of the melee was almost impossible to predict; choosing to err on the side of caution, the shot goes wide and drives into the doorframe with a loud clunk.
Moragul, now channeling the ferocious raw power of nature herself, slams his axe down toward the foe trapped in the pit. The monstrous hunk of steel finds purchase in the torso of the poor trapped fool, and he drops instantly from his grievous wound.
Craig draws his spear, stepping bravely over Aubrin in a defensive posture. Her eyes flutter momentarily, a subtle sign of life that gives the young cleric a determined reassurance.
Tern's mind turns, drawing upon the catalogue of magical abilities contained within. He settles on his acid splash, a simple spell but tried and true nonetheless. Sufferring the same problem as Aelethea though, the sorcerer struggles to find a clear shot, and the globule of acid lands on a nearby windowsill, eating away at the wood briefly before fizzling out.
Shi'ra, her fur bristling with adrenaline, dives toward the nearest hobgoblin with fury. Her claws shred at the soft britches of her foe leaving a nasty gash. The hob, clutching its freshly opened stomach, growls menacingly as it speaks something in the goblin tongue.
"Zog'mog goth-rokh voth Krath'ka draal!"
Frustrated and desparate now that his allies are defeated, the hob makes one final valiant stand. He strikes at Valtyra, a wild blow with as much force as he can muster.
His wounds too great, the blow comes in far too sluggishly. Valtyra parries easily, ready to offer a riposte.
Macharius rolls his eyes, not pretending to understand Goblin.
"Not the best choice of last words." He growls before swinging his axe again.
"Kahl sark er kramark dak!" - Reknar snarled back in the hobgoblin's own tongue.
The last hobgoblin crumples to the floor as Reknar drives his spear into its neck, a ragged gasp escaping its lips before stillness takes hold. The scent of spilled blood and burning wood hangs heavy in the air.
Aubrin the Green lies motionless amid the wreckage, her breathing shallow and labored. Even at a glance, the cruel angle of her ribs beneath her tunic tells of the savage injury she endured. A thin trickle of blood darkens the corner of her mouth, her eyes still closed.
The oaken tables, once set for a night of quiet revelry, now lie overturned with tankards and plates shattered across the floor. Chairs are cast aside in haphazard piles, some broken where they were trampled underfoot in the patrons' desperate flight.
The kitchen door remains firmly shut. Faint, muffled whispers leak through the wood — fearful voices clinging to the hope that the worst has passed.
Outside the tavern, the town is ablaze. Firelight flickers against the cobbled streets as thick smoke coils into the night, choking the light of the stars. Thatched roofs ignite like dry tinder, sending embers swirling through the air. The screams of the dying mingle with the blare of war horns as hobgoblin soldiers march in ruthless formation, cutting down those too slow to flee.
To the north, something looms where before there was nothing—a jagged black tower, wreathed in smoke and flickering firelight. Its ominous silhouette rises against the chaos, cementing the feeling of dread that now pervades the once peaceful town.
"I don't ken what them hobs was saying, but they sure ain't friendly. Aubrin's still inchorrent, I can heal her up more, but we may need it for others too. I smell the burning wood elsewhere on the air. If they burn this place, the smoke will kill us sure even if the fire doesn't." matter of fact, "We ain't safe. Any of you battle trained types got an idea?"
Craig calls back to the kitchen, "Nayda, you and the others okay? Anyone hurt back there?"
He tries to sound calm but factual. Inwardly he's worried as all hell. His little brother maybe out there in the middle of this. His parents are who knows where, maybe this hasn't gotten as far as their shack? Not just his family but every family in town is in danger.
Erastil help us all
As he waits for an answer, he tends to Aubrins' wounds with non magical means hoping to revive her.
"He's right! Once they realize they can't get in they'll burn this place to the ground." Valtyra says, cleaning the blood off of her blade. "We need to get everyone out of here, and save whoever else we can. Is Aubrin at least well enough to be carried out of here?"
Thoughts of his parents assaulting his mind, Reknar continued peeking outside, trying to get a feel for the troop's movements - where they could be coming from, if they are focused on anything in particular, and what avenues of escape might present themselves.
"They bear the Ironfang Legion insignia, a mercenary army responsible for the Ramgate Massacre two years ago" - the half-orc whispered back to the others - "But they have been absent from any battlefields ever since, so I don't get what they are doing here" - he grunted.
"Some of you know me, but for those who do not, I am Reknar" - he offered a nod back at the assembled people in the room, seeing some faces he recognized - "And that was well fought" - Reknar added with respect - "I fear Valtyra is right though, and sooner or later they will come poking here again - there is a veritable army out there. So we should probably think about moving sooner rather than later"
"You, big man. Moragul, right?" - he addressed the druid - "Can you help me pull the bodies inside so they are not easily visible by any of those bastards which may just pass by on the street?" - and started pulling the corpses to a corner of the inn, while rifling through them for valuables, weapons, orders, or anything which might catch his eye. If possible, he also removes some of the insignias.
"Someone make sure to keep watch"
Craig cuts some strips of cloth from a nearby tablecloth using the point of his spear. Placing a few in the kettle heating on the nearby hearth, he uses the rest to staunch the bleeding. Finally, carefully removing the scraps from the water, he creates a makeshift hot press and places it to reduce the swelling. Aubrin's eyes flutter, then open weakly as she looks around.
“You saved me...thank you..." she groans as she tries to sit up. Her gaze falls on the open door, looking out into the chaos beyond.
"It... it sounds like there’s an army outside the door. How did they fall on us without being seen? These damn plains are so flat you can see an elk from two days off, let alone an army!” She winces and presses her hands against the bloody bandages on her chest. “They sound large. Too large to fight on the ground like honest fools. We need to gather what we can, cross the bridge, and hide out in the Fangwood. I—I know a few secrets that may keep us safe. Should probably figure out how to take down the bridge while we’re at it, else they’ll just march themselves across before we have the chance to hide.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
At this point, the kitchen door opens. A woman, clearly of Varisian stock mixed with something more exotic, steps into the room. She brandishes a heavy frying pan, her dark eyes scanning cautiously before she relaxes with a sigh of relief.
"I've got plenty of supplies down in the cellar too. It's the least I can do, seeing how y'all risked your necks for us. If you find anyone else around, send 'em our way too. We can hide out down there while we wait for you to come back... you will come back, right?"
She looks around the room, walking over to the bar and taking a deep swig from a half-drunk mug of ale.
"Damn it. I just cleaned the place, too."
Nayda bursts out of the room soon after, rushing to Craig and smothering him with a hug. "Craig! I-I thought they were going to kill us… I thought you were—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head and trying not to cry.
Reknar, as you look through the corpses you can see that the hobgoblins already carry the spoils of some looting: a masterwork backpack stuffed with a heavy crossbow (with 20 bolts and 10 masterwork bolts); eight clearly labeled potions of guidance; a 1st-level wand of magic missile (11 charges); a divine scroll containing the spells calm animals, cure light wounds, and magic stone; and dried goat meat, sheep’s cheese, and a jug of sheep’s milk. Additionally, in one of the pouches you find a humble tin ring decorated with rabbits*.
"It... it sounds like there’s an army outside the door. How did they fall on us without being seen? These damn plains are so flat you can see an elk from two days off, let alone an army!” She winces and presses her hands against the bloody bandages on her chest. “They sound large. Too large to fight on the ground like honest fools. We need to gather what we can..."
As he searched the bodies of the hobgoblins, he nodded in appreciation, both at the words and actions being discussed, but also at the useful items they come across - "If we are intent on gathering supplies, and I had to vote, I would say we should try to head on to Oreld's first. Grab what we can, then move around the edge to the trading company and the shrine, before we get back here"
He makes room in a table, displaying the 'loot' - "Ok, lets make the best use of this" - he grunted.
"I've got plenty of supplies down in the cellar too. It's the least I can do, seeing how y'all risked your necks for us. If you find anyone else around, send 'em our way too. We can hide out down there while we wait for you to come back... you will come back, right?"...
"Thank you Jet" - he passed her the dried goat meat, cheese and milk - "Add this to the rest of the supplies, and try to have it all as packed as possible and ready to go for when we return"
His eyes shone momentarily as he looked over the items for magical traces.
"An old army trick, so to speak" - he chuckled at those around him.
> Masterwork backpack - can go to someone strong for more carrying capacity, or someone less strong for not becoming encumbered?
> Heavy crossbow - ??
> 20 bolts - ??
> 10 masterwork bolts - ??
> 8 potions of guidance (clearly labeled) - I say we each grab one of these? And someone gets 2.
> 1st-level wand of magic missile (11 charges) - Tern?
> Divine scroll (calm animals, cure light wounds, magic stone) - Craig?
> Dried goat meat - stays with Jet
> Sheep’s cheese - stays with Jet
> Jug of sheep’s milk - stays with Jet
> Tin ring decorated with rabbits - ??
Macharius stows his axe and draws his sword.
...family lives on the outskirts. They'd have had enough time to run.
"He's right! Once they realize they can't get in they'll burn this place to the ground." Valtyra says, cleaning the blood off of her blade. "We need to get everyone out of here, and save whoever else we can. Is Aubrin at least well enough to be carried out of here?"
"If I can revive her and we avoid hard bounces if we can I think so..."
"They bear the Ironfang Legion insignia, a mercenary army responsible for the Ramgate Massacre two years ago" - the half-orc whispered back to the others - "But they have been absent from any battlefields ever since, so I don't get what they are doing here" - he grunted.
Craig grows grim and commits the name of their foe to memory. Someone broke their doors down without knocking, and no Erastilian takes well to that.
“You saved me...thank you..." she groans as she tries to sit up. Her gaze falls on the open door, looking out into the chaos beyond.
"I just did the patching, you're still powerful hurt. others bought me time to do it." Craig says matter of factly.
"It... it sounds like there’s an army outside the door. How did they fall on us without being seen? These damn plains are so flat you can see an elk from two days off, let alone an army!” She winces and presses her hands against the bloody bandages on her chest. “They sound large. Too large to fight on the ground like honest fools. We need to gather what we can, cross the bridge, and hide out in the Fangwood. I—I know a few secrets that may keep us safe. Should probably figure out how to take down the bridge while we’re at it, else they’ll just march themselves across before we have the chance to hide.”
When Jet comes out ready to fight with a frying pan, Craig almost , almost smiles. The lady has pep.
"Ain't sure I like leaving any of you behind, Jet, still worried about fire but , if we move quick we might hustle back afore that's a worry. And this is the spot closer the the bridge." a beat "Anyone know HOW to take out a bridge?" Craig asks.Nayda bursts out of the room soon after, rushing to Craig and smothering him with a hug. "Craig! I-I thought they were going to kill us… I thought you were—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head and trying not to cry.
As he searched the bodies of the hobgoblins, he nodded in appreciation, both at the words and actions being discussed, but also at the useful items they come across - "If we are intent on gathering supplies, and I had to vote, I would say we should try to head on to Oreld's first. Grab what we can, then move around the edge to the trading company and the shrine, before we get back here"
Craig gives his sister a hug then looks her in the eyes, "I know, sis. They tried to kill us but Don't worry, I'm traveling with warriors and more it seems. I need you to be extra brave and help Jet here with supplies and keeping others together here until we can make a run in masse for the bridge. We are going to need food, fresh water, and the like. Okay?"
He looks at Reknar who is speaking with confidence and that's not nothing in these scary times, "Erastil forgive us, for putting his shrine last but arguing about it could cost us time, and that'll cost more lives. Fine. Unless others have a better idea we'll try it your path. Elder Noelan .. I think would understand." Shame fills his cheeks though at the idea of deserting his mentor or even leaving that old man for last but there are others the Elder himself would urge them to help first and Craig KNOWS that, "Just one proviso to this plan of yours: Stefan, my little brother was out there afore all this started, might be in the thick of it. If I see him, I'm fetching him. Come hell or high water."He has other family, and older brother and sister in law, and his own parents, but they're further out and maybe safe. His younger sibs? Those are in the thick of it. At least Nayda is here.
"Anyone we see that needs help, we save them if we can, bring them back here with us before we leave." Valtyra says, looking over the collected weapons and gear with a nod.
"Ain't sure I like leaving any of you behind, Jet, still worried about fire but , if we move quick we might hustle back afore that's a worry. And this is the spot closer to the bridge." a beat "Anyone know HOW to take out a bridge?" Craig asks.
She looks out at the bridge, contemplating what it would take to bring it down.
"Before any of that, where did the ballista shot come from? That tower?" Tern asks as he moves to the door and peeks outside, "It might be the hobs came with it, and if they did that things between us and anywhere we might want to stop."
Nayda nods. "I'll help out however I can." she says, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
At the mention of Stefan, she tugs at Craig's arm. "Needn't worry about the rest of the family, Big Brother. Poor little Stef took sick this morning, not long after you left. I think that egg he found was rotten... Ma 'n Pa decided to keep him home, worried he'd try to eat too many candied applies I 'spose. They're probably well safe, I hope they keep away..." she says as her face furrows with worry.
"When we get to the point where we're crossing the bridge, I might know how to bring it down. There's a weak point, a wooden frame at the keystone, that would be easy to bring down with an explosion big enough." Vibenia says, after a few moments of thought.
Nayda nods. "I'll help out however I can." she says, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
At the mention of Stefan, she tugs at Craig's arm. "Needn't worry about the rest of the family, Big Brother. Poor little Stef took sick this morning, not long after you left. I think that egg he found was rotten... Ma 'n Pa decided to keep him home, worried he'd try to eat too many candied applies I 'spose. They're probably well safe, I hope they keep away..." she says as her face furrows with worry.
"I hope so too, they got distance which means they got a better chance to be ignored long enough to run." And it was true, his parents shack was hardly an important structure or even a solid one some days. "Never thought I'd be glad Stefan caught the tummy ache."
His sister is showing more fire. Good. They'd need that, "And thank you, Nayda. Others will be relying on us so gotta be strong for them."Craig glances to the others, "Looks like Stefan ain't likely to be out there where we can help, or hopefully need help."
"Anyone we see that needs help, we save them if we can, bring them back here with us before we leave." Valtyra says, looking over the collected weapons and gear with a nod.
"Oyez," The priest says with solemn agreement.
"Before any of that, where did the ballista shot come from? That tower?" Tern asks as he moves to the door and peeks outside, "It might be the hobs came with it, and if they did that things between us and anywhere we might want to stop."
"Thing just appeared out of nowhere it seems, Craig knows nothing aabout how that's possible, "I think we best be prepared for at least one fight but we got to try checking on others while we can before we run. We can't dawdle in here much more, people dying out there."
"Just one proviso to this plan of yours: Stefan, my little brother was out there afore all this started, might be in the thick of it. If I see him, I'm fetching him. Come hell or high water."
"More than fair - I will not hesitate in doing the same if by any mishap my parents are caught in the middle of this" - the half-orc nodded back, grabbing the masterwork backpack and a potion, and getting ready to leave.
Aelethea slings her bow as she walks from behind the bar. She walks over to Shi'ra and absentmindedly scratches her companion between the ears "Good girl, Ra, Good girl."
She looks out the door at the chaos beyond "We will need to get people off the streets and their houses and get them to muster here at the Taproot, before we head off. We'll need to get supplies and food enough for them to survive, for a while at least, as I doubt many of these townsfolk would know the difference between a death cap and an edible mushroom." She gazes around the room "It looks like the seven of us will need to sweep the streets, rescue those we can now, mourn those we can't later." She nods at Reknar "All good places to start with, does anyone have any other suggestions?"
Macharius nods. "Ready to move."
"Just try not to get me killed in the process." Tern muses, but he gets himself ready as well. He pulls up his hood and cups Pippin from the side to push the tiny owl into the shelter of it.
With a frown he looks to Aelethea who seemed to iron out the groups plan. "Sorry. Just don't expect too many heroics from me."
"Let's not give the town up for gone just yet." Moragul grumbles in his gravely, baritone voice. Though he is not from Phaendar, he is not a stranger and is familiar with their plan to run into the forest if the - apparantly - hobgoblins attack. "A show of force will probably drive these cowards back. I've yet to meet anyone that willingly faces down a giant bear." The half-orc hefts his large axe.
Aubrin turns her head slightly to face Moragul, her expression a mix of grit and sorrow."I reckon a hundred hobs would take that bet against a giant bear. I know you want to stand and fight, but that’s not the Nirmathi way; we don’t throw our lives away in a lost battle - we retreat, we regroup, and we strike when the time is right. Right now, that means gathering supplies, finding shelter, and keeping as many people alive as we can. The town is as good as gone, but that doesn't mean fight isn’t over. We need to focus on what matters, or there won’t be anyone left to fight for." she grimaces.
"I think you're right, Rek. Oreld's store should have some useful kit, 'specially as how we don't know how long we'll be between resupplies. Y'might even find something to help with taking out the bridge." she says, casting a glance of acknowledgement toward Valtyra. "I'll stay here and help Jet get everything together as best we can, just make your way back sooner rather 'n later. We'll be sitting ducks locked down in that cellar, and I don't fancy being skewered." Groaning, she drags herself to her feet using a nearby table.
"Best Compromise, we stick together, head to Oreld's first stealthy as we can. Then once we get there, if we need to split and think we can survive it, we do." Craig suggests "Forgive my impatience but the longer we take to decide, the more folk will die."
"Normally I would be against splitting up." Tern states, "But I'm not one for hauling goods. I carry about all I can or need on me. I'd be more help getting people out than supplies. I say we split and tackle both objectives while we still have time... if we have time."
He gives a worried look to those assembled. "Besides, if we spot reinforcements coming this way we can warn off the other group from walking into another fight."
Aelethea walks to the center of the barroom and jumps up on one of the tables "Okay, everyone, let's get out there and save some people." She points at Macharius "you, take those three, and go check out the trading post," She points to Reknar, Valtyra, and Craig "while Shi'ra and I will take the other two and go check Orled's. If there's time we can meet up by the shrine before heading back."
Macharius stiffens for a moment before nodding. "...got it."
"I'm not the quietest, but I'll fight like hell."