"What's down there? More provisions?"
Reknar smiled as the healing power washed over him - "One can get used to that" - he commented with a smile to Craig.
He keeps an eye out for any more hobgoblins, as the others address Kining.
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Kining's glare is sharp at first, but it fades fast. The lines in her face seem deeper in the firelight, and her eyes drift past Craig and Valtyra to the rising smoke curling from the rooftops.
“Hells…” she sighs.
She turns away for a moment, hiding the flicker of pain in her expression as she looks at what’s left of her forge.
“I hammered every blade in that store with these two hands. Burned through more coal than the town’s got patience for. And now you’re askin’ me to strip it bare, walk away like it’s already gone... and it is, ain’t it?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer.
“Right. Fine. But we do this smart. Take what’s worth carrying, leave the dead weight. Nails, wedges, axes, fletching tools—you know what’s needed, girl.”
She nods sharply to Valtyra, tossing her the singed keyring from her belt.
Then she steps up to Craig, looking him in the eye.
“You got a silver tongue, priestling. But this ain’t about talk. You keep those supplies safe. You keep her safe.” She nods toward Valtyra. “Don’t make me regret handin’ over my life’s work to a lad I once caught piss-drunk in my rain barrel.”
She turns finally to face Macharius as he asks about the raised floor.
"Ain’t like I got any other use for it right now... If you’re fixin’ to get yourself killed, you might as well take it. It’s got more life left in it than most of us.” She says, turning and walking toward the trapdoor before thumping it open with her fist. She reaches down into the opening, drawing out a small buckler bearing the countenance of a roaring bear. “That was my brother’s. Last thing of his I’ve got left. Made it m’self, years back... she muses before handing it over.
She shoulders past them toward the store entrance, already barking orders like it’s another day in the forge:
“Move it! We’ve got maybe ten minutes ‘fore the bastards are knockin’ down the back door.”
Kining's store contains the following useful items:
a longsword
two battleaxes
an alchemical silver rapier
a masterwork light steel shield
a masterwork backpack
a climber’s kit
eight waterskins
The shield she handed over to Macharius is a +1 buckler.
In addition, any reasonable basic equipment you might be looking for is likely available (crafting kits, basic spices, tools etc).
The smithy itself is still yet to be searched, and there are the freshly slain horse and goats still in the pen. Anyone with Survival can take 5 minutes to carve some meat for extra provision points if you so desire.
Among the clutter, Tern spots what he needs:
– Two sturdy broom handles leaning against the back wall.
– A heavy canvas apron, large and surprisingly clean, hanging from a peg.
– A bundle of cordage coiled near a burnt workbench.
– A leather harness, stiff from disuse, half-buried under a fallen shelf.
Tern lays the canvas flat, places the broom handles lengthwise on either side, and folds the edges over the poles. He lashes them tightly using lengths of cord and strips from the harness, double-knotting the ends with steady hands.
The result isn’t pretty, but it looks solid—enough to bear a body through the forest if it has to. Vane lets out a sharp breath as Tern lowers the stretcher beside him.
Pragmatic as always, Reknar was grabbing some extra supplies as they decided to move - a whetstone, a crowbar and a grappling hook. He paused though, looking Kining - "Is it ok if I grab these, master Kining?"
As they were about to leave, he turned his head around, raising a hand - "I hear something from the smithy" - he added, moving in that direction - "I think it is coming from the hayloft" - he whispered, drawing his spear.
Reknar smiled as the healing power washed over him - "One can get used to that" - he commented with a smile to Craig.
He keeps an eye out for any more hobgoblins, as the others address Kining.
"If we get into a fight you'll need more of it," the priest admits feeling bad it only healed so much. He looks about "Anybody else capable of healing, magical or otherwise, let folks know. If my well runs dry, or I end up meeting Ol Deadeye sooner than I want, you'll be the ones to keep others going."
He is about to ask Reknar if he'd like more healing but the fellow is keeping watch Reknar's thinking of others despite his wounds. Good man.Kining's change of heart makes him proud of her, though when she brings THIS up...
“You got a silver tongue, priestling. But this ain’t about talk. You keep those supplies safe. You keep her safe.” She nods toward Valtyra. “Don’t make me regret handin’ over my life’s work to a lad I once caught piss-drunk in my rain barrel.”
Craig has the decency to blush, "Tweren't my proudest moment, ma'am" No point in lying or deflecting. He remembers when the smith had to tip him over to pour him out while he slurred his protests, "And it ain't for me, for the town." He glances over to Valtyra, "I intend to keep us ALL safe if I can. And I've the feel Valtyra will be looking out for us in turn" Then he adds to the dwarf, "You've done a good thing here, I'll make sure all hear of it and you get your due respect for it."
He helps get the items, following the Smith's leads on priorities and getting some tools as well if they need to assemble hasty shelter. When he spots the meat, he nods "Reckon we'll need meat."
"If we get into a fight you'll need more of it," the priest admits feeling bad it only healed so much. He looks about "Anybody else capable of healing, magical or otherwise, let folks know. If my well runs dry, or I end up meeting Ol Deadeye sooner than I want, you'll be the ones to keep others going."
"I might surprise you yet Craig" - Reknar winked, then winced as his ribs complained.
Craig noticed the painful wince, "Yeah, I'm not taking chances on you getting killed on us while I wait to be surprised. Hold still. Gonna do it right."
Craig's hand hovers over Reknar's wound, then gives a feather light touch as Craig calls out "He has fought for homes, even those not his own. He fights for Hearths, even those that must grow cold. Erastil, I ask you use me to heal him, Oyez? Oyez."
Holy light pours out as ribs uncrack, or at least grow more whole.
He then moves to take his woodcutter's axe to the slaughtered animal carcasses outside.
His inexperience shows through--he's a woodcutter by trade, not a hunter.
Moragul isn't one for finesse, but he has the keen eyes of an owlbear. "We could just chop through the door..."
“Right. Fine. But we do this smart. Take what’s worth carrying, leave the dead weight. Nails, wedges, axes, fletching tools—you know what’s needed, girl.”
She nods sharply to Valtyra, tossing her the singed keyring from her belt.
Then she steps up to Craig, looking him in the eye.
“You got a silver tongue, priestling. But this ain’t about talk. You keep those supplies safe. You keep her safe.” She nods toward Valtyra. “Don’t make me regret handin’ over my life’s work to a lad I once caught piss-drunk in my rain barrel.”
Valtyra catches the keys with a solemn nod, turning to collect the vital weapons, and equipment. A small smile crosses her lips as she overhears Kining’s concern for her safety. Grouchy as she was most of the time, there was still a little gold at the core of the dwarven blacksmith’s heart.
Gathering everything they would need for the exodus form the town, she passes the masterwork backpack to Reknar, figuring he’d likely handle the burden of carrying extra equipment best.
Since everyone wants to get through this door so badly, Moragul's axe should make short work of it. He steps up, hefting the axe, and swings at the side of the door near the hinges. And again. And again. Moragul is feeling weak today. It's a good think he likes trees or he would be embarassed.
Craig kneels beside Reknar, laying a firm hand on his chest. A soft, warm glow spreads from his palm as the worst of the wounds closed.
Outside, Mac stands over the fallen horse, hefting his axe with both hands. He goes to work, hacking through the carcasses with a mix of determination and brute force. It's not pretty — more splintered bone than clean cuts — but he gets the job done. Eventually, he manages to salvage enough meat to make it worthwhile, though it's clear finesse wasn’t part of his plan.
Inside the store, Valtyra moves with focus, gathering supplies off half-toppled shelves — dried goods, spare tools, anything that might help. Her hands are quick, efficient, as she moves through the shop which she knows all too well.
Then, you hear the smithy doors creak open.
A fit looking young man not older than seventeen steps out, clearly one used to hard labour on one of the outlying farms. He holds an everburning torch high in one hand, its flickering light catching the nervous edge in his expression. A long knife hangs at his belt, and his posture is tense.
Behind him trails a girl, perhaps fifteen, her steps slow and unsteady. A blood-soaked cloth is tied across the left side of her face, crudely bandaged. Despite the injury, she clutches a shortbow tightly in her hand, her good eye looking sharp and alert.
The boy looks over the group — the corpses of the hobgoblins, the wounded being tended, the butchered horse — and swallows hard.
“I saw what you did,” he calls out, voice steady but edged with urgency. “You killed them. All of them.”
He steps closer, holding the torch out before him like a peace offering. “I’m Rauland. This is my sister, Thess. We’ve been hiding in the smithy since the attack. She was hit when something exploded nearby — alchemist’s fire, I think. Shrapnel caught her in the face. I… I didn’t know what else to do. I just kept us hidden.”
Thess said nothing, her good eye locked onto the group. Her grip on the bow hasn’t loosened.
Rauland’s voice dropped. “We want to come with you. We can fight. We’ll pull our weight. I just—” he looked back at Thess, his jaw tightening, “—I have to look after my sister. Please. Don’t leave us behind.”
The heavy thud of Moragul's axe against the trapped door echoes through the room. After a few hard swings, the door gives way with a splintering crack. The path to the next room is clear, the heavy wood of the door has been hacked to pieces. The tension in the rooms relaxes immediately as everyone realizes they haven't been sprayed with deadly acid.
Within the next rom lies a workshop and what looks to be a part-time clinic, with a comfortable bedroom just beyond that. The workshop has shelves upon shelves of miscellaneous alchemical supplies and concotions, as well as equipment used to brew and mix ingredients. A cellar door here has a rug hastily kicked over it, easy enough to spot for those who know to look for it. As you enter the room, you can hear the muffled sound of crying coming from beneath the floorboards.
Reknar exhales through gritted teeth as the healing light settles into him, the pain ebbing like a tide drawn back to sea. He lets out a short huff of a laugh, then reaches up and clasps Craig’s shoulder with a strong, callused hand.
"I will not forget that, Brother" - he says, a tusked grin splitting his face.
His expression sobers the moment he sees the two youths step out. He straightens, instinctively protective. The boy has the look of someone who’s already seen too much. And the girl… that cloth across her face, the way her hand stays tight on the bowstring… that speaks volumes.
Reknar gives them both a slow nod of respect - "Rauland. Thess. You've got more courage in you than many I’ve known. You did well staying hidden, looking out for each other. That took guts"
He steps closer, posture relaxed, voice softening as he addresses Thess.
"That wound…" - Reknar says gently, his voice softening - "It looks bad, but I’ve tended worse. If you’ll let me take a look, I can clean it up proper. Won’t poke or prod if you’d rather not, but infection’s a crueler killer than goblins ever were"
He glances briefly at Craig, a knowing look in his eyes - "Though we do have someone amidst us who might be able to help even more"
“And don't worry - we’re not leaving you behind. Not now, not ever. We stick together. That’s how we make it through this mess"
"I will not forget that, Brother" - he says, a tusked grin splitting his face.
"Aint no nevermind," He assures Reknar, then he too turns to see the siblings step out and his face too falls.
"Rauland, Thess?" He moves to the younger girl, "Reknar's right, Let's get that bandage done right. Reknar, you and I take a look see and a better patch"
He does not mention using a spell, not yet and maybe not unless it is the only way. The math is eating at him, Dozens of wounded maybe, more dead. Wounded will need healing, ain't got but one more direct heal in me now. Channeling the power ..got four more times there. Could use that, better for groups. Erastil forgive me, the math long run ain't good!
"We won't leave you two behind per se, but we could be going into more danger and putting you and your sister at more risk don't sit well with me but I suppose there's danger all around."
He looks at the others "Escort these folks to Taproot, or check out the Shrine?"
When Reknar offers the nod and the praise, Rauland just gives a weary, small shake of his head. “We stayed hidden because we didn’t have any other choice.”
Thess stands silently behind him, the bow still in her hand, though now it hangs low at her side. The ruin of her left eye is barely visible beneath the grubby improvised bandage,
She doesn’t speak until Reknar offers to help. At that, she hesitates—but not out of pride. Her shoulders stiffen, her hand twitches as if she might refuse the help and and wave it off.
But then Rauland turns to her, gives a small nod, and says gently, “Let 'em look, Thess. They won’t hurt you.”
Thess finally unwinds the cloth, her fingers clumsy with fatigue. The wound beneath is unmistakable. Not just swollen shut—the eye itself is gone, destroyed, a jagged red crater of torn flesh and bruising.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t cry. Just keeps still and lets the air touch it.
“I know it’s gone,” she says, quiet and calm in a way that sounds somehow worse than if she were screaming. “I just don’t want it to rot.”
Craig and Reknar begin their work in quiet tandem — Reknar carefully trims away the dead edges of flesh, working fast and sure, barely grazing the still-living tissue. His callused hands are steady as stone. Craig follows behind, pressing an herbal balm from the trading post store into the angry tear with practiced fingers. He is firm, but not aggressive — clearly the touch of someone who knows how to mend a wound.
The priest finishes the job, applying a final, neat wrap of linen to bandage the wound with a tight spiral and a careful tie. The bleeding's stopped. The swelling's already starting to ease under the mix of herbs and Craig’s steady hands. Thess blinks, slow and measured, the tension in her shoulders easing at last. She doesn’t say thank you. But she nods. Once.
Aelethea kneels beside the crumpled hobgoblin corpse, the glint in her eyes cold and calculating. She’s fast and efficient, fingers moving like she’s done this before. She rolls the body over, ignoring the smear of blood across the floor, and starts her search—belt pouches, boots, beneath the armor plates. Once satisfied, she turns her gaze toward the shelves and beings methodically inspecting and pocketing worthwhile goods.
Tern's soothing voice seems to quieten the whimpers coming from below. The cellar door opens slowly, revealing three wide-eyed refugees. "Is Vane...?" begins one before glancing back at the prone alchemist lying nearby the stretcher. "Are you going to take us away from here?" says another.
Reknar gives a small nod in return as Thess acknowledges the bandaging, his grin now gone. She didn't flinch. Didn't cry. He could respect that.
He keeps his voice low, for her ears alone - "You’re still standing. Still breathing. That means you can fight back. They didn’t take that from you - and they won’t"
Then, more practical now, he gestures toward her bow. "You got arrows left?" If she doesn’t, Reknar reaches into his pack, pulling out a small bundle of fletched shafts they scavenged earlier. "Here. Take these"
He steps back and eyes the others, glancing toward where the scavenged gear was laid out. "We found some armor earlier- studded leather. Might fit one of you. You should have some protection"
He looks to Rauland then, his tone calm but serious. "You ever used a blade before?" He doesn’t wait for posturing or pride - just the truth. "Not saying I want you in the thick of things. I don’t. You and Thess both should stay out of sight if things go bad. But if someone comes at you, I want you to have a chance to stand."
Then, to the group at large, he straightens and speaks with quiet conviction - "I think we should check the shrine next"
Craig could get fond of Reknar, the man is good at encouraging folks with gentle bravado. Craig didn't eavesdrop but it was clear Reknar was trying such with Thess and to a lesser degree, Rauland.
The work on the eye, well, there was no eye, on the area around it, was some of the best he's ever done. I doubt I'll ever be so favored as to get the power to regrow an eye. I'm just not worthy of that, but if we meet some healer who can, perhaps. For now, best not to get her hope up.
He notices Reknar supplying them with gear and such and nods approvingly and agrees "Same. I don't want them fighting unless they have to, but if they must, best to have them with gear."
Then, to the group at large, he straightens and speaks with quiet conviction - "I think we should check the shrine next"
"I'm a wee bit biased, but yes." A nod though he looks to see what Macharius and Valtyra have to say to that.
Seeing that Reknar already has a masterwork backpack and declined the extra, he takes it instead unless someone really makes a stink about it.
He'll transfer his own goods into it, then hand one of the new siblings his old one now empty for their own use "Fore this is done, various ways to carry what we take with us maybe in high demand."
"Unless you'd like to stay with the hobgoblins." Tern muses playfully, "But I find Pippin to be much better company."
Tern give Pippin a stroke across the top of his head and then taps at his clawed feet to start him going. It wasn't a trick the bird had down exactly yet, but when it worked he would dance about on Tern's shoulder and be very cute.
The animal can dance, sing, or perform some other impressive and enjoyable trick to entertain those around it. At the command of its owner, the animal can attempt a Perform check (or a Charisma check if it has no ranks in Perform) to show off its talent. Willing onlookers or those who fail an opposed Sense Motive check take a –2 penalty on Perception checks to notice anything but the animal entertaining them. Once an onlooker observes an animal’s entertain trick, that creature cannot be distracted in this way by the same animal for 24 hours. Tricksters and con artists often teach their animals to perform this trick while they pickpocket viewers or sneak about unnoticed.
"...works for me."
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Thess takes the arrows from Reknar without a word, her fingers wrapping tightly around the fletching.
"Still got a few left," she mutters, checking her quiver with a glance. "But more won't go astray. Thanks."
When Craig and Reknar speak of keeping her out of the fight, she doesn’t argue, but there’s a flicker of defiance in her tense jaw.
She slips the arrows into the quiver and takes the offered backpack from Craig without comment. It's a little too big for her slight frame, but she starts fastening straps and buckles. She’s not moving like someone helpless. Not anymore.
"You ever used a blade before?"
Rauland shifts awkwardly under Reknar’s question. His eyes dart to the blade, then back to Reknar.
"A little," he says. "My father… he showed me some."
He swallows, mustering some bravery before taking one of the longswords from the Half-Orc:
"I won’t freeze up. If it comes to it, you can count on me. I promise."
He glances toward Thess—still busy with the pack—and something firms in his posture. He draws himself up a little straighter, though he doesn’t quite meet Reknar’s eyes. He takes the suit of studded leather, and gives his best shot at donning it. Clearly not familiar with the process, he begins to blush as he struggles to fasten the strap on his jerkin.
Tern gives Pippin an affectionate stroke across his soft grey feathers, the smoky tips catching faint glints of torchlight. The owl blinks slowly, white-feathered face stoic and unimpressed. Tern taps gently at the bird’s little clawed feet—his usual cue.
Pippin tilts his head, big dark eyes watching the tapping finger. For a heartbeat, it looks like he might oblige—his talons flex slightly.
Then snap!—a sharp little lunge of his beak at Tern’s hand, missing by mere inches. Luckily, Tern jerks back instinctively and avoids the deadly strike.
Pippin fluffs up with exaggerated dignity, turning his back to the group and letting out a faint hoot that sounds suspiciously judgmental.
Laughter stirs among the commoners in the cellar. A gaunt older man near the back, calls out;
“Better company, you said? Looks like it’s got the same temperament as the hobbs out there…” he says, chuckling through gapped teeth.
One by one they emerge, grasping at bundles of their remaining worldly possessions. The gap tooth man turns to your group. "So, where'r we goin'? And what are we doing about poor ol' Vane?
The cleric helps Macharius with the meat he's collected, "Nice work on that AND the hot iron."
He notes the look of defiance in Thess' good eye. And her brother rallies his courage.
Something got to be done.. He looks at the others he came with "I think they might be in as much danger from a wandering patrol on their way to the taproot, as they are if they hang back behind us as we head to the Shrine. I'd suggest they follow from a distance but be ready to yell for help... what do y'all think?"
Having been occupied packing up everything for the easiest handling and travel, Val strides out to see the interaction with the brother and sister, wincing internally at the state of Thess' eye.
"I've got everything ready to go!" she says, walking over to Rauland and helping him adjust the fit of the armor with nary a work and just a hint of a smile at this flustered expression.
Stepping back to look him over she nods. "There you go, that should do the job." she says with a grin.
Turning to respond to Reknar's suggestion, she nods in agreement. "Good call. There's a good chance it's one of the spots people would head to for safety so it increases our chances of getting a few more people out."
"Well seeing as how you're not carrying much and he probably saved your lives hiding you." Tern muses, "I imagine we, and by we I mean you lot, are carrying him on a litter. Meanwhile we, and by we I mean us armed and combat able folk, will be escorting you safely into the woods so the hobs don't get us. Sounds like a suitable plan you lot?"
"Come." Moragul grumbles. "Let's get you lot to to the tavern. There's more to save." He turns, ready to lead the assembled crew back into the darkness. "And more to kill."
Craig and Macharius finish packing the last of the fresh meat, wrapping their bounty in linen cloth salvaged from Kining's store. Macharius finishes cleaning the blood from his hatchet, casting a keen elven eye of the carcass one last time to make sure every useful cut has been salvaged.
Rauland stands motionless, almost seeming embarrassed as Valtyra tightens the last of the troublesome straps. "Thank you... it's trickier than it looks..." his voice trails off.
Kining emerges from her quarters, donned now in a suit of fitted scale armour. Her smithing hammer hangs at her side, and she now brandishes a stout, well oiled flail. She nods, listening to the group discuss the plan.
"Aye, priestling. Yer plan is sound; I'll stay back with this lot, I'm sure between me and the two farmhands there," she gestures toward Rauland and Thess "we can at least hold off any gobs stupid enough to try their luck. Long enough fer you four to come and give them a good kick up the backside, anyways." she state matter-of-factly. She turns her gaze to Thess, and heads back inside momentarily before returning with a small padded gambeson. Approaching the girl, she holds it up as if sizing a ballroom gown before pressing it into her hands. "Here girl. Ye've already lost an eye; lets try our best to keep the rest of ye intact, shall we?" her voice is stern, but somewhere underneath there is a hint of compassion. Thess heads inside and returns momentarily, suited up and ready to go.
You head off, leading the trail of refugees close behind. The sky boils with black smoke from the fires still burning, and the sounds of the enemy echo faintly — hobgoblins barking orders, goblins chittering with glee, bugbears snarling in the alleyways. The exertion of this night is starting to set in, a weary feeling that washes of each and every one of you. As you press on toward the shrine, a short way that somehow feels like miles, you each steal a glance toward one another. Realizing that there are others depending on you, you steel yourselves against the wave of fatigue. Sleep is for the weak anyway, and tonight you are fast becoming fledgling heroes. Narrowly avoiding the numerous patrols and skirmishes around, you reach the Riverwood Shrine.
A wooden deck surrounds the front of an octagonal structure with broad archways leading into a place of worship. To its left stands a moss-encrusted stone monument. Carved birds, branches, and fruits decorate the wooden supports of the temple’s entryway. A dead villager is curled up on the wooden deck before the temple, not too far from the corpse of a dead horse. A lone wolf prowls out front, pacing in circles but never straying too far from the wooden deck. It eyes the horse carcass hungrily. Not far behind, a rusty skinned hobgoblin leans against the wall of the shrine, longbow in hand. Every now and then she grunts at the wolf, tugging the heavy chain connected to an iron collar around its mangy neck.
"Sounds good ta me, feller. Youse all handle the fighting, we'll take care of ol' Vane here." The gap tooth man replies, motioning toward the others to take up a handle on the stretcher. Vane offers no response, having slipped into a deep sleep. Aelethea gives one final glance over the shelves, satisfied that she has found everything worth taking. She leads the way, darting ahead to make sure that your route takes you wide around any of the goblin patrols that are stomping through the streets and alleys. Eventually, you reach the inn. Jet, the tavernkeeper, spies you through a large window at the front of the tavern and unbars the door before ushering you and your motley crew inside.
As you are about to enter the tavern, you spy a large number of silhouettes to the south. The four at the front are unmistakeable; Craig, Macharius, Reknar and Valtyra seem to be headed to the Riverwood shrine, an ensemble of refugees in tow. The path toward the shrine is currently clear; if you leave now, your group could make it unnoticed and rejoin the others.
Kining's rough kindness is appreciated, and Craig doesn't mind the term priestling, to dwarven years he must still seem as green as grass, and he's only been into his blessings a short while aside. Her backing their plan is reassuring, for the smith seems no fool.
He and his peers have no time for weariness. Hard work is no stranger to most of them and this is so much more important than any work they've likely ever done. Craig is powerful grateful to those what are even better at sneaking about or guiding them around enemy patrols.
Maybe the Shrine will...
A wooden deck surrounds the front of an octagonal structure with broad archways leading into a place of worship. To its left stands a moss-encrusted stone monument. Carved birds, branches, and fruits decorate the wooden supports of the temple’s entryway. A dead villager is curled up on the wooden deck before the temple, not too far from the corpse of a dead horse. A lone wolf prowls out front, pacing in circles but never straying too far from the wooden deck. It eyes the horse carcass hungrily. Not far behind, a rusty skinned hobgoblin leans against the wall of the shrine, longbow in hand. Every now and then she grunts at the wolf, tugging the heavy chain connected to an iron collar around its mangy neck.
Craig's Amber eyes fall on the corpse and sorrow threatens to well in them. Were their time for tears he would not have the strength to stop them, and he whispers "Father Noelan" then a whisper to those with him as he looks at the corpse of his beloved mentor, [smaller]"I'm gonna try to calm the wolf with a spell, may work, may not. Rest of you focus on taking out the hob quiet and fast, eh? then we get into the Shrine proper" The sorrow is turning to rage but he can't afford that either. They need to think it through but action? he wants action now.
Unless someone objects, when they get within 30 feet of the wolf, he lets loose with the spell while he hopes the others cut loose on the hob with a bow.
For a moment, her mind flashes back to herself standing over her parents' bodies as their home burned...the momentary overwhelming sense of helplessness swiftly replaced by rage and focus.
She nods in response to Craig's suggestion, knowing that this was not the time for words of condolence. "Any of you good with a bow? If not I can use it, to try and take her out before we get close. We'll have a single shot before there's enough noise to bring any of the others nearby running."
Then he turns to Valtyra - "You should give it a go" - he agreed.
"This way." Moragul gestures towards the shrine through the darkness which his orcish eyes easily pierce. The sooner they drop off the refugees, the sooner Moragul can get back to axe work.
"...never used a bow. Give me one now." He growls, his free hand held out.
Tern gives Moragul a curious look, but then just nods his head deferentially and follows. He did not speak and simply shadowed behind the capable warrior druid. His attention was on the people behind carrying the litter, and he glanced back on occasion to make sure they were following.
Aelethea clasps Tern’s shoulder, her expression firm beneath the hood of her drawn cloak. “I’ll keep these ones breathing. Don’t be a hero.”
"Good luck" She says to Moragul with a nod before closing the tavern door and taking up post at the large window. A heavy CLUNK confirms that the door has been barred again, and Moragul and Tern head off into the night. The pair move low and fast between the burning buildings and drifting smoke. The crackle of flames and distant clash of steel still echo around, but they manage to pass unseen, guided by a newfound sense of urgency.
At the shrine, tucked behind the smashed remnants of a scorched wooden wall, Valtyra and Macharius crouch in the shadows, bows drawn and eyes locked on a lone hobgoblin sentry pacing before the shrine’s battered doors.
Thess slips away from the rest of the refugees as Reknar calls to her, bow in hand. Her one good eye darts from the half-orc to the sentry, then back again "I'll try." she says, drawing an arrow and moving to join Valtyra and Macharius.
Craig fixes his gaze on the snarling wolf at the sentry’s side, his posture tense with anger.
Then—without a sound—Tern and Moragul melt out of the smokey night haze, appearing at the group’s flank like ghosts. Thess nearly looses her arrow in surprise, only to catch herself with a sharp breath.
Thess slips away from the rest of the refugees as Reknar calls to her, bow in hand. Her one good eye darts from the half-orc to the sentry, then back again "I'll try." she says, drawing an arrow and moving to join Valtyra and Macharius.
Craig fixes his gaze on the snarling wolf at the sentry’s side, his posture tense with anger.
Craig prepares his spell, ready to cast it on the wolf hoping to calm it while the scout dies quick. He’s not sure Thess is ready for this but…
Then—without a sound—Tern and Moragul melt out of the smokey night haze, appearing at the group’s flank like ghosts. Thess nearly looses her arrow in surprise, only to catch herself with a sharp breath.
With surprising calm, the cleric motions Tern and Moragul over to them, and whispers to them ”I’m going to try call on Erastil to calm the wolf while Thess here tries to take out the scout. Feel free to join her in finishing the hob off afore alarm can be sounded.”
When they get within 30 feet of the wolf, he lets loose with the spell while he hopes the others cut loose on the hob with bow or spell or whatever
"Be still, be at ease. No hunt, just peace."
Tern goes to speak, but give a thoughtful smile and leaves Craig to it. Instead he stands at ease, ready to throw a spell if needed.
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Moragul watches and waits...
Reknar stands ready to come to Craig's aid if needed.
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Craig's finishes his prayer as he moves within range of the mangy wolf, and the spell instantly takes hold. The wolf's snarl melts into numbness, it's tail flicking in quiet submission. A heartbeat later, three arrows fly from the darkness—Macharius’s and Valtyra’s shots striking true, burying deep in the hobgoblin’s shoulder and thigh. She stumbles with a grunt, still clueless to who—or what—had struck.
Seeing the spell take hold Tern will follow with a splash of acid.
Moragul advances!
Tern's acid splash fails to land, as Moragul advances into melee. The sentry's eyes widen as the massive bear-like druid emerges from the darkness, and she hurriedly tries to spur her wolf to defend.
"We got this!" - Reknar encouraged his companions, moving forward himself - "Craig and Thess, make those arrows count. Val, set up the flank! Strike hard and fast!"
Valtyra quickly fires off a hasty shot, already in motion before the arrow thinks itself into the side of the building, the bow effortlessly slung over her shoulder as she moves toward the wounded hobgoblin, drawing her sword as she does, hoping that Tern's spell keeps the wolf's attention.
This didn't go a smoothly as Craig hoped. Hopes a fine thing, for a Desnan. We Erastilians gotta take practical action.
The arrow notches into his longbow and he fires at the Hob.
The final volley of two arrows sink into either shoulder of the sentry, sending her reeling into the shrine wall. She slides down to the ground in a slump, the life fading fast from her eyes. The wolf stands mesmerized, staring at Craig as if waiting for a command.
"Her or us I suppose." Tern reasons quietly to himself as he considers the body for a moment, "Should we hide the body, or are we keeping moving?"