"And that, my fanged friend, is why I said 'practically'."Straehan's smile abruptly fades. He looks at Widfen closely, trying to discern if Widfen has an issue with him.
1d20+81d20+8
** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **
Widfen seems to have no ill feeling towards Straehan.
He sighs, his smile fading. "I apologise, I didn't mean to seem hostile. Fat, fierce or fanged...it makes no difference, does it?" His smile returns, which is beginning to seem inevitable.
He sighs, his smile fading. "I apologise, I didn't mean to seem hostile. Fat, fierce or fanged...it makes no difference, does it?" His smile returns, which is beginning to seem inevitable.
Straehan regards him for a long moment, "I am perhaps over-sensitive on the subject. Apology accepted if you will accept mine in turn." He clasps hands with the Halfling and seems to put the matter to rest.
"Straight lines and latrines, the entry exam for any new soldier. Ain't that the truth." Seeing a new victim for his back-slapping, he gives Markus a hearty thump. "And another military man! That's just great, just great." He throws his arm around Markus in a show of camraderie. "C'mon, lad, let's go make our introductions and see about some orders, eh? Just like being back in the service all over again!" Grent keeps his arm around Markus, practically frog-marching him over to the medal-bedecked officer.
Upon reaching the commanding officer, Grent throws out his chest, gives a salute, and begins speaking in a bellow. "Honored to be working under your command, Sah! I am former Corporal and working chaplain of the Fifth Liberation Unit, specifically assigned to Riddleport, the Kodar Mountains, and other vicinities of Varisia, Sah! Requesting orders to begin the defense, Sah!"
Markus only grinned as he found the comraderie to be like a wave of ease that washed over a tense situation. "Good tae see a good man around," the Andoran said with a grin becoming of his lips and he welcomingly marched up to the medal-chested individual. From the looks of it, they would not be suffering from the "too many kings, not enough knights" issue that sometimes plagued a militia... Or any organization.
"The name's Markus Freeman," he spoke, saluting the officer. "Ready to serve, on leave from an Honor Guard detail in the capital."
He sighs, his smile fading. "I apologise, I didn't mean to seem hostile. Fat, fierce or fanged...it makes no difference, does it?" His smile returns, which is beginning to seem inevitable.Straehan regards him for a long moment, "I am perhaps over-sensitive on the subject. Apology accepted if you will accept mine in turn." He clasps hands with the Halfling and seems to put the matter to rest.
Brother Widfen shakes his hand. "No apology necessary, Straehan! We'll call this even."
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The elf, confused by this getting in line of well armored men, walks in circle for several seconds, before deciding what to do. He walks to the end of the line, in a most un-soldier like way and gets out his sickle, the blade shows evidence of it being used in anger to cut flowers and other flora. However, finding no real reason to keep the blade out any longer than required, he sheathes it and places it on his belt again.
He gets out a notebook, and starts to mumble to himself. Turning to the 'soldier' next to him he says, "You want any potions I'm your elf, Blackfingers the name, herbs, potions and alchemy's the game. I'll sell you good potions no hidden costs, what d'ya say?" You see on his back a haversack, with necks of vials protruding from a side pocket. A longbow and quivers of arrows are slung over one shoulder. Unlike the sickle, the bow looks well looked after, or its not been used very often.
"Hear that, gentleman? South wall! Let's get to it!" Grent strode off to the south, not bothering to see if the rest of his ragtag pack was behind him.
Seeing few better alternatives, Straehan shrugs at his new compatriots and follows Grent to the South Wall.
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It looks like the big man marching off to the south wall is in charge, Blackfingers hurries after him. He busily walks, without quite breaking into a run. By the time he is alongside he is a little breathless."Excuse me sir, you seem to know what you're doing? Let me introduce myself, Mundriel Blackfingers, alchemist extraordinaire, purveyor of fine potions and alchemical products. Can I interest you in any potions, I have many to sell at very good prices. If you wouldn't mind, would you allow me to try some of my experimental alchemical concoctions against any foes we face? I have to prove them in a real live action to determine their usefulness. You are in agreement?"
"Sounds like a hell of a plan, lad," he says, heartily slapping Mundriel on the back. "Rain a couple surprises down on their heads, we'll see how long they keep running to face our wall. Give the other walls a sporting chance to match us, eh?" Grent gives another booming laugh.
Brother Dumpling follows to the south wall still setting a slow steady pace.
Jonin salutes as best he can and follows his comrades to the south wall. "I told you this would be interesting Skaw." he says to the cat in his pack as they walk along.
He looks around as they reach the south wall....
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A beaming smile cannot be wiped off Blackfingers face, he even seems to be standing a few inches higher than he was before. He turns back to the next person, Straehan, following the big man. "Did you hear that, he wants me to use concoctions and he says its a good idea. Would you wonder at that, those stuffy military types back in Bellis never let me try them out. I bet you're excited by this whole thing." As he talks non-stop about the excitement he feels about using his alchemist skills to create these concoctions, but never giving the whole story about how these recipes are put together. As he continues with this, he takes out a notebook and starts to read and write notes, making strange annotations, they look like magical writings but not in draconic or any other magical alphabet that anyone might recognise. He keeps talking and endless stream of fast words until they are on the south wall. At some point he will introduce himself as he has before, and asks for his companion's name. He will of course try to sell potions at reasonable prices.
Straehan barely manages to insert his name and a few syllables edge-wise into Mundriel's rambling narrative. He briefly toys with the idea of webbing the verbose Elf to a wall. In the end, he listens pleasantly and nods while looking around at the defenses and the lay of the land.
In a low voice and without pointing, Jonin tells his comrades about the goblin that he sees.
Brother Dumpling looks for the goblin while appearing to scan the horizon.
Markus quietly follows behind Grent to the south wall but slows to the pace of the monk, eyeing him a moment before joining the others. With the identification of a goblin in the distance, he takes a hard look out.
Perception
The equipment he carried was settled down against the wall, relieving himself of the weight and taking up his helm and greatsworn in which he rested across his shoulder. The shield and longsword lay nearby though he kept his quiver and longbow on his person.
"Perhaps we should take him captive. I'm still not entirely sure what this war is about, and it might help to get a second opinion.
"Although...something odd is that goblins have no special affinity with orcs or ogres, from what I'm aware. I wonder what he's doing here?"
The halfling pauses for a moment, then he nods. "Yes, definitely take him alive if possible."
Blackfingers continues his dialogue, or was that monologue with Straehan, Blackfingers is blissfully unaware of the deep growled warning.
Grent doesn't flinch at the warning, instead calmly unfastening and attaching his shield to his off hand. "Yessir, hell of a wall for a valiant stand," he says, stretching wide and nonchalantly while his eyes scan the surrounding area.
"Mundriel, I suggest you ready your alchemical potions. You are probably about to get the opportunity to test them on many Goblins."
"Goblins, you say?" Aside from the single one he had spied, he saw little more and murmured, elbowing Grent. "Why do I get the feeling there may be more than a rag-tag band of goblins around the bend somewhere...?" His mouth quirked aside and he glanced along the wall to the others; from Bane to Mundriel to Straehan to Widfen to Dumpling to Jonin... He pivoted the greatsword and licked his lips, putting a foot up on the wall to get a better look.
"Come hell or high water, this wall will not be overtaken-- who's with me?"
Brother Dumpling put his staff into his quiver, and it slides in and vanishes like it was never there.
About 20 goblins rather than 1.
"Goblins, you say?" Aside from the single one he had spied, he saw little more and murmured, elbowing Grent. "Why do I get the feeling there may be more than a rag-tag band of goblins around the bend somewhere...?"
"It's never just goblins, lad, that's what we'd always say." He cooly drew his longsword, adorned with gaps and hooks and snares designed to destroy the opposed weapon during combat. He turned towards a nearby soldier. "Pikes and spears, lad! What good is a damn wall defense if you're not giving the militia polearms! Now scurry!" He turned back to the wall and shook his head. "I'm no good with them pigstickers though. I'm going to take a group through the gates and give these little rodents a counterattack they'll never forget. I want support from you thunder-throwers up here on the wall, and any that are more comfortable in melee to come along with me." He grinned mirthlessly - his demeanor had been getting more and more businesslike the closer battle came. "Shall we?"
"Goblins, you say?" Aside from the single one he had spied, he saw little more and murmured, elbowing Grent. "Why do I get the feeling there may be more than a rag-tag band of goblins around the bend somewhere...?""It's never just goblins, lad, that's what we'd always say." He cooly drew his longsword, adorned with gaps and hooks and snares designed to destroy the opposed weapon during combat. He turned towards a nearby soldier. "Pikes and spears, lad! What good is a damn wall defense if you're not giving the militia polearms! Now scurry!" He turned back to the wall and shook his head. "I'm no good with them pigstickers though. I'm going to take a group through the gates and give these little rodents a counterattack they'll never forget. I want support from you thunder-throwers up here on the wall, and any that are more comfortable in melee to come along with me." He grinned mirthlessly - his demeanor had been getting more and more businesslike the closer battle came. "Shall we?"
Brother Widfen chuckles. "We shall." He strides over to Ezekiel and pats him on the back. "Shelyn, grant him the strength to keep your loyal follower from being decapitated," he intones. The knight feels new strength rushing through him.
"Then lets just take the battle to them," Markus said calmly, his hand squeezing onto the handle of his sword anxiously.
Straehan immediately casts a Message spell aimed at the Commander who sent us here and his second-in-command.