4th Neth, 4709
One-hundred and seventy four years ago, Ekat Kassen, a traveler and treasure hunter of renown came to settle within the Fangwood forest after having accumulated great wealth while fighting with the Lastwall military. He used his fortune to create a small trading community along the Tourondel River within the forest which eventually became known as Kassen’s Hold. The town became a boon to those traveling up and down the river to Skelt, and because of this it prospered greatly. This changed, however, when the mercenary Asar Vergas and his men arrived. While Asar was an old companion of Ekat, Asar suspected that Ekat cheated him out of some treasure during their last adventure. Asar led his men to plunder and raid Kassen’s Hold relentlessly for 2 months. The townsfolk eventually located Asar’s camp within an ancient crypt deep within the forest, and Ekat himself set out to deal with his former companion personally. It was a bloody battle and few returned. Ekat himself suffered a mortal wound and died 2 days later on 11th Neth 4535. In honor of their founder, the townsfolk buried Kassen in the ancient crypt, interring his bones in a place of honor above the simple sarcophagi used to inter Asar and his mercenaries. Above Kassen’s final resting place, they placed an eternal flame, so that all who visited may find warmth in the wilderness.
Throughout the years, the Crypt of the Everflame has become an important part of the history of the town, now simply called Kassen. Every autumn, a few of the townsfolk make the pilgrimage to the crypt to light a lantern from the flame and bring it back to the town where it’s preserved throughout the winter. Most years, the Mayor and a group of dignitaries perform this quest, however, occasionally, when there are enough to fill the ranks, the Mayor selects a group of youngsters to journey to the Crypt and retrieve the Flame. Many see this as a passage to adulthood; a taste of adventure before settling down and establishing a family.
This year marks the first time in four years that a group of eligible young townsfolk will be venturing out to the Crypt to retrieve the Everflame. You are one of those young heroes. The Mayor has spoken with you and expressed his desire that you join with other young people of the town to retrieve the Everflame and you have agreed. This afternoon in the traditional solemn ceremony, the town will be asked who will venture out to the Crypt to retrieve the Flame in order to keep the town safe for another winter. It is then that you will be asked to step forward and be recognized.
Once he reaches the center of the crowd, Mayor Uptal stops and calls out to the assembled townsfolk.
“Once again the winter winds blow through the Fangwood, marking the end of another harvest. There are wolves in the woods, howling at our walls, and serpents in our shadows, waiting to strike. Just as it was one hundred and seventy-four years ago, when Kassen himself left these walls to protect us, so it is today. Where are the heroes? Where are the brave folk that will venture out to Kassen’s tomb and retrieve the flame to keep this community safe for another winter?”
Hennon slowly rolls his giant, gray-green and currently smooth shaven head from side to side, looking for any indication of who else might be going forward. Seeing none, and growing uncomfortable in his father's scratchy wool cloak, he bends down and places a gentle but slobbery kiss on the forehead of the small old woman next to him.
"Bye, Mama. Hennon will miss you."
The woman takes one of Hennon's massive hands in her own and squeezes it as a tear runs down her cheek. "Come home safe, Hennon. You're father would be proud of you."
Hennon nods once, then begins to move toward the mayor. He stops almost immediately, however, finding the way blocked by throngs of people. Scanning the crowds left and right, and still finding no passage to the mayor, Hennon begins to clumsily pick his way through the crowd, stepping on no shortage of toes and generally irritating everyone he passes.
"Pardon for excusing. Hennon am coming through to see the boss."
As he nears the front, the crowd begins to part in front of him as they hear his gruff voice - most of them giving him as wide a berth as possible. Somewhere off to his right, Hennon hears some of his former classmates snickering. "Look, Pavel, the half-wit is going!" The other responds in as deep a voice as his pubescent vocal chords would allow "Hennon am sorry for being stupid, but Hennon can chop -- that help?" The snickers spread slightly. Hennon tries to ignore them, but can't and steps on an old man's foot. The man curses and spits on Hennon's foot.
Hennon grimaces and looks at him apologetically, "Hennon am sorry. Hennon am sorry."
When the half-orc finally reaches the front of the crowd, he slowly and uncomfortably makes his way up to the mayor. A new tunic is stretched tightly over the splint mail that moans slightly as he walks, and a dark gray hooded cloak with the hood down spreads over his shoulders and down his back. A pair of well-worn leather boots cover's his feet and he carries a new backpack easily over one shoulder. Most prominent, however, is the fearsome orc double-axe strapped to the middle of his back. His walk is plodding and uncertain, but his trajectory is straight as an arrow as he trudges toward Mayor Uptal.
Stopping before the mayor and his pony, Hennon glances uncertainly back toward his mother, but can't find her in the crowd. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then says:
"Good morning, Boss. Hennon am here and slept well. We go now?"
The crowd murmurs as they watch the aloof half-orc attempt to squeeze his way through to the front where the Mayor stands. Eventually they part out of the way and gawk at the peculiar scene before them. The half-orc and his elderly mother share a few words before he continues through the crowd. The sound of annoyed cries of "ouch," and "ow!" are heard as the clumsy half-orc cautiously yet gracelessly shimmies through.
Eventually the half-orc steps through past a scowling young man and his wide-eyed companion. The crowd breaks into muttered whispering.
The Mayor speaks up in a loud voice as the burly half-orc steps forward.
"Thank you, Hennon for showing courage this day. Your efforts will not be forgotten!"
Uptal smiles at Hennon in a way much as a proud father would at his son, and then speaks quietly to him.
The Mayor steps over to the cart beside him and lifts a newly sewn backpack from the pile. Affixed to it is a blanket and a tent. He hands it to the young half-orc.
"Oh, and here..." Uptal digs into a rear pocket and pulls out a piece of rolled parchment. "A trail map to the Crypt. It should be of great help. The others will receive one also." He states as he hands you the map.
Trail Map
The Mayor goes to reach up and place his hand on the half-orc's shoulder but he stops himself and smiles, realizing it's futility.
Uptal speaks up again, "Where are Kassen's other heroes? Where are the rest who would join Hennon here in lighting the flame?"
Dialog will be in bold
Thoughts will be in italics
After waiting as patiently as his impatience would allow, the slight figure hidden in the throng sighed with relief when he heard someone finally approaching the mayor. Pharasma's Breath! I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to do this on my own. Well, there's little sense in waiting much longer. Might as well make my appearance now while the appearing's good! hehe!
Few could actually see Abbrathil's approach as he tried to weave his way through the crowd. Despite his efforts, he found himself jostled repeatedly as he tried to approach the mayor. I wonder who else- Hey! Watchit, lady! I'm trying to walk here, not be smothered to death by you and your inestimable girth! If the overly large onlooker heard his squeaky voice, it did not show on her face as she continued to sway side to side, trying to get a good view of the mayor and those who might step forward.
After what seemed like an hour, Abbrathil finally managed to make his way through the forest of legs. As he emerged into the center of the square he stopped suddenly, mouth agape at the figure standing beside Mayor Uptal. Pharasma's Breath! They're growing giants in the village now!
Abbrathil quickly brushed his wild hair, the color of fresh red tulips, back with both hands and smoothed the front of his dark blue robes. After a few quick breaths, he strode into the center of the square with as much confidence as he could muster. It took him probably four times as many strides as Hennon to reach the mayor, but once he finally arrived he bowed before the mayor. I too am ready, milord.
Abbrathil took his place beside Hennon, which evoked a sweeping wave of chuckles from the crowd. Abbrathil glanced up nervously to the half-orc, his large eyes growing even wider as he tried to calculate Hennon's height in his head. He is! He's a giant. Pharasma save me, they're sending me into the crypt with an adolescent hill giant.
... uhhh.... Hi? Herman, was it? I think they're sending the tallest person and the shortest person from the village on this errand. I'm Abbrathil, a pleasure to meet you!
As the Mayor stands scanning the crowd with his eyes, a gnome wrapped in a dark blue cloak appears suddenly at the front of the crowd. The Mayor's head tilts downward and the crowd struggles to see who has appeared at the front.
"Here we have another one of our heroes! Young Master Navari, apprentice wizard of our very own Holgast, and here by Holgast's own recommendation! Thank you for your courage this day, Master Navari!"
The Mayor spins around to the cart behind him and lifts a small-sized backpack up and hands it to the gnome. It also has a tent and blanket fashioned to it.
Trail Map
“It is a trail map of the local environs which will lead you straight to the Crypt. Holgast highly regards you, young master. We look forward to your return.”
He shares a few words with the gnome and then stands back up to address the crowd once again.
“Two of our heroes have emerged; where are the others? It is nigh time for these brave adventurers to head to the Crypt of the Everflame and return that bright beacon of hope once again to Kassen.”
Hennon grins lopsidedly at the small gnome and stoops to address him, but stops as the Mayor introduces him and waits for him to finish. After the Mayor has turned back to the crowd he offers the gnome his giant right hand.
"Herman am not here today. Maybe him show up later. Hennon am here, though, and am liking to say hello to..." he screws up his mouth for a moment, then says "Abbramari."
Abbramari? Did you- ah. I see. No, no.
Abbrathil scratches his head briefly as his large eyes glance up to Hennon. His response is voiced without pause for breath.
You seem to have taken the initial syllable of my forename and combined with the antipodal syllable of my surname and thereby created a nonsensical phonetic amalgam that is neither of my names and yet both of them at the same time. Abbrathil. Nevari. A-bra-thil. Ne-var-i. Abbrathil Nevari. Yes?
His eyebrows arch inquisitively as he looks toward to the towering figure beside him.
Hennon stares at the gnome and blinks repeatedly, dumbfounded, then begins to nod understandingly.
"Antimonal symbols. Yes. Hennon am for liking them, too." He smiles. "Hennon am for liking you, too, Amma --- Abbra --- ... Nev --- ... Small friend."
He pats Abbrathil as lightly as he can on the head and then scans the crowd for more adventurers.
"Are you for thinking more are coming?"
Abbrathil squirms uncomfortably beneath Hennon's massive palm, and despite his flailing arms he is unable to prevent being petted. Flustered, he quickly smooths his hair back with both hands then brushes a bit of imagined dust from his left sleeve.
I am all for thinking, Hennon. As for the appearance of other adventurers to aid us in our ceremonial endeavor, I suppose that will hinge upon the capriciousness of the gods.
Pharasma take me if no one else comes forward! Ayiyiyi!
The long, awkward pause that followed was made even more awkward and uncomfortable as a foul stench suddenly filled the air - something like a mixture of eggs and ... cabbage? Hennon shifted uncomfortably on his feet as his stomach gurgled. He tried to casually back up a few paces and an almost imperceptible wfffft was heard from the direction of his backside. Shortly thereafter the smell was back, and stronger this time.
Hennon cleared his throat softly - or tried to - and shifted back and forth once more. He was quite obviously uncomfortable with the silence, the sideways glances he was getting, and the burgeoning gas in his intestines.
Tapping his left foot while scanning the crowd, Abbrathil eyes grew as wide as saucers as a pungent and sickening odor wafted into his nostrils. With a gasp, the tiny gnome leapt into the air and pulled a small handkerchief out of one of his pockets. With hurried words and a glare at Hennon that was equal parts shock and ire, Abbrathil cast prestidigitation upon the small square of cloth.
Quickly he covered his mouth and nose, inhaling deeply through the latter, enjoying the artificial scent of honeysuckles much more than the natural scent produced by Hennon.
With one eyebrow raised exaggeratedly and with his left hand holding the handkercheif over his mouth and nose, Abbrathil shook his head when he turned to regard his towering companion.
You are more than welcome to keep your gastrointestinal distresses and their various byproducts to yourself! Might I also humbly suggest that you see a professional. One can only imagine what kind of damage an open portal to the Abyss might cause when it is located in such near proximity to one's... ahhh... well... you know. It can't be good is all I'm saying!
Suddenly the crowd's attention turns to the north as a man emerges from a darkened alley. The man carries a deer on his back, it's legs held around his neck by his hands. Seeing the crowd's attention has been drawn to him, he smiles widely as he maneuvers around the outside of the crowd and walks up next to the Mayor.
"Sorry for being late! I caught a glimpse of this spotted doe on my way here and just had to have her."
He looks to the half-orc and gnome standing nearby.
"Lads, we'll be having venison this night. I won't allow a somber excursion to a Crypt dampen my spirits."
The Mayor rolls his eyes as he steps over to place a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Friends, this here is Raven Grimbriar, famed local hunter and protector of Nirmathas, and cousin to our very own Arnama Lastrid!"
The Mayor leans over and whispers into the man's ear.
Perception DC 15:
"I'm doing you a favor, Raven. This is only because of your cousin's prodding. One word out of you and you will get nothing."
The man smiles again as he listens to the Mayor, and then waves to those assembled in the square.
Raven looks up to Hennon and smirks. "It'll be good to have one of your size with us. I hear there are foul things living within the Crypt... undead, perhaps. Unnatural creations. Fun to hunt, though."
The man then looks down at Abbrathil. "You're a strange fellow. Whats your story?"
Abbrathil glances up at the rugged looking human and puts his fists on his hips while tapping his right foot, his face flushed.
Now look here, stranger. I, for one, am not nearly as strange as a heretofore unnamed individual whose introductory address claims that avian creatures of an implicitly sinister nature dwell within the crypt to which we are intending to travel! Despite your unorthodox proemial practices, you demonstrate a much stronger grasp of basic enunciation skills and I am thereby once more able to hope that someone other than myself will be capable of pronouncing my name.
After a long breath, Abbrathil takes a deep bow. When he rises, he introduces himself.
I am Abbramari Ne--- His eyes go wide as saucers as he quickly clamps both hands over his mouth in panic, his cheeks flushed with embarassment.
*sigh* Just call me "Abbra." I fear it will be easier this way. His shoulders slump as he mutters under his breath.
"Abbra? Ah, I see. You're a wizard aren't you? Abbracadabra! Pleasure to meet you." Raven smirks and then turns his attention to the Mayor who hands him a backpack and a rolled up parchment.
"Ha! I have no need of this, Mayor. I know these lands like the back of my hand. In fact, I could lead them to the Crypt blindfolded."
The Mayor replies, "Very well! I'm sure your tracking skills will be of great use to the party." Uptal attempts to disguise another eye-roll.
Once again the Mayor faces the crowd and addresses them, "There is one more adventurer who has yet to show themselves! Where is our last hero? Where is the final adventurer who would join this party and return the Everflame to Kassen?"
"Perception 1d20 + 4 (5) + 4 = 9"
ooooh... shuddup, Birdhead Crankybush. Abbracadabra indeed!
"Perception Check: 1d20 + 2 (18) + 2 = 20"
Hennon swivels to face the newcomer. "Hennon love venison! Hennon am pleased to meet you, Raven." A slight string of drool spills over his lower lip and clings to his tunic and he slowly peels his eyes from the deer carcass and turns to Abbrathil. "Hennon like the name Abbra. Short and nice. Hennon will call you that."
The crowd is suddenly silenced by a strange sound coming from behind them. A gruff, purring growl precedes the appearance of a young woman beginning to make her way forward. Confused onlookers stare in wonder as she passes when a strange creature reveals itself and begins to follow her. The creature appears to be something out of legend. It's body is shaped like a large, furry blonde dog, however it's head is much like a dragon with the same thick fur running through it's elongated neck and thinning out around it's face. It opens it's gaping mouth and exhales it's breath visibly in the cold air and then turns it's head eying the crowd as it follows it's apparent master.
The woman, dressed in a dark red robe bordered with gold trim walks with a thick quarterstaff. As she approaches, her beast follows close behind and when she stops, the creature sits on it's hindquarters. Strange runes in various shapes and sizes cover it's fur, appearing slightly darker than it's fur as if they were burned into it.
The Mayor speaks up as the young woman approaches.
"At last, we have our final arrival. May I introduce the lovely Miss Elmaran! Miss Sarenae Elmaran, sister of Jocyn of the Seven Silvers."
The young woman faces the crowd and bows, however from your vantage point it doesn't appear that the crowd has lifted their eyes from her strange beast.
"Miss Elmaran is an arcanist who has tapped into the power of summoning strange creatures from beyond, including her own pet he..."
"Eidolon." The woman interrupts him. "He's an Eidolon, and his name is Ifrit."
"Right! Eidolon...Ifrit!" The Mayor continues.
"Well, I believe it is time that we see off our intrepid adventurers so they can make some progress tonight before setting camp."
He hands the two newcomers a backpack and scroll.
"Let us set our adventurer's off, shall we? When they return, we will celebrate the return of the Everflame once again to Kassen. It has been quite some time since brave folk such as these have honored our town."
The Mayor nods to the four of you.
"Please, friends, lead the way to the southern gates. We will follow and see you off."
Raven smiles and turns to the three of you. "I will lead the way, friends! I have been in the area surrounding the Crypt and know where it lies."
Sarenae nods at Raven as he passes and begins heading down the street.
Ifrit hops up on all fours and steps over to Hennon and begins sniffing him. Sarenae smiles and you notice a glowing rune on her forehead which matches the prominent one on Ifrit's fur.
"Oh, don't worry about him. Ifrit is harmless; unless of course I direct him to attack. He will be of great assistance on our journey."
She then turns and begins following Raven.
Hennon breaks out in a wide, tusked grin that only serves to accentuate his homeliness at the appearance and interest of Ifrit. He holds out a massive hand for the Eidolon to sniff and with his other hand he reaches into his somewhat grungy jacket and pulls out a piece of jerky.
"Ifrit like smoke-meat?" He dangles the jerky before the strange creature, then suddenly pauses, his grin vanishing into a look of puzzlement. Then, slowly, the grin creeps back - first on one side, then on the other - and Hennon chortles deeply.
"Huh-huh, huh-huh. Birdhead! Birdhead Crankybush!" He swivels his head towards the gnome as they set off, "You am funny, Abbra! Crankybush! Huh-huh!"
The four of you begin to head off towards the town gate as the large crowd follows close behind. You recall that while there is a great celebration to follow the return from the Crypt, the opening celebration is one of traditional somber reflection. The crowd is mostly silent as you approach the gates, and then the Mayor again takes a prominent place at the center of the road. The four of you stand in front of him as he address the crowd behind.
The mayor once again speaks to the townsfolk.
“I present to you the brave heroes who will follow in Kassen’s footsteps to retrieve the Everflame! Some of them may not return, but I say to you that their sacrifice shall not be forgotten. Go, brave heroes, and do not return until you have the eternal fire.” With that, the mayor points to the south, the direction of Kassen’s tomb. The townsfolk begin waving goodbye with cold, solemn looks on most of their faces.
At hearing the Mayor repeat how some of the group may not return, Abbrathil merely stares blankly him and blinks a few times. He begins to twiddle his thumbs while glancing side to side nervously before throwing his hands up in the air dramatically and stomping off along the trail. After a few moments, he stops, does an abrupt about-face, and stomps back to stand before the mayor.
With one hand defiantly on his hip and the other wagging a finger at the mayor, he squeaks at Uptal, "You know, it is well with your cognative abilities, I hope, for you to at least attempt communicating some level of confidence in your chosen quadruplet! 'Might not return', indeed!"
With that, Abbrathil whirls around and stomps further down the trail, muttering to himself as he goes... "might not return! I'll show him 'might not return'! ooooooooo!"
As the party leaves town, Hennon quickens his pace and lengthens his stride to catch up with the swiftly moving Grimbriar. Once his is within arm's reach, Hennon taps him slightly harder than intended on the left bicep with a stubby forefinger.
"Birdhead want Hennon for to carry dinner?" He gestures at the deer draped over Raven's shoulders, then at his own broad shoulders.
Raven turns his head towards the lumbering half-orc and smirks as he approaches.
"Birdhead? My name is Raven... R-A-V-E-N. Like the bird, you know? Wait... ah, nevermind." He smiles widely at Hennon. "Sure, big guy, you can carry the doe. No problem."
He stops and then lifts the deer off his shoulders and then hands it over to Hennon. As Abbrathil approaches, Raven turns his attention to the gnome and begins walking with him.
"Don't concern yourself about the Mayor's words. It's all tradition." he says with a laugh.
The man quickly turns his head to glance at Hennon, watching him carry the doe.
"He says that every year. Usually, its just some of the town guard and the Mayor himself who heads off to the Crypt. It's always, 'dangerous quest,' this, 'may never return,' that. I know some of them, and let me tell you, if they can make it back, then I seriously doubt we'll have much difficulty. This is going to be a stroll in the wood."
He slaps his hand upside Abbrathil's shoulder and then keeps walking, intentionally trying to keep a lead.
Sarenae casually walks near Hennon. She strokes the scruffy blonde fur of her creature companion as she moves her head from side to side, taking in the scenery around her. She keeps a stern look on her face as if preparing herself mentally for the possible danger ahead.
Raven obviously begins to slow his pace a bit after glancing back towards the woman.
"My lady, that is quite the creature you've got there." He says.
Sarenae smiles slightly and replies, "Indeed. He could tear a man up without much effort."
Raven starts laughing nervously and then walks ahead once again, attempting to regain his lead in front of the party.
Stepping easily under the added weight of the deer carcass, Hennon pipes up cheerfully: "Hennon like Ifrit. Hennon like Birdhead, and Sarenae - sister of the Seven Slivers woman, and Abbra, and venison. Hennon like walking. Hennon am happy to be here." He begins whistling surprisingly well through the gaps in his lips created by his protruding, tusk-like, lower incisors.
Abbrathil stumbles forward a few steps from Raven's jovial shoulder-slap but does little more than briefly scowl at the man's back as he passes.
Brushing some more imaginary dust from his sleeves and sweeping his hair back with both his hands, Abbrathil slightly falls into stride beside the others. He glances repeatedly at Ifrit as he walks, wondering silently to himself - Pharasma's Breath! That beast looks like a dragondog! I've never even heard of such a thing! It's... it's beyond all classification. I wonder if anyone has ever recorded encountering a creature of its kind before? I wonder if it dies if Sarenae will let me dissect it? Oh that would be something indeed!
By the time Abbrathil rouses himself from his musings, the group has pulled ahead of him by a significant distance and with a startled hop into the air, the tiny, red haired gnome moves his feet as fast as he can to catch up.
You continue traveling south of Kassen for two hours. The clouds in the sky begin to darken as they accumulate and block out the dull sun's rays. A brisk chill fills the air as the wind howls through the thickening wood. Fortunately there is only a light rain, and even that is mostly blocked out by the trees which still have some of their leaves left clinging to the branches.
As morning gives way to afternoon, the clouds open up and reveal the dull sun once again. The windchill eases up and leaves for a soggy yet warmer afternoon. You continue following a narrow path which zig-zags through the crowded wood for another hour or so.
The narrow path winds through the raking claws of the trees, now bereft of their leaves, which crunch loudly underfoot. Up ahead, a fallen tree trunk blocks the path. Suddenly a trio of snarling humanoids leaps up from behind the log, all greenish skin and fearsome tusks, bellowing vulgar challenges.
...Initiative!
Initiative 1d20+3=17
Initiative:
Raven Initiative
Sarenae Initiative
Orcs Initiative
Sarenae quickly spots the Orcs as they rise up from behind the log ahead and reacts by pulling out a small piece of leather from her waist pouch. She speaks a few arcane words as suddenly a shimmering, yet translucent field of force surrounds her entire body. She readies her walking staff and then yells, "Ifrit, attack!"
The creature speedily complies and begins stalking towards the Orcs, preparing to strike.
*****Battlemap
Sarenae Initiative 1d20 + 2 (17) + 2 = 19
Hennon Initiative 1d20 + 3 = (14) +3 = 17
Abbrathil Initiative: 1d20 + 2 (12) + 2 = 14
Raven Initiative 1d20 + 3 (5) + 3 = 8
Orcs Initiative 1d20 + 0 (4) + 0 = 4
Hennon jerks to a halt as the orcs rear up and begin spouting their obscenities. A look of shock crosses his face and he glances quickly at Sarenae, then glares at the trio of orcs. His countenance visibly darkens as he slowly stoops and deposits the deer carcass at his feet.
"Hennon am angry!" He bellows as he returns to his full towering height and begins to stalk toward the orcs, drawing his orc double-ax in the process. "Those words are bad when a lady am near! Hennon am for teaching you some manners!"
Sarenae Initiative 1d20 + 2 (17) + 2 = 19
Hennon Initiative 1d20 + 3 = (14) +3 = 17
Abbrathil Initiative: 1d20 + 2 (12) + 2 = 14
Raven Initiative 1d20 + 3 (5) + 3 = 8
Orcs Initiative 1d20 + 0 (4) + 0 = 4
Abbrathil's eyes widen with a start. He hops into the air with surprise then hurries forward, his mind racing for a spell.
Hear now! Shoo! We've no time for your porcine thuggery!
After zipping forward a short distance, Abbrathil points ominously at the orc immediately in front of him and cracks a one-sided grin. A thin, swirling line of blue lances and spirals from his finger, racing through the air toward the orc.
Move Action: advance to L7 (4 squares)
Standard Action: Ray of Frost
*Ranged Touch Attack:
**Damage (if applicable): (cold)
The ray of cold energy blasts forth from Abbrathil's hand, and as it strikes the Orc raises his arm defensively as he grunts angrily.
Sarenae Initiative 1d20 + 2 (17) + 2 = 19
Hennon Initiative 1d20 + 3 = (14) +3 = 17
Abbrathil Initiative: 1d20 + 2 (12) + 2 = 14
Raven Initiative 1d20 + 3 (5) + 3 = 8
Orcs Initiative 1d20 + 0 (4) + 0 = 4
Next, Raven pulls out his longbow and stings an arrow as he moves up near Ifrit. He mutters something to himself and then lets out a sarcastic, "ha." He looses an arrow at the same Orc.
Longbow Attack:
The Orc grabs at the arrow as it strikes and then collapses to the ground.
Sarenae Initiative 1d20 + 2 (17) + 2 = 19
Hennon Initiative 1d20 + 3 = (14) +3 = 17
Abbrathil Initiative: 1d20 + 2 (12) + 2 = 14
Raven Initiative 1d20 + 3 (5) + 3 = 8
Orcs Initiative 1d20 + 0 (4) + 0 = 4
The Orc on the far right takes his greataxe and maneuvers around the log raising it above his head and he heads towards Ifrit.
Attack
The cut swipes down and into the beast's furry flesh. The creature yelps and collapses to the ground.
The other Orc moves around the log and prepares to engage Hennon.
Round 2!
Seeing her companion fall, Sarenae cries out as she pulls out her crossbow and moves in between Abbrathil and Raven in order to fire a bolt at the Orc responsible.
Attack
The Orc drops his greataxe after the bolt strikes him directly in the head. He falls straight forward right next to Ifrit.
Sarenae Initiative 1d20 + 2 (17) + 2 = 19
Hennon Initiative 1d20 + 3 = (14) +3 = 17
Abbrathil Initiative: 1d20 + 2 (12) + 2 = 14
Raven Initiative 1d20 + 3 (5) + 3 = 8
Orcs Initiative 1d20 + 0 (4) + 0 = 4
Will Save: (+2 if vs. illusion)
Hennon watches in horror as Ifrit falls to one of the orc's axes. His already too-small eyes narrow as they settle on the lone remaining orc and his knuckles crack and whiten on the shaft of his axe.
"Hennon liked Ifrit," he growls. Then, with a tremendous roar that sends thick spittle spraying from his wide open mouth, he hoists his impressive double-headed axe over his head and charges the remaining orc.
Abbrathil's eyes widen in shock a second time and he begins looking intently into the surrounding wood, no longer paying any heed whatsoever to Hennon or the orc he is facing.
Boondoggle and bedevilment- illusions! Look sharp, these orcs are naught but figments conjured up by someone nearby! Find them, quickly!
Move Action: Attempt to identify spell that was cast
*Spellcraft:
Standard Action: Scan the surrounding woods intently for the source of the illusive orcs
*Perception:
Abbrathil, you are unable to determine what the exact spell was that was creating the Orc figments, and your careful scanning of the immediate area is unable to turn anything up as far as a source.
Hennon quickly fells the final Orc to the left of the log with a great chop of his axe.
135 XP