[3.5 Forgotten Realms] The Red Hand of Doom - IC thread

[Saintheart]

The Red Hand of Doom

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/rhod_banner.jpg


The dry hilltops danced with fire.

Throughout the heart of the wild badlands the humans called the Wyrmbones, great bonfires had been kindled atop the ridges overlooking Channath Vale. There thousands of warriors had gathered -- hobgoblins in armor dyed scarlet, thick-thewed bugbear berserkers, goblin worg riders and skirmishers and archers, and the scaled ones as well, who often towered over the rest. For so long they had fought each other, tribe against tribe, race against race, engaged in the endless test of battle, feud, and betrayal. But tonight . . . tonight they stood together, hated enemies shoulder-to-shoulder, shouting together as brothers. And they saw that they were strong, and together they danced and sang and shook their blades at the smoke-hidden stars overhead.

"We are the Kulkor Zhul!" they shouted, and the hills shook with the thunder of their voices. "We are the People of the Dragon! Uighulth na Hargai! None can stand before us!"

One by one the tribes fell silent. Armor creaked as thousands turned to look up to the Place of Speaking. There, a single champion emerged from the assemblage and slowly climbed the ancient stone stair cut into the side of the hill. A hundred bright yellow banners stood beneath him like a phalanx of spears, each marked with a great red hand. The warpriests holding the banners chanted battle-prayers in low voices as the champion ascended.

On the hundredth step he stopped and turned to face the waiting warriors. He was tall and strong, one of the hobgoblin chieftains, but dull blue scales gleamed along his shoulders, and jutting horns swept back from his head. "I am Azarr Kul, Son of the Dragon!" he cried. "Hear me, warriors of the Kulkor Zhul! Tomorrow we march to war!"

The warriors roared their approval, stamping their feet and clashing spear to shield. Azarr Kul waited, holding his hands aloft until they quieted again. "The warpriests of the Doom Hand have shown us the way! They have taught us honor, discipline, obedience -- and strength! No more will we waste our blood fighting each other. We will take the lands of the elf, the dwarf, and the human, and make them ours! Under the banner of the Red Hand of Doom we march to victory and conquest! Remember that you stood here this night, warriors of Kulkor Zhul! For a hundred generations your sons and your sons' sons will sing of the blood spilled by your swords and the glory you win in the nights to come! Now, my brothers -- to WAR!"

The burning hills were too small to hold the shout the Kulkor Zhul gave in answer to their warlord's call.






On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fi8Cce46hGo)

It was hard to tell where Channath Vale began other than by its embrace of the senses. Over the space of a couple of miles, the washed-out yellow of tallgrass fields either side of the trail gave way to the soft green of cryptomeria copses, Jaslyn orchids dotting the earth all around like little silken amethysts in the afternoon sun. The wind slowed and loosened its arid bite, bringing the wafting scent of cloves with it. And the flatlands gave way to rolling hills, the trail turning from its purposeful, north-by-northeast line to undulate and stroll around the rises and inclines. It made the muscles soften, the back curve into a more agreeable shape for strolling, slowed one’s mount from a walk to an amble. The shallow shadows of the hills began to relieve the party of the day's heat, and the wind shifted westerly, putting the breeze as well as the sun at their backs for the last few miles of travel left to the travellers before they reached Drellin’s Ferry.

[esorscher]

Riding is never easy, but it is easier than walking. Easier on him, at least, and Jaeger never seemed to mind. The party of curiosities he'd attached himself to could keep up, for the most part, and now that the trail took on a more ambulatory nature, he adopted a more leisurely pace, allowing for more reflection. It was clear by now that this assignment was a fool's errand. The Vale was clearly at peace, and whatever rumors had reached the King's ears had clearly been inflated. He thought back to that dinner party, and the haste which had caused him to spill his wine on the King's Advisor new cloak, and knew that the slight had cost him his career. The faces of his wife and children floated across his mind's eye, and the small smile that the images brought quickly faded as he remembered how far from them he was. Perhaps they would find something in Drennil's Ferry that could give him something to report back, hopefully freeing him from this obligation. As long as he was here, at the very least he could explore the supposedly undisturbed Vraath Keep--if there was treasure there, perhaps it could buy him back into the administration's good graces.

Sir Marius sighs, then says casually, "These hills remind me of home."

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf loped comfortably ahead of the horses. A lesson was learned early in the start of the trip that even war-trained horses did not enjoy a predator at their flank or heels. There had better be a challenging hunt at the end of all of this. He grimaced, loath to be so close to such soft and easily frightened prey, both horse and human.

Hearing the hoof beats slow to a more casual pace behind him, he broke down into a trot. His tongue lolled out to cool his body. As they came into the greenery, he closed his mouth and lifted his nose to the wind, checking for scents.

[jojolagger]

Walking alongside, and able to keep pace with the horse weighed down by his rider, Heiter responses to Marius. "Yeah, they remind me of the hills by Suzail. And the hills by the Giant's Run Mountains. And the hills by the Deepwing Mountains." Then he muttters "I never like how the hills limit line of sight.

That their heading has a north component causes Heiter a little unrest, thought with the distance he'd already covered he was a lot less worried than he would have been back when he was first traveling the surface. It helped even more that the flowers and other sights served as a great distraction from Heiter's memories of home.

Despite being seemingly calm and taking in the scenery, those who know to look will quickly notice that Heiter is holding one of his sling stones in hand as they walk.

[Nettlekid]

Behind the slowly trotting party is the cacophony of grinding stone and splintering shards of gem that signals the stout legs of a heavy dwarf jogging at an average human's walking pace.
"It's too *huff* bright out here!" Balboa calls up to the riders ahead of him, one of a series of repeated complaints marking his foul mood. The beauty of the trees and flowers, the calming sun and fresh breeze, are wasted on the stone-hearted Dwarf.
"Before *puff* it was cloudy! The clouds, up in the sky, way up above us *huff* they were in front of the sun! But they've *puff* they've moved now! Now the sun is on us! It's too *huff* bright! It's too *puff* hot! Who told the clouds *huff* they could move? That fast? How do they *puff* get away with moving that fast? "

The jogging Dwarf catches his foot on a wayward root, and he's thrown on his face. As he hurtles to the ground, instinct kicks in and instead of leaving a small crater he passes into the soil. Now half-submerged and face-down, he continues his jog by kicking at the earth as though he were swimming, though the motion is more like climbing stairs. His voice quickly becomes more relaxed.
"Mmmfffmmm rrrmmmfffmfrrr ffffmmmffmm. Mmmfffmfffmmm!"

[Saintheart]

On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Marak slowly padded up the road, which crested a small rise and descended into a large, shallow dell. An abandoned farmhouse, partially visible through the trees, stood on one side of the road. He and the others had passed a dozen spots much like this one already today, but this one felt wrong.

The wind was at his back, so he didn't scent anything -- but keen wolf eyes were more than equal to the challenge. Indeed it was as he raised his nose into the air that he caught sight of something that should not have been there: a glint of mail through the brush by the side of the road. Fierce warriors -- tall, hairy humanoids with wide mouths and flat faces -- were lying in wait, roosting in the branches of some of the trees around them. Eight of them at a quick count, four to either side from what he could tell. And -- a good eighty to ninety feet further up the road, almost at the far end of the dell -- something lay resting in the shadow of a large, twisted tree. Something that walked on all fours, and had a long snout not much different to his own.

Wolf instincts had already frozen Marak in place, but he needn't have bothered: either the hobgoblins (for that indeed was what the humanoids in the trees were, he could tell) had not seen him or they were looking for other targets. His ears twitched, wondering if the hobgoblins could hear the rest of the party coming up the road -- but whilst Marak could hear them chatting away at this distance, it didn't look like the humanoids in the trees had noticed as yet.

[Dexam]

Tarrock, heavily robed, cloaked, and hooded, strides easily alongside the mounted knight and tall halfling. Barely an inch of bare dusky grey skin is visible, the rest is hidden beneath voluminous folds of dark cloth that seems to flutter and fly away in wisps of smokey shadow, as the human almost floats along the road.

The figure glances at Sir Marius, Heiter, and Balboa in turn as they speak, eyes shining like small silver coins beneath the darkness of his hood. As usual, he offers nothing in return.

Tarrock's gaze returns to the road ahead. The heat, the light, the dust, the dryness - all are as nothing in the face of service to the Prince.

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The large black wolf paused and lowered it's head. The hackles along it's back raised menacingly and a low growl rumbled in it's throat. Ivory fangs glinted in the fading sun as if smiling. Finally, something to sink my teeth into! His tightly bound muscles almost leapt into a full charge but his mind held the instinct in check when he noticed they were all above his reach. The fangs ground together in frustration but he would not be denied this blood.

As he stood in a low crouch, his body contorted. Muscle and tendons popped and tore beneath the black fur until bone spines had pushed their way through the skin at his tail.

With a loud snarl, he spun in a circle and snapped his tail toward the waiting ambusher. The spines flew out of his skin toward the would be bandit closest to the road.

As soon as the bandit hit the ground, the mutated wolf bounded into the underbrush toward his dead target. It came to a pause behind the tree that the bandit had been hiding in, using it for cover against the other assailants. Obviously, this was no normal wolf.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

Swift Action:
Move Action: Grow Spines
Standard Action: Throw Spines (Target - N3 Hobgoblin)
Move Action: Move to M2

[roll0] [roll1] [roll2] [roll3] [roll4] [roll5]

[roll6] [roll7] [roll8] [roll9] [roll10] [roll11]

[esorscher]

Hearing the sounds of combat ahead, Marius spurs his horse forward, drawing his longbow as he rides.

Double move to reach the battlefield (80'), drawing his longbow as part of the move.

[Dexam]

Hearing Marack's snarl from the road up ahead, and what sounds like the whistle of bolts through the air, Tarrock is instantly alert. His shortblade practically leaps into his gloved hand as he pads off down the dry trail, fading from view as he does so until only a scattering of footprints show signs of his passing.


Free Action: draw shortsword.
Move Action: move 50' down the road towards Marack and the trees.
Standard Action: Invisibility.

Current Stance: Child of Shadow.
Maneuvers Readied:
- Sapphire Nightmare Blade
- Distracting Ember
- Cloak of Deception
- Emerald Razor
- Shadow Garrote
- Mind Over Body

[jojolagger]

Hearing the sounds of combat, Heiter is already advancing rapidly on foot, sling in one hand, freaky whipsword in the other, with the stone he was clutching already sailing towards the unfriendly beast on the road.

Move Action: Advance 40 ft towards combat (Drawing Sling as part of Action
Free Action: Load Sling
Free Action: Draw Spinning Sword
Standard Action: Attack with Sling using Stunning Stone
Attack [roll0] (-2 from range)
Damage [roll1]
On hit, Save DC 13 or Stunned for 1 round

Stance: Hunter's Sense
Readied Maneuvers: Steel Wind (Std: Attack 2 Targets), Mountain Hammer (Std: Attack, +2d6 dam, bypass hardness/dr), Counter Charge(Imm: Prevent Charge with opposed Str or Dex)

[Nettlekid]

Balboa does not quite hear the sounds of arrows being loosed or his monstrous companion snarl, but he does hear the party pick up the pace.
"Oy, what's the-" he begins, lifting himself back onto his feet. Seeing the creature far down the road and now witnessing attacks being launched into the trees, he starts heading toward the site of battle along with his allies.
Move action to stand, move action to walk ten feet. Now 70 feet away.

[Saintheart]

On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Marak caught glimpses of the hobgoblins' primitive camoflague as he scrambled up and into the undergrowth around the road cut. The body he passed had green and brown rags tied to various bits of its armour, breaking up their profile against the greenery. These had to be planning to waylay travellers along this route. He glanced automatically in the direction of the nearest hobgoblins in the trees, but they didn't seem to be focused on him.

They were focused, rather, on the mounted man riding straight up the road cut: Marius Thundersword, on his mount Jaeger.

Marius caught motion from his left, in the greenery on that side of the escarpment and instinctively pulled Jaeger's reins -- just in time. Two nondescript-looking cloth bags came tumbling through the air and landed just shy of his mount's position, blasting a sticky-looking resin across the ground, the droplets barely missing his warhorse. Tanglefoot bags! he thought with sudden astonishment. Expensive children's toys back in Cormyr, the province of practical jokers, and they were being hurled at them as weapons! Dangerous weapons, though -- if he'd been one whit slower, there was a good chance Jaeger might've been stuck fast in the middle of the road. And with his experience of goblinoids, he should've expected something like that from trap-loving hobgoblins.

Another flicker of motion came from his right.

The thunderstone, hurled by the nearest hobgoblin on that side, detonated on target, sending an ear-screeching CRACK across the ground. Marak flattened his ears against the noise, and Marius grimaced -- and Jaeger whinnied in sudden pain and fear. But the party and Marius's mount had been trained to handle more than that, and they all shook off the noise in a second. Marius gritted his teeth, expecting a volley of arrows or more such projectiles being hurled -- but strangely, there were none. He could hear one of the hobgoblins calling out something further down the cut, but with the battle he couldn't make out what was being said - or see clearly what the other hobgoblins were doing from here through the undergrowth. He could see none had moved from their positions in the trees, or at least weren't trying to move. Could they be drawing bows, he wondered?

Marius then spotted the loping shape charging right up the road cut at him. He felt a buzz of motion pass his ear -- Heiter hurling a stone from that strange, fey slingshot of his -- but the stone went clean past the quadruped's ear and the creature kept coming. It howled a tortured, rage-filled cry and lashed in at Jaeger, but again the big warhorse was too quick and dodged snapping jaws that leaked tears of fire; the Cormyran could smell the brimstone and feel heat radiating off the thing.

To Tarrock, gliding in effortlessly like a ghost forty feet behind, this would not have been surprising. The City of Shade sometimes drew upon other planes for its workhorses and guards -- and hell hounds were one such creature, one the Shadovar had seen many times before. He'd seen enough of them to realise this one was not the normal kind -- it seemed ... wrong, somehow, as though there were some foreign odour tainting the look of the thing. For some reason the word reptilian flickered across Tarrock's mind.

And then it was joined by another.

A second hell hound came boiling up the road cut. Marak had seen its dark arrow-shape come sprinting from near the farmhouse through the undergrowth, and it turned to follow its pack-mate up the road cut, howling in -- and biting down on Jaeger's flank, drawing a scream from the warhorse that Balboa could hear seventy feet down the road.

Current map:

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/First%20encounter%20round%202.jpg_zpsety9e9ir.png~ original

Out of that, two tanglefoot bags aimed at Jaeger missed. A thunderstone hit at K4 which forced a Fort save from Marius, Marak, and Jaeger, but they all made their saves (20+ result in Jaeger's case, that's one well-trained and tough horse.)

That said: a hit and 5 damage total from the second hell hound on Jaeger, putting him at 25/30 by my count. esorscher, remember your Ride checks, though given your bonuses I'm pretty sure you're not going to have a problem with them.

Either way this would be the second round: the hell hounds have taken their turns at initiative count 25. (That second hell hound seems to come out of nowhere because he was out of your vision until this round turned up.) Hobgoblins get their next turn at initiative count 10.

For ease of reference:

Hellhounds: 25
Marak: 20
Tarrock: 16
Marius: 14
Heiter: 13
Hobgoblins: 10
Balboa: 8

Let me know if any queries...

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf's glowing red eyes snapped back to the path at the horse's scream. A glance down at the dead hobgoblin made him snort. No challenge. The statement escaped his muzzle in a savage bark. While he did not know what the beasts on the path were, they at least seemed to possess some fight.

With a snarl and fangs bared, he rushed through the underbrush and down the steep slope toward the beasts. Gaining momentum, he flung himself on the nearest with a ear-piercing howl. His human mind gave way to the feral bloodlust of the hunt.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 125/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 19 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -6 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 19, Ref 5, Will 14, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+20) Claws +20 / +20 (2d6+11, )
Trip (+19) Bite +18 (1d8+6, )
Tail Spines (18) +9 (1d6+6, )
Abilities Str 30, Dex 14, Con 30, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition
-2 AC from charge
Rage (13 rnds)

Free Action: Activate Rage
Standard Action: Charge Hellhound 2 (J5), ending movement at K5


Claw 1 [roll0]
Claw 2 [roll1]
Bite [roll2]



Claw 1 [roll3]
Claw 2 [roll4]
Bite [roll5]



Claw 1 - grab [roll6]
Claw 2 - grab [roll7]
Bite - trip [roll8]

[jojolagger]

Heiter continues towards the battle, launching another stone as he draws close.

Move Action: Advance 40 ft towards combat
Free Action: Load Sling
Standard Action: Attack most injured Hellhound with Sling (Point blank shot, Precise shot negating the downside to firing into melee)
Attack [roll0]
Damage [roll1]

Stance: Hunter's Sense
Readied Maneuvers: Steel Wind (Std: Attack 2 Targets), Mountain Hammer (Std: Attack, +2d6 dam, bypass hardness/dr), Counter Charge(Imm: Prevent Charge with opposed Str or Dex)

[esorscher]

Marius swaps out his longbow for his sword and board as Jaegar strikes at the nearest Hellhound with its hooves and teeth.

Marius:
Move action: put away longbow.
Move action: draw sword and shield (if I can't do both, just shield).

Horse:
Full attack:
2 Hooves: [roll0], [roll1]; [roll2], [roll3]
Bite: [roll4], [roll5]

[Nettlekid]

"I'M COMING! HEADS WILL SHATTER LIKE PEBBLES BENEATH A BOULDER!" Balboa cries, tottering at his highest speed at a full run, heavy pick in hand and tower shield clunking beside him.

[Dexam]

Tarrock had indeed seen such creatures as the hell hounds before, often summoned into service by Arcanists as bodyguards or pets. Different as these ones were, they were still just servants - the real threat was what other tricks the hobgoblins lurking in the trees might pull. Besides, the hounds had the full attention of his companions.

Invisibly, Tarrock moves down the road to horse, then slips into the underbrush beneath the trees. Plucking a strand of shadow from the air, he infuses it with substance and weaves it into a noose. He hurls the loop of shadow at the throat of a hobgoblin perched in a tree, becoming visible in the process.


Move Action: move 30' down the road to H6, then 20' to H8.
Standard Action: Shadow Garrote at hobgoblin in J10.

Ranged Touch Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

Current Stance: Child of Shadow.
Maneuvers Readied:
- Sapphire Nightmare Blade
- Distracting Ember
- Cloak of Deception
- Emerald Razor
- Mind Over Body

[Saintheart]

On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

They took the hell hounds apart; Jaeger crushed one's skull into the ground while Marak fell upon the other and tore its throat out.

Some preternatural sense warned the lycanthrope. The wolf turned -- but the cloth bag struck and broke open across his back, and several pounds of resinous fluid engulfed Marak, hardening on exposure to the air. The wolf was quick enough to lift his feet so he didn't become stuck, but the stuff from the tanglefoot bag was solidifying to a solid crust and he could feel his muscles protesting against its embrace.

Marius finally cleared his shield and sword from storage. Now, where are--
He saw red dots appear on Jaeger's neck. No--! He tried to move the horse, but there was a staccato twang in the air and the arrows flew true, one clean into Jaeger's neck, the other deep in the warhorse's chest. The animal gave a final shriek of pain, and then its great heart stopped, and it was tumbling, falling, crashing to the ground of the road cut.

Even in the sudden loss of his companion, Marius had enough instinct to break his fall, though he was prone. Another instinct brought his shield up, and another arrow thunked into it.

Then he saw the red dot on his midsection.

A second later, a hobgoblin arrow lanced into it, sending a red bomb of fire up his spine.

Jarrock turned to the south, looking to the other end of the road cut. There was something moving through the trees. Its shape was powerful but quick. It emerged from the treeline, taking in the scene before it with a glance. A muscular-looking hobgoblin, this one in well-made studded leather armour. It clashed together, once, the two short swords it held. The harsh noise rang like a smith's hammer down the cut. The hobgoblin pointed a sword at the party clustered down the far end of the cut.
"Scum!" Its Common was heavily accented with Goblin inflections, but the meaning was clear enough. "Who among you is worthy to challenge me? Come face me, scum!"

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/First%20encounter%20round%203.jpg_zpsyapxdjnl.png~ original

So, a few things:

(1) While Marak made the Reflex save to avoid getting stuck to the ground, per a tanglefoot bag's effects he is still considered entangled, i.e. -2 to attack rolls, -4 to DEX (which affects Reflex, attack rolls, and AC, obviously), can't charge or run, can only move at half speed.

(2) Yes, those arrows from the hobgoblin archers were all critical hits. Yes, they were all at high attack rolls. Yes, they were RAW legal by the item setups these guys have got. How so? If you survive this encounter you might well find out. :smallsmile:

(3) Marius is prone and took 30 hitpoints of damage on that shot. Didn't take any damage on the fall thanks to his high Ride modifier, but I don't think it allows him to get to his feet as part of a fall. For what it's worth he hasn't dropped his sword or shield.

(4) Jaeger is down and dead, I'm sorry to say.

(5) I did make the Ride check to see if Jaeger could be saved, but it came up as a 20 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4821636/), which didn't match the attack roll made.

(6) For interest: there were four hobgoblin arrows fired, from hobgoblins 3,4,5 and 6. One was a natural 1 and thus a miss. The others were all criticals -- two were enough to kill Jaeger, and the last went into Marius. There were two tanglefoot bags thrown - one missed Jaeger, the other hit Marak (that 11 touch AC is, uh, handy.)

(7) No hell hounds left, and all hobgoblins are acting on the same initiative count, so we're into round 3 now. Initiative order for reference:

Marak: 20
Tarrock: 16
Marius: 14
Heiter: 13
Hobgoblins: 10
Balboa: 8

Again, any queries let me know.

[Nettlekid]

"I AM HERE NOW!" Balboa cries, trundling through the undergrowth and finishing his run. He eyes the bandits in the trees, preparing his large crystal shield to ward off their arrow strikes. He fixes the far-off hobgoblin with an Iron Guard's Glare, though it's too far to yet be effective.
"Ye wanna fight, Gobbo maggot? I've been crushing yer kin under the mountain since before yer grandpappy was spawned! Come at me! Your weak steel can't so much as scratch the chosen of Dumathoin, tempered in the forge of Gaia!"

[jojolagger]

Heiter lobs another sling stone at the hobgoblin before scampering into the forest, hopefully out of sight of the archers. He could smell the blood of the wolves and horse as he passed, but there would be time for blood later.

Free Action: Load Sling
Standard Action: Attack Hobgoblin with Sling (-2 range)
Move Action: Advance 20 ft to J4, then slow as hell move to K3
Attack [roll0]
Damage [roll1]

Hide & Move Silently (Assumes that the undergrowth is sufficient to let a small creature hide, while people are distracted with the super terror wolf.
Hide: [roll2] (-5 for full move speed)
Move Silently: [roll3] (-5 for full move speed, -2 undergrowth)

Stance: Hunter's Sense
Readied Maneuvers: Steel Wind (Std: Attack 2 Targets), Mountain Hammer (Std: Attack, +2d6 dam, bypass hardness/dr), Counter Charge(Imm: Prevent Charge with opposed Str or Dex)

[Dexam]

Tarrock watches impassively as Sir Marius' mount crashes to the ground, taking it's rider with it. He pauses only long enough to determine that Marius, though struck by an arrow, is still alive.

These hobgoblins seem well equipped for mere bandits; something is amiss here...

Hearing the challenge from what is presumably the hobgoblin leader, and the corresponding reply from Balboa, Tarrock refuses to respond to such taunts. Utter foolishness! he thinks disdainfully, sneering to himself.

Sighting the next goblinoid archer, he dashes through the undergrowth and leaps up at the branches, sword thrusting for his target's vitals.

Move Action: move and high jump in L13 (uses 50' of movement assuming diagonals = 5')
Jump check: [roll0] = 9'3" vertical leap.

Standard Action: Sapphire Nightmare Blade at hobgoblin in M14.
Concentration check: [roll1] vs target's AC.
Attack: [roll2] (-2 if Concentration check fails, target flat-footed if Concentration check succeeds).
Damage: [roll3] plus [roll4] if Concentration check succeeds.


Current Stance: Child of Shadow.
Maneuvers Readied:
- Distracting Ember
- Cloak of Deception
- Emerald Razor
- Mind Over Body

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The feral wolf roared and struggled against the hardening glue. It looked as if the beast might become lost in madness struggling against being restricted and prevented from reaching the hobgoblin that would dare to issue a challenge.

It's head snapped to the archers on the opposite side of the trail, furthest away. Body tensing, spines bristled and sounded like a viper's tail before the beast sent them flying toward both archers.

The wolf roared again and strained against it's own body. The sickening sound of tendons ripping and bones grinding in the sockets echoed in the small ravine that was the trail. In only a brief moment, the beast pushed itself from the ground and stood on two feet. Wicked claws easily as big as the short swords carried by the lead hobgoblin flexed at it's side, still covered in the sulfur infused blood of the hellhounds. It roared again, baring fangs in a snarl.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 125/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 30
AC 19 (+6 Armor, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -4 Misc), Touch 6, Flat-footed 19, Fort 19, Ref 3, Will 14, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+20) Claws +18 / +18 (2d6+11, )
Trip (+19) Bite +16 (1d8+6, )
Tail Spines (18) +5 (1d6+6, )
Abilities Str 30, Dex 10, Con 30, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition
Rage (12 rounds)
Entangled

Standard Action: Fling Spines
Move Action: Shift to Hybrid form


3 Spines - P18 [roll0] [roll1] [roll2]
3 Spines - T21 [roll3] [roll4] [roll5]



3 Spines - P18 [roll6] [roll7] [roll8]
3 Spines - T21 [roll9] [roll10] [roll11]

[esorscher]

Marius struggles to his feet, using his sword as a cane to help him stand. He allows himself a moment to recognize the loss of his trusty horse, but there would be time to grieve later. Now, is time for vengeance. He dashes down alongside the escarpment toward the hobgoblin leader.

Move to stand from prone, move action 30' toward Uth-lar.

[Saintheart]

On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Two more hobgoblins had fallen, one to a well-placed sling stone from Heiter that cracked the hobgoblin's head open, and the other crashing through the undergrowth of the tree it was occupying before landing with a loud thump to the ground, dead. Tarrock landed gracefully from his leap at the base of the tree, weapon stained with the hobgoblin's black blood.

The tall hobgoblin smiled as Marius came running up the road cut. "At least your hu-man companion is no coward! No matter! Be you dwarf or wolf-man, all of you will die for the glory of the Red Hand!" he called to Balboa, and jumped to the bottom of the shallow ravine, running to meet the Cormyran's advance. Arrows rained around Marius. This time, one shaft found its target - at the junction of hip and torso, digging into the Lionar's flesh. And the arrows were answered by a sudden spray of bony spines through the air, and a grunt of pain from one of the hobgoblins in the trees.

The tall hobgoblin came loping up the road cut, but there was something about the way he stood and held himself, about the way one hand was cocked lower than the other, that sent a flare of recognition through Balboa, Heiter and Tarrock. Diverse though their training was, they each followed the basic precepts of the Ninefold Path. There were common elements to all its traditions, and this one looked familiar, whether from direct experience or from seeing it demonstrated once in the distant past. Tarrock had seen it demonstrated; Heiter had been instructed in it but had not chosen it for his life; and Balboa had seen it used once.

The hobgoblin was a martial adept. And was in a stance that had many names across many languages, but the most common and accepted name for it was Leading the Charge. And he stepped forward and executed -- beautifully -- the technique Tarrock knew well as the Emerald Razor. Only Marius's quick reflexes kept the blow from lashing into his midsection.

And then the Shade noticed something else - further back down the road cut. Something he remembered seeing from his interactions with the arcanists of the City. A glimmer of red light, of hellsfire, as the wall between the planes was breached for a moment and something stepped through -- another hell hound, summoned to the Prime Material Plane.
Somewhere, somebody had cast a spell.
The hell hound came bounding up the road cut, immediately aware of its summoner's orders; it charged forward at Marius, and its flaming jaws closed on the Cormyran's leg, inflicting a burning wound.

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/round%203%20update_zpsr4iwsd0e.png~original

Decided to just do spellstitched pictures from here on in so you can see your tokens more clearly. Still some problems with the grid going wonky, so just go by the hard black lines for locations and distances, etc.

So, a few things:

(1) Marius has taken a total of 18 damage this round. 8 came from the bow (that was a natural 20, but the crit confirmation did not take, so just normal damage - everyone else missed), and 10 points from the hell hound, 4 of which was from the hell hound executing a charge attack in an area covered by Leading the Charge.) The Emerald Razor missed, as said.

(2) Initiative count as a reminder:
Marak: 20
Tarrock: 16
Marius: 14
Heiter: 13
Hobgoblins (and Hellhound, as it's summoned): 10
Balboa: 8

Technically we're on the last action of Round 3, so Balboa gets to act first before we get back to Marak. Not sure if this inadvertently gives Balboa another round of actions somewhere, but no great problems there since he's taken a while getting to the battlefield.

(3) Strictly speaking, you have to take skill points in Martial Lore to identify maneuvers or stances being used by an opponent. I think it's cool to be able to work out what martial techniques are being used against you, and because it sucks to have to spend skill points on something that doesn't have a lot of practical applications in combat (or generally), Dexam, jojolagger, and Nettlekid, give yourselves a free 5 skill points in Martial Lore, treated as a class skill for all of you.

[Dexam]

As tempting as it is to test my skills against another trained in the Ninefold Path, to do so whilst snipers rain arrows and spells down upon us would be both vanity and folly, thinks Tarrock. Marius can surely hold his own, and Marak and Balboa will be facing the hobgoblin leader and the hell hound in but a matter of moments.

Coming from a culture that held arcane casters in the highest regard, Tarrock knew that finding whomever had summoned the hell hound would pose the greatest threat; they needed to be found and eliminated quickly.

But, first things first...

Once again, the shade nimbly runs through the undergrowth, leaping and stabbing at the hobgoblin perched in the trees.

Move Action: move to N17 and high jump.
Jump: [roll0] = 8' vertical leap.

Standard Action: attack Hobgoblin 3 in O18.
Attack: [roll1]
Damage: [roll2]

Current Stance: Child of Shadow.
Maneuvers Readied:
- Distracting Ember
- Cloak of Deception
- Emerald Razor
- Mind Over Body

[Nettlekid]

Balboa (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=245610)
M LN Urdunnir Dwarf Ranger 3/Crusader 2/Deepwarden 1, Level 6, Init -6, HP 74/74, Speed 10
AC 25, Touch 10, Flat-footed 25, Fort 13, Ref 4, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 6
+1 Heavy Pick +8 (1d8+4, x4)
Lasso +2 (Entangles)
Earthskin (+1 Called Dendritic Armor w/ Restful Crystal), +1 Called Mundane Crystal Tower Shield (+10 Armor, +5 Shield)
Abilities Str 16, Dex 11, Con 19, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 14
Condition
Manuevers Available:
Crusader's Strike
Stone Bones
Charging Minotaur


Balboa tilted his head, surprised and impressed despite himself at the Hobgoblin's martial skill. This was a fight he wanted to be in, and a fighter who would appreciate the combat. But he didn't want to lose face closing in, through the torn-up earth and thick foliage.
"Can' go through it, so why not go under it?" he smirked, taking a tiny leap and diving into the ground. For a moment he was gone. And then, with a hurrah, he emerged at the Hobgoblin's feet.
"What's the matter? You were already looking down on us! Where else would I come from but below?!" he cries, fixing the hound and the Hobgoblin with a steely glare, defying them to attack any but him.

Hopefully this is permissible, I want to use a full run action to go from G4 to O10, ducking under the difficult terrain to do so. That might disqualify it from being a straight line abs thus a Run, but maybe if I crouch and am short I don't actually have to leave the square to the one below? If you would allow a Jump in the middle of a Run, this would hopefully be like that in the other direction.

[esorscher]

Marius squares his shoulders and hefts his sword. "Death is only the beginning," Marius says, intending to sound intimidating but more likely, sounding insane. The words are soon forgotten as he brings his sword crashing down on the hobgoblin, then, ducking low, swipes at the leader's knees. He carries himself with the momentum, rolling north and putting the Hellhound between him and the hobgoblin.

Full attack, then 5' step.

Full attack:
[roll0], [roll1]
[roll2], [roll3]

5' step to M11.

Sir Marius Thundersword, Lionar (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=245509)
M NG Human (Spellwarped) Fighter/Ranger, Level 2/4, Init 5, HP 44/92, Speed 30'
AC 25, Touch 14, Flat-footed 21, Fort 13, Ref 10, Will 3, Base Attack Bonus 6/1
Masterwork, +1 (2310) Lance +13/+8 (1d8+6, x3)
Masterwork, +1 (2315) Longsword +13/+8 (1d8+6, 19-20)
Masterwork, Mighty +6 (1000g) Longbow (20 arrows) +12/+7 (1d8+6, x3)
Signature Crest, Masterwork, +1 (3650g) (Eberron Campaign Setting) Darkleaf Breastplate, Masterwork, +1 (1257g) Darkwood Heavy Shield (+6 Armor, +3 Shield, +4 Dex, +2 Natural)
Abilities Str 22, Dex 20, Con 20, Int 15, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[jojolagger]

Heiter lobs another sling stone at the hobgoblin before scampering into the forest, hopefully out of sight of the archers. He could smell the blood of the wolves and horse as he passed, but there would be time for blood later.


Heiter (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=247271)
Male CN Redcap RHD 4/Warblade 1/Stonestorm Slinger 1, Level 6, Init 5, HP 60/60, DR 5/Cold Iron, Speed 40 ft.
AC 23, Touch 16, Flat-footed 18, Fort 8, Ref 9, Will 3, Base Attack Bonus 4
+1 Sling of the Dire Wind +10 (1d6+5, 20/x2)
+1 Spinning Sword +9 (1d6+5, 19-20/x2)
Dagger +8 (1d4+4, 19-20/x2)
+1 Living Metal Chainshirt (+5 Armor, +5 Dex, +1 Size, +2 Natural)
Abilities Str 18, Dex 21, Con 17, Int 16, Wis 15, Cha 15
Condition None

Move Action: Advance 20 ft to O3
Move Action: Advance 20 ft to S7

Hide & Move Silently (Assumes that the undergrowth is sufficient to let a small creature hide, while people are distracted with the super terror wolf.
Hide: [roll0] (-5 for full move speed)
Move Silently: [roll1] (-5 for full move speed, -2 undergrowth)

Despite being up a tree, the Goblin is within the reach of my whipsword. If/When he provokes an AoO:
Attack [roll2] Crit Confirm [roll3] (Flat-Footed if he didn't spot me sneaking up)
Damage [roll4] Crit Damage [roll5]

Stance: Hunter's Sense
Readied Maneuvers: Steel Wind (Std: Attack 2 Targets), Mountain Hammer (Std: Attack, +2d6 dam, bypass hardness/dr), Counter Charge(Imm: Prevent Charge with opposed Str or Dex)

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf man seemed to revel in the horrid form that he had assumed. Seeing others enter combat with the challenger, it's eyes blazed crimson. Taking a few steps forward, it instinctively dropped down to a slouched run, using it's clawed hands to propel it toward the designated prey.

Upon reaching the melee, the feral creature hardly even registered that the hellhound had appeared. It's head turned to the side and deadly fangs bared as it snapped at the hobgoblin's thigh as if he might be a deer the wolf was attempting to bring down for the pack.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 125/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 30
AC 19 (+6 Armor, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -4 Misc), Touch 6, Flat-footed 19, Fort 19, Ref 3, Will 14, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+20) Claws +18 / +18 (2d6+11, )
Trip (+19) Bite +16 (1d8+6, )
Tail Spines (18) +5 (1d6+6, )
Abilities Str 30, Dex 10, Con 30, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition
Rage (11 rounds)
Entangled

Move Action: Normal move to N10
Standard Action: Bite; Trip check if hit


[roll0]



[roll1]



[roll2]

[Saintheart]

On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Marak bounded in, lashing with claws and teeth, drawing roars of rage and pain from the tall hobgoblin and tossing him flat on his back in the midst of the road. Cursing and swearing, the creature got to his feet -- only to receive a staccato of heavy, costly blows to his body from Balboa, Marius, and Marak again. It seemed incredible that the creature could take such punishment and still stand, and yet he did, blood pouring from four gaping wounds. He coughed as he staggered to his feet, blood spattering the ground. "So! You can only face me when there are three of you! Well, let's see how you deal with..."

Tarrock heard the noise, as did Heiter. Running noises, from the southeast, from where the road turned around a copse of trees. And on they came: six more hobgoblin troops, shortswords and shields readied, moving with military efficiency, though each pulled up and seemed to brush at one part of their swords presented before them.
"...more of me!" gurgled the tall hobgoblin. It tried to turn and run down the road cut, but Balboa's pick whipped out, keeping it from moving away. The hell hound snapped and swung its jaws at Marius, but this time the Cormyran was ready and none of those lethal blows landed. Nor did any of the three shafts that came buzzing from the woods around them.

And then, one more scream, as the incantation of invisibility broke down just south of the three partymembers, east of Heiter, and another hobgoblin was exposed: one who incanted words of power, flecks of spit foaming at his lips, and a howling wave of despair, doom, and darkness swept across Marius, Balboa, and Marak. But the spell was weak, and their wills strong, and the spell came apart without affecting any of them.

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/round%204%20update_zpsintsjyyp.png~original

Good round all up. All saves made, no hits landed. The three of you in the road cut dished out a total of 72 hitpoints of damage that round. Marak and Balboa took AoOs on Uth-Lar as he stood up, both of which hit for good numbers - 10 and 15, respectively.

Uth-Lar stood up and I assumed Marak and Balboa would be taking their AoOs at that point. While Balboa could've foregone his AoO in favour of a shot at Stand Still when Uth-Lar turned to run, I reasoned the dwarf would've thought Uth-Lar intended to stick around and fight with all that performance earlier, and that the dwarf was being a combat pragmatist looking to take advantage while the advantage was there, thus AoO taken rather than deferred in favour of a shot at Stand Still later, especially since Uth-Lar could've done what Marius did and five-foot stepped before or after a full attack. I did go back and forth on this one a lot since I know Balboa's got Stand Still specifically to lock opponents down. This was a judgment call by me with a bias towards keeping combat flowing, and if next time you'd prefer I leave it to you to make the call in a situation like that, let me know. Apologies if any offence was caused - happy to rewrite for a use of Stand Still if anyone's feeling dudded.

The hobgoblins running in don't look any different in category from those in the trees apart from equipment currently readied. Same array of green and brown rags tied to armour passing for camouflage.

Also, initiative order for reference...

Tarrock: 16
Marius: 14
Marak: 14
Heiter: 13
Hobgoblins (and Hellhound, as it's summoned): 10
Balboa: 8

[jojolagger]

Heiter darts through the forest towards the caster, flicking the whipsword back and underhand to bring the sword viciously down into the mage's neck.


Heiter (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=247271)
Male CN Redcap RHD 4/Warblade 1/Stonestorm Slinger 1, Level 6, Init 5, HP 60/60, DR 5/Cold Iron, Speed 40 ft.
AC 23, Touch 16, Flat-footed 18, Fort 8, Ref 9, Will 3, Base Attack Bonus 4
+1 Sling of the Dire Wind +10 (1d6+5, 20/x2)
+1 Spinning Sword +9 (1d6+5, 19-20/x2)
Dagger +8 (1d4+4, 19-20/x2)
+1 Living Metal Chainshirt (+5 Armor, +5 Dex, +1 Size, +2 Natural)
Abilities Str 18, Dex 21, Con 17, Int 16, Wis 15, Cha 15
Condition None

Move Action: Move to S10
Standard Action: Attack Zarr with Mountain Hammer
Attack [roll0] Crit Confirm [roll1]
Damage [roll2] Crit Damage [roll3] (Bypasses DR/Hardness)

Heiter threatens Zarr, Hobgoblin 5, and Hobgoblin 6 with his awesome whipsword reach in simple geometry.
AoO priority is Zarr casting, Zarr moving away, other goblins.
Attack [roll4] Crit Confirm [roll5]
Damage [roll6] Crit Damage [roll7]

Stance: Hunter's Sense
Readied Maneuvers: Steel Wind (Std: Attack 2 Targets), Mountain Hammer (Std: Attack, +2d6 dam, bypass hardness/dr), Counter Charge(Imm: Prevent Charge with opposed Str or Dex)

[Dexam]

With the sudden influx of fresh troops, and the arcanist revealing himself, Tarrock decides that a slight change of tactics is in order. He steps into the undergrowth and vanishes from sight once again.

Tarrock (shade) (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=256970)
Male LE Shade (Human) Swordsage, Level 6, Init 6, HP 72/72, DR 1/- (10), Speed 50
AC 26, Touch 21, Flat-footed 22, Fort 10, Ref 14, Will 15, Base Attack Bonus 4
+1 Shortsword +12 (1d6+7, 19-20/x2)
MW Light Crossbow (Bolts (20)) +11 (1d8+2, 19-20/x2)
Dagger +12 (1d4+6, 19-20/x2)
Mithral +1 Chain Shirt (+5 Armor, +4 Dex, +4 Deflect, +3 Misc)
Abilities Str 10, Dex 18, Con 16, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 10
Condition None


Move: 10' to Q18.
Standard: Invisibility.

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The beast let out a barking laugh that choked in it's chest as the hobgoblin turned to run but was snagged by the dwarf's pick. A long tongue snaked from it's gore filled maw to clean the blood from the muzzle. "Lambs to the slaughter!" It howled as more of the foot soldiers arrived.

"They watch. You die!" It snarled and set to rending the injured leader with dagger claws and the snapping set of steel trap jaws.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 125/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 30
AC 19 (+6 Armor, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -4 Misc), Touch 6, Flat-footed 19, Fort 19, Ref 3, Will 14, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+20) Claws +18 / +18 (2d6+11, )
Trip (+19) Bite +16 (1d8+6, )
Tail Spines (18) +5 (1d6+6, )
Abilities Str 30, Dex 10, Con 30, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition
Rage (10 rounds)
Entangled

Full Attack: Claw x2; Bite - Trip check if hit; Improved Trip Bite - if trip successful


[roll0] [roll1]



[roll2] [roll3]



[roll4]



[roll5]



[roll6]



[roll7]



[roll8]


If target dies during attack sequence or before turn, target Hellhound.

[esorscher]

Marius notes the irony in the hobgoblin's bravado, but perhaps that was part of his ruse. It is a small matter--with Balboa keeping the hobgoblin from running, Marius swings his sword at the enemy leader's throat, sidestepping around him to get a better angle on the attack.

5' step to N12, full attack with Longsword (does not include flanking bonus): [roll0], [roll1]; [roll2], [roll3]

Sir Marius Thundersword, Lionar (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=245509)
M NG Human (Spellwarped) Fighter/Ranger, Level 2/4, Init 5, HP 44/92, Speed 30'
AC 25, Touch 14, Flat-footed 21, Fort 13, Ref 10, Will 3, Base Attack Bonus 6/1
Masterwork, +1 (2310) Lance +13/+8 (1d8+6, x3)
Masterwork, +1 (2315) Longsword +13/+8 (1d8+6, 19-20)
Masterwork, Mighty +6 (1000g) Longbow (20 arrows) +12/+7 (1d8+6, x3)
Signature Crest, Masterwork, +1 (3650g) (Eberron Campaign Setting) Darkleaf Breastplate, Masterwork, +1 (1257g) Darkwood Heavy Shield (+6 Armor, +3 Shield, +4 Dex, +2 Natural)
Abilities Str 22, Dex 20, Con 20, Int 15, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Nettlekid]

Balboa heaves his heavy pick into the Hobgoblin's armor, not doing any damage but pulling him back to where he stood.
"Oh no, you're not leaving yet. You asked to fight a worthy warrior, and all who fit the bill showed up to meet you. You hide in the trees, deceiving with magic and striking from afar. You try to ambush us, and you killed the hoofbeast. You've made yer bed. Now you'll take a dirt nap in it."
Balboa hefts his pick again and this time aims a strike with the intent of splitting the Hob's head clean open like a geode. Hopefully, the fury of the strike will be enough to reinvigorate poor Marius who's taken a few hits so far.
If Marius elects to move to N12, I'll move to P10. If this is through difficult terrain then it'll be a move action and provoke, otherwise it's a 5-ft step. If he doesn't move, I'll stay where I am. Either way he'll be within 10 feet to get healed, and if we both move then add +2 to the attack roll below for flanking. And I'll have delayed until after Marak goes, in case the trip works so his melee defense is lowered.
Crusader's Strike [roll0]
Damage [roll1]
Healing for Marius [roll2]


Balboa (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=245610)
M LN Urdunnir Dwarf Ranger 3/Crusader 2/Deepwarden 1, Level 6, Init -6, HP 74/74, Speed 10
AC 25, Touch 10, Flat-footed 25, Fort 13, Ref 4, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 6
+1 Heavy Pick +8 (1d8+4, x4)
Lasso +2 (Entangles)
Earthskin (+1 Called Dendritic Armor w/ Restful Crystal), +1 Called Mundane Crystal Tower Shield (+10 Armor, +5 Shield)
Abilities Str 16, Dex 11, Con 19, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 14
Condition
Manuevers Available:
Vanguard Strike
Stone Bones
Charging Minotaur
Crusader's Strike

[jojolagger]

Disregarding the grunts, Heiter darts through the trees behind the enemy force, before looping around and charging the Mage.
As the mage's defender charges forward to stop him, Heiter slightly sidesteps, attempting to redirect his foes momentum into the nearby trees.


Heiter (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=247271)
Male CN Redcap RHD 4/Warblade 1/Stonestorm Slinger 1, Level 6, Init 5, HP 58/60, DR 5/Cold Iron, Speed 40 ft.
AC 21, Touch 14, Flat-footed 16, Fort 8, Ref 9, Will 3, Base Attack Bonus 4
+1 Sling of the Dire Wind +10 (1d6+5, 20/x2)
+1 Spinning Sword +9 (1d6+5, 19-20/x2)
Dagger +8 (1d4+4, 19-20/x2)
+1 Living Metal Chainshirt (+5 Armor, +5 Dex, +1 Size, +2 Natural)
Abilities Str 18, Dex 21, Con 17, Int 16, Wis 15, Cha 15
Condition Charged, -2 Ac

Move Action: Move to Z13 (arrows indicate cost)

Standard Action: Charge to Y18 attacking Zarr
Attack [roll0] Crit Confirm [roll1]
Damage [roll2] Crit Damage [roll3]

Immediate Action: Counter Charge Hobgoblin 13 when he charges me for charging Zarr. Opposed check will be dexterity, +4 to me for being smaller that Hobgoblin 13, [roll4]. If Heiter wins, he shifts the Hobgoblin 10ft in the direction of Hobgoblin 5 (thrown aside into the trees).

Heiter threatens Zarr his awesome whipsword. Because Withdraw only applies to the first 5ft of move, Zarr will get his lashings if he tries anything.
AoO priority is Zarr casting, Zarr moving away, other goblins.
Attack [roll5] Crit Confirm [roll6]
Damage [roll7] Crit Damage [roll8]

Stance: Hunter's Sense
Readied Maneuvers: Steel Wind (Std: Attack 2 Targets), [S]Mountain Hammer (Std: Attack, +2d6 dam, bypass hardness/dr), Counter Charge(Imm: Prevent Charge with opposed Str or Dex)

[Dexam]

Spying the hobgoblin caster retreat to a position of assumed safety, Tarrock smiles, unseen. Your guardian will avail you naught.

Moving as quickly and as quietly as he can, he slips invisibly from the undergrowth and pads down the road, spinning past the hobgoblin warrior. There he changes focus, losing the advantages that the concealing shadows bring, concentrating instead on the gaps and chinks in the caster's armour; blade poised ready to strike when most advantageous.


Move: Moving Silently, out of undergrowth (R17) and down road, Tumble past hobgoblin guard in W19, end move in W20.
Move Silently: [roll0] (includes -5 for moving faster than half speed).
Tumble: [roll1]

Swift Action: switch stances from Child of Shadows to Assassin's Stance.

Standard Action: Ready an attack on Zarr - as soon as Zarr takes any action, take 5' step if necessary and attack with shortsword.
Attack: [roll2] (includes +2 for being invisible)
Damage: [roll3] plus sneak attack [roll4]



Tarrock (Human) (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=247275)
Male LE Shade (Human) Swordsage, Level 6, Init 6, HP 66/66, DR 1/- (10), Speed 30 (50)
AC 22, Touch 17, Flat-footed 18, Fort 5, Ref 10, Will 11, Base Attack Bonus 4
+1 Shortsword +10 (1d6+5, 19-20/x2)
MW Light Crossbow (Bolts (20)) +9 (1d8, 19-20/x2)
Dagger +10 (1d4+5, 19-20/x2)
Mithral +1 Chain Shirt (+5 Armor, +4 Dex, +3 Misc)
Abilities Str 10, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 8
Condition None

Current Stance: Assassin's Stance

Maneuvers Readied:
- Distracting Ember
- Cloak of Deception
- Emerald Razor
- Mind Over Body

[Saintheart]

On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Marius's blade whipped out once, and Uth-lar's head went flying. A second or two later, Marak tore into the hell hound, clamping his jaws around its neck -- and with a puff of brimstone and a faint wash of heat as the planes opened for a moment, it was gone, vanished back to its place of origin once more.

Three hobgoblins came screaming up the line of road cut. Their shouts to protect Uth-lar! were too late, but they still whipped their swords through the air with uncanny accuracy, inflicting more vicious cuts on the Cormyran.

Two more covered the spellcaster's retreat back down the edge of the road cut, catching Heiter for a couple of insignificant nicks. The redcap was already fading away into the undergrowth, doubling around behind them--
A hobgoblin standing next to the cleric screamed its hatred, came charging at him.
Heiter ... moved. In a liquid way, sidestepping subtly, reaching out, almost effortlessly redirecting the hobgoblin's attack. The pig-faced humanoid went sprawling into the undergrowth, crashing into the greenery with an explosion of snapping twigs. The redcap whipped his spinning sword to position--

"Dogs!" the spellcaster was screaming, in the general direction of Heiter, Balboa, Marak, and Marius. Spit was forming into positive foam at his lips, his red eyes wide in the country of madness. "You will all fall! Your doom is at hand! Under her guidance, we will take your lands, and your women, and we will--"
He missed Tarrock.
The Shade slammed his blade home, finding the junction of shoulder to torso in the banded mail, and the spellcaster's harangue ceased as if he had blinked out of existence like one of the hell hounds he had apparently summoned. Which, in all material ways, he had, as his heart stopped and his body collapsed to the ground, dead.

A moan went up from the remaining hobgoblins around them as they saw what had happened. One and all, their reaction was the same. The archers in the trees dropped their bows and jumped from their trees, even 10 feet up. One broke its leg as it landed, an audible crack echoing across the cut, and it lay where it fell, clutching at its leg. The hobgoblins on the ground broke contact; Balboa, Marak and Marius cut down the three confronting them as they tried to run, leaving five hobgoblins crashing off through the undergrowth to the north. Even as Tarrock watched, they were throwing weapons, shields, potion bottles down as they went. In moments, the field was clear. The party had survived.

So there we have it; combat's over and done. Up to you what you do now - there's one hobgoblin in the immediate vicinity down and helpless for all intents and purposes, and five fleeing off to the north, throwing gear down behind them as they go. If anyone wants to pursue, we can look to that as a separate encounter - given Marak and Tarrock's movement speeds I think it pretty unlikely any particular hobgoblin will be able to get away, but it's a question of whether the party can bring down all five or would want to. If you're interested in recovering gear the hobgoblins have thrown down, take it as read that any relevant Survival checks to track the hobgoblins' path for that purpose succeed.

Note I had it that Balboa, Marak and Marius all get automatic success on their AoOs taken against fleeing hobgoblins. If you want you can retcon that by letting them go, locking them down with Stand Still (again, consider that automatic success if you do) or going for nonlethal damage. Any nonlethal damage can be considered maximised and enough to knock a hobgoblin out.

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

Marak scraped the hardened resin from his fur. He did not seem in a hurry to pursue the frantic cowards that had broken formation. "I track. I kill." The voice rumbled deep in his chest, speaking to the rest of the group.

Once the mess of alchemical gunk was clawed from his coat, he dropped down to all fours. Snapping and popping of joints and the tearing of muscle soon resulted the black wolf that his companions were used to traveling with. Placing his nose to the ground, he began to follow the scents.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[jojolagger]

Heiter

Heiter simply responds to Marak with "Have fun.", scooping up a few rocks off of the path to replace the stones he threw at the start of the fight, before going to check the bodies of their slain foes.

Heiter starts with the hellhound bodies that remain, before proceeding to Uth-lar, Zarr, and then the other dead Hobgoblins. Even more prominently than his looting, Heiter ritualisticly smells the blood of each fallen foe, before wiping his hand on his hat and moving to the next.

[Dexam]

Tarrock

With the rest of the hobgoblins fleeing in panic, Tarrock takes a moment to clear his mind and refocus, entering a brief meditative trance that refreshes and renews his study of the Ninefold Path.

Once done, Tarrock moves closer to the others, speaking in his soft, heavily accented tone. "Those who flee must not be allowed to report to others; they will be dealt with." He surveys the field of the fallen. "Ensure that one lives for questioning," he states, before moving off after the fleeing hobgoblin warriors and vanishing in a flurry of shadows.

Using Adaptive Style to change and refresh maneuvers; switching to Child of Shadows stance and activating Invisibility before chasing after the hobgoblins.

Current Stance: Child of Shadows

Maneuvers Readied:
- Shadow Blade Technique
- Sapphire Nightmare Blade
- Cloak of Deception
- Emerald Razor
- Mind Over Body
- Shadow Garrote

[esorscher]

Now that battle is over, Marius can reflect on what had taken place. His horse was dead--a tragic loss, but one that was not practically insurmountable. There would no doubt be horses in Drellin's Ferry; the hope was that one would be trained in war. The other hope was that there would be a cleric there--his wounds were grievous, and he could not withstand another fight like that one. More sad was the loss of life from a stout companion who had borne him the length of the continent, or near to. He says a short prayer to Lathander; he would prefer a funeral, but there would be no time to wait for dusk. He leaves Heiter to his curious looting, and nods at Tarrock's and Marak's decision to hunt down the fleeing. Had he his horse, he'd join them. Instead, he takes the time to drag his horse a short way off the road. He removes his belongings from the beast, and sprinkles some dirt over it, whispering its last rites.

Then, he returns to the group, hoping to see the fruits of Heiter's labors.

[Nettlekid]

"Good fortune in your chase. Take 'em down and drag 'em back." Balboa waved to the departing pair. As the two took off through the forest, Balboa turns his attention to Heiter looting through the corpses of the fallen.
"Marius wear armor only slightly worse than mine, and he has better reflexes to supplement that. For these bandits to strike so well and so often, I would wager they have support beyond training and discipline. Perhaps magical accompaniment? They had a spellcaster among 'em, did they not? Though if they were equipped appropriately, that may have turned the tide to them. Find anything of interest? I bet the warrior one had a decent weapon on 'im. I wouldn't know though, I've no sense for magic."

He then glances over to Marius dragging the dead horse away.
"Sorry for your loss, you seemed close to the beast. Want me to bury 'im? I'm good at that."
Balboa will just bring the horse underground if Marius would like him to, or not if not. Either way, after that-
Balboa then scratches his chin.
"Also, I'm getting hungry. I'll see if I can find something in the bushes around here, although I don't know the berries and leaves of the surface well. But meat is meat, if I find an animal. And with any luck the Hobbos will have snacks stashed as they waited for ambush."
Balboa's going to forage for a little, using those checks I rolled in the OoC thread.

[Saintheart]

On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

It took Marius, Balboa and Heiter about an hour of labour in the warm afternoon sun to police the bodies of their assailants. Around the same time that the last of the corpses gave up its equipment, Marak came jogging back down the road cut. Tarrock ghosted in a minute or two later. Each carried the salvageable gear from their quarries. The five fleeing hobgoblins had run well, but not fast enough, even spreading out in five different directions. Some of their gear seemed to have been cast off to try and stop the pursuit.

The party convened in the ruined farmhouse just south of the road cut. Heiter had discovered shortly after Tarrock and Marak had left that the ruin was being used as a crude campsite for their would-be ambushers. Banked cookfires and dirty bedrolls lay all around.

In one corner, the hobgoblins had stacked bodies. There were five: all human, still in their clothes, arrow wounds prominent though inflicted several hours ago by the look of it; the bodies hadn't begun to smell badly yet. Of these five bodies, three appeared warriors of some kind; each wore studded leather armour that did not look particularly well-made, and equally mundane longswords and light crossbows had been left alongside each. One of the remaining two bodies had good travelling clothes on combined with footwear more suited to a town's cobbles than a country road; and the last was in a plain farmer's smock and robes, with palms so lined and weathered their use for hard labour was apparent even after death. Near their bodies lay a small merchant's purse, which contained the gleam of gold: 760 gold pieces all up.

The hobgoblins' bodies were both unsurprising and curious. The green and brown rags didn't appear to be anything other than crude camoflague, and the studded leather armour they wore was similarly unremarkable. On each hobgoblin's belt were two potion bottles. They had the look - from long experience on various partymembers' parts - of healing potions, but without some wielder of magic to identify them it seemed difficult to tell. The belts also held a small pouch containing two thunderstones, and two tanglefoot bags hung off each.

The ones who had charged up the road cut at the party each had a stock, standard short sword -- in comparison to those of the tall hobgoblin - and a heavy steel shield. However, the swords each had a plain, iron ring fitted over the handle and resting where the sword's handle met its crossguard. It did not fit the look or design of normal swords that the party members had seen before.

And then there were the bodies of the eight archers. Rather than the sword and shield of their companions, they had composite longbows and an array of 20 arrows each. The arrows seemed mundane enough - it was the longbows that appeared odd. Each of the bows had two mundane iron rings fitted over them, fitting neatly at the bottom and top end of the bow's midpoint where an archer would grip it. Indeed it seemed that it would be possible for an archer to touch both iron rings while gripping the bow in his hand. On four of these bows, the iron rings were plain and blank.

And on the remaining four bows, they were not. Tarrock surmised that these four had been those he and Heiter had killed early in the engagement - the ones who had not had a chance to loose shafts, but had instead tried Marius and Marak with thunderstones and tanglefoot bags. On these four bows, the iron rings were inscribed with written symbols of some kind, not in any language that any of the party had encountered before. Each bow had the same two symbols: one symbol on the top ring, another, distinct symbol on the bottom ring of each. They were not things that any of the party had encountered before, even for those coming from another plane of existence entirely.

The hell hounds' corpses were also different from anything Tarrock had encountered in the past. While they certainly looked like the ones he had seen, there were certain differences - the teeth, slightly longer and more curved than those he had seen, and some sort of aberrations to the forehead and back which seemed to make harder, thin ridges of the skull and spine.

The tall hobgoblin's body revealed studded leather armour that was quite well-made. His two short swords were also well-made; they looked to be the quality of Tarrock's own weapons, and the magic in them was apparent even on a glance. The same could be said of his boots -- these were apparent as magical objects, Boots of Striding and Springing.

The spellcaster's body was clad in a suit of very well-made banded mail -- clearly magical -- and held a heavy steel shield and a heavy pick (albeit mundane, and nowhere near the quality of Balboa's weapon). And he held two scrolls, which the party could guess would have been used for the casting of spells on experience.

The rest of his equipment, though, was puzzling. There was a finely-made painting set in a small wooden box, and twelve more more iron rings. Two each of these twelve were scribed with the same symbols on the bows.

And last of all was a symbol hanging on a leather thong around his neck:

http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5020/5401969305_3c44396ba8_m.jpg

It was not a symbol that any of the party recognised.


Summary of gear:
- 760 gp
- Symbol
- Banded Mail +1
- Masterwork studded leather armour
- Boots of Striding and Springing
- 2 x scrolls
- 8 x mundane iron rings, loose
- 4 x iron rings, loose, scribed
- Masterwork painting kit
- Heavy Pick
- 6 x Heavy steel shields
- 6 x mundane short swords with 1 x blank iron ring each
- 2 x Short Sword +1
- 17 x mundane studded leather armour
- 3 x mundane longswords
- 3 x light crossbows
- 4 x composite longbows with 2 x blank iron rings each
- 4 x composite longbows with 2 x inscribed iron rings each
- 30 x potions (healing?)
- 30 x thunderstones
- 30 x tanglefoot bags

There's also enough forage for an afternoon snack in the immediate area. Take these rolls and results as combining all relevant Knowledge, Search and Survival checks in one lot.

[esorscher]

Earlier:

"Slightly worse? Some would argue my armor's better. But I catch your meaning." He nods at Balboa's kind offer of burial.

Now:

The weapons and armor were useful, especially if it came to outfitting militia, but as Marius had no intention of doing that at the moment, Marius did not spend much time looking at them, except to take mental note of the obviously magic ones--some of the masterwork items could also be magic. Marius takes one of the unrecognized but probably healing potions and sniffs it carefully, wafting the scent to him with an open palm. If it doesn't smell like poison, he'll drink it, using the standard soldier's method of identifying potions. As he waits for the effects, he examines the curious iron rings. Somehow, the hobgoblins had been incredibly accurate in their attacks. Could these iron rings be the cause? Perhaps they added a certain balance, or perhaps they possessed some magical quality. Perhaps they could find someone in Drellin's Ferry to identify them. Finally, he took notice of the symbol. "Anyone recognize this?"

Then, his eyes fall on the painting kit. Perhaps these hobgoblins were more than just brutes, perhaps they had spirits, hobbies, beyond simple war. For a moment, he is regretful. Then he recalls the manner in which they were ambushed. This was self-defense, not murder.

[Saintheart]

On the road west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Marius gulped down the potion - and a surge of health and vitality went through him, the pain from his wounds lessening as he did.

Marius gets 6 hitpoints back from what is now identified as a Potion of Cure Light Wounds.

[esorscher]

"This is a healing potion," Marius says, picking up a handful more. "Praise Lathander." The potions wouldn't be good in battle, but afterward, they could provide a healthy boost. He drinks a few more, in case they are attacked on the road again before they reach Drellin's Ferry. A cleric in Drellin's Ferry would meet his needs better, but for the moment, these potions would do. He switches to his longbow, confident that others could fill the front-line charger role for the time.

Marius will drink four more bringing our total to 25.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

Current HP: 59/92

[Dexam]

Tarrock returns from his hunt and deposits the recovered gear from his victims in the sorted items in the farmhouse. "They will not be reporting," he says, and nods at Marius. "I assume that you were similarly successful?"

He briefly looks over the collection of looted items, his eyes lingering the longest on the strange symbol. He picks it up and turns it over and over in his hands, as though studying it. "I would like one each of the inscribed iron rings," he says quietly, after a while. "They intrigue me. Some of the healing potions and alchemical bags may also be of use to me."

Tarrock approaches the captive hobgoblin with the broken leg and squats down next to him, looking him in the eyes. In the cool, dark shadows of the farmhouse and beneath the cowl of his hood, Tarrock's inhuman nature becomes quite obvious. "You are not bandits." A statement, not a question. "Who are you? Who are the Red Hand, and who is this 'her' your leaders spoke of?" He places a hand over the break in the leg and then leans on it, pressing his body weight downwards. "The slower you talk, the longer this lasts."

[Saintheart]

A ruined farmhouse, west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Whatever the training or indoctrination this hobgoblin had received, it was impressive at first glance. Tarrock clearly saw the hobgoblin's eyes widen in fear as he revealed what he was, and even more apparent was the thin groan from the hobgoblin's clenched teeth as Tarrock bore down on its injury, but it did not open its mouth. Yet.

I'd make an Intimidate check here on your behalf but I'm again on a work machine that can't seem to process Mythweavers, so ... that's honour's to you. Add a +4 bonus to the check for the in-character actions Tarrock's taking to make the guy shift from hostile. We'll see where we are from there.

[Dexam]

Tarrock's eyes narrow at the hobgoblin's reluctance. "Speak!" he hisses, pressing down harder on the break.

Intimidate: [roll0]

[Saintheart]

A ruined farmhouse, west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The hobgoblin shrieked in pain and fear. "Rekazz! My name is Rekazz! Rekazz of the Harg Kulkor--"
Harg Kulkor was a phrase in the goblin language. Those who spoke it knew it to mean Land of the Dragon.
"--we are a warband of the Red Hand! The Red Hand, the fist of She Who Breathes! She of Many Faces! She whose servant you slaughtered! She who will feast on your guts when she finds you!"

[jojolagger]

At first Heiter focuses on cautioning his companions while gather loot, saying "We should be careful with these rings. They're magic we don't understand, and the fact some are blank might mean the magic isn't stable." as he uses a stick to shift the rings off the bows into a bag without touching them. He then stashed a few potions before getting distracted.
'Warband' grabs Heiter's attention. He rushes towards the Hobgoblin, grinning far to wide to be natural. "How many are there in this warband? And how many are stronger than most, like the taller one that yelled a lot? And this she who breathes, is she even stronger?"

I'll take 3 healing potions, probably won't need more. I have 48 lbs of carrying capacity for carrying loot into town before light, 123 lbs if medium loads are allowed. Crossbows, bows, and masterwork/magical items are loot priority.
Heiter will also intimidate, to get more info. [roll0]

[Saintheart]

A ruined farmhouse, west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"There were sixteen of us," said Rekazz, seemingly glad to have something other than the Shade to look at. "You killed Uth-lar and Zarr, our strongest. But they are nowhere near as strong as our leaders. Wyrmlord Koth is a mighty sorcerer, and his lieutenant, Karkilan, is a bull-faced killer as big as an ogre. And She Who Breathes?" The hobgoblin's face took on the dreamy expression of a fanatic. "She is strength! She is the Dragon Queen!"

[Dexam]

Tarrock eases his pressure on the hobgoblin's broken leg; there's no point in having their captive pass out from pain and being unable to answer their questions.

"How many such warbands make up the Red Hand? Do other such groups serve this Dragon Queen? What was the purpose of the ambuscade on this road?" He holds up the five-coloured symbol on its leather thong. "What does this symbol mean?"

[Saintheart]

A ruined farmhouse, west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Rekazz looked at the symbol. A dreamy look came over his face. "It is her sigil. The sigil of the Dragon Queen. She watches over us, over our warbands. And there are many warbands in the Red Hand. Clans. Tribes. More than counting. You may have won here, night-man, killed my band, but others will come. Other warbands reave the lands around the human river-town. We have drawn a rope around their necks. None will escape, not west, not north, not south. The Day of Ruin is coming. You cannot stop it, not you, night-man, not you or any of your friends."

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The massive, red-eyed wolf returned to the group. It's muzzle was stained with blood. Approaching slowly, it showed it's teeth at the hobgoblin and barked words in harsh common. "Let me. Eat him."

It circled around where they questioned the captive, pacing and waiting for approval of the statement.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Nettlekid]

Balboa, who had only been half pay attention to the conversation as he tried to fit his stout Dwarf feet into the tight and stylish shoes of the Hobgoblin leader, looked up with a start at mention of the "tribes beyond counting."
"So it's YOU! Yer the ones shaking the bones of the earth! Yer reaving warbands, stomping and crashing and screaming and shouting! If they're all gobbos like you, then I've met your kind before! Maggoty vermin running the tunnels, clogging the veins of the body of the mountain. So this explains it, under yer Breather sow yer kind has become bolder than it ought to be! Well that's it, then, innit? If I'm to get my peace and quiet, all that's there to do is make it so yer Breather's name no longer suits her! See if the whelp has a map on him. Instructions, battle formations, tactics. Where they were meant to meet next. Not that I'd expect that kind of sophistication out of gobbos, but maybe the Breather's better suited to it."


Balboa (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=245610)
M LN Urdunnir Dwarf Ranger 3/Crusader 2/Deepwarden 1, Level 6, Init -6, HP 74/74, Speed 10
AC 25, Touch 10, Flat-footed 25, Fort 13, Ref 4, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 6
+1 Heavy Pick +8 (1d8+4, x4)
Lasso +2 (Entangles)
Earthskin (+1 Called Dendritic Armor w/ Restful Crystal), +1 Called Mundane Crystal Tower Shield (+10 Armor, +5 Shield)
Abilities Str 16, Dex 11, Con 19, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 14
Condition
Manuevers Available:

[esorscher]

Marius, who to this point has remained silent, finally speaks. "What clan are you from? How many in that clan? How many clans in your tribe?" The numbers may help them estimate the size of this force. Regardless, all this information confirms his suspicion--there is a threat here, and one that will need to be reported to Cormyr. In his mind, he begins writing the missive he will send with all possible haste.

[Saintheart]

A ruined farmhouse, west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"We are one clan," said Rekazz. "We once were many. But now we are one. The Dragon Queen made us so. We are forged together, one heart, one fist, the Kulkor Zhul!" People of the Dragon, the Goblinoid-speakers in the party translated to themselves. "You ask how many of us are there? There are enough, horse-man. Enough to take the lands of the hu-man, the dwarf, the elf. Enough to crush all of you. So kill me, cowards! Where a warrior of the Kulkor Zhul falls, ten will take his place, with dragons to avenge him!"

[jojolagger]

Heiter attempts to intervene in Marak's attempts to get a meal. Well that specific meal, temporarily. "Marak, there are plenty of other hobgoblins around here for you to eat. If we don't kill this one now, it'll keep longer. Besides, we might be able to get more info from him later, especially if a mage in town can force him to speak honestly, rather than these outrageous and boastful lies."
Should nobody disagree, Heiter will punch Rekazz out.

[Dexam]

Tarrock contemplates the hobgoblin's words.

Unifying the tribes of wild humanoids, with the intent of conquest and plunder? From what I've learned from the Prince, this is fairly common occurrence across Faerûn - Phlan, Cormyr, and Raven's Bluff to name but a recent few. It appears that is what is happening here; perhaps this Dragon Queen may be worthy to form an alliance with Thultanthar? Further investigation is required, and the Prince should be informed...

Spying Heiter clenching a fist and leveling it the captive, Tarrock intercedes. "I am not yet done," he says calmly, and turns back to their captive. "The bodies," he gestures at the corpses of the warriors, merchant, and farmer, "tell me of them."

[Saintheart]

A ruined farmhouse, west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The hobgoblin glanced at the bodies in the corner. "Weaklings, travelling this road. The fat one in soft clothes was guarded by the three sword-bearers, coming out of the east, from the river-town we guessed. At least the sword-men didn't squeal as they died, but the softbelly shrieked enough for all four of 'em. Suppose you've found the gold bag he had on him. And the peon was a fool, travelling alone. We took him at sunrise. The softbelly and his men we killed near noon."

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf stopped it's pacing and watched them question the captive for a moment. When it appeared they had gotten what they could and the hobgoblin had started ranting like a maniac, the wolf barked more words. "Useless. Knows nothing. Kill. Move. Too slow. To bring."

The wolf seemed ill-at-ease simply standing around. It was evident he wanted to get back to traveling toward their destination.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[jojolagger]

"Well, we should gather up the supplies. The town might need the extra weapons with Hobgoblin warbands in the area. I'd prefer to bring the prisoner too, but Marak is right about him slowing us down. Balboa, could you bury the rest of the dead?" Says Heiter, already ignoring the Hobgoblin and starting to pack the supplies away.

[Dexam]

"One more question: where would I need to go if I wished to... pay my respects to the Dragon Queen, or speak with Wyrmlord Koth and his lieutenant?"

[Saintheart]

A ruined farmhouse, west of Drellin’s Ferry
Channath Vale,
(South of the Shaar, East of the Wyrmbones)
The Sixth of Mirtul, 1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The hobgoblin focused one more time on Tarrock. "There is a hu-man castle in the woods. Across the river and far north from there. Uth-lar, our leader, he with two swords who you killed, said he met with Koth there. I was never taken to it myself. Pay any respects you have there, night-man, but it will not keep She Who Breathes from her victory!"

[Saintheart]

Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdSwHhd_VeA)

The rest of the afternoon was spent in sweat. The road turned back northeast, and the afternoon heat grew as the companions trudged on up the dusty road, dragging their captured gear behind them, prodding their captive hobgoblin ahead of them. Rekazz stumbled gamely on, heavily favouring his splinted leg. The hobgoblin held his silence against the pain as he fought to keep the pace his captors set.

The sun slid into the west, throwing purple and red into the sky. Crickets celebrated noisily as the day’s heat receded. The road finally descended into a small town built mostly on the eastern bank of a broad, sluggish river. Six old stone pylons jutted from the water, marking the spot where a bridge once stood, but the span itself was long gone. Instead, a couple of long thick ropes hung across the river, each secured to a flat-bottomed ferryboat.

Sienna fields and orchards of orange trees surrounded the town. Marak had seen enough settlements in his travels around the Shaar and points north to make an educated guess at the town’s size: a thousand people or so all up, a settlement proportional to what the fields around the town could sustain -- in its way a human place balanced against the bounty of Silvanus, Chauntea, Malar, and the other gods of nature.

Five short clangs echoed softly across the afternoon air – someone keeping time, signalling the fifth hour after noon. There was no bell tower visible from here; the only building more than twenty feet high was a small stone tower visible near the centre of town. Marius’s experiences suggested that to be the town armoury. The place had an unashamedly military look to it, exuding an atmosphere of blunt purpose. There were a couple of other solid-looking structures dotted about the townsite. Even at this distance Balboa recognised them as dwarf make: older, buttressed, as distinct against the town's wooden buildings as stone against sand.

Rekazz stood for a moment, staring down at the town before them. Then the hobgoblin’s eyes shifted to the closest sight ahead. A group of armed townsfolk – three in leather, one in mail – stood guard at a makeshift checkpoint in the road, watching the companions with an assortment of expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness to puzzlement.

“Halt and state your business,” said the one in mail. Tall, with a long brown moustache, he looked competent, mainly due to the obvious mediocrity of his companions. The three in leather were likely just farmers, there for numbers more than anything else. The guardsman in mail was professional enough to not let his insecurity show; indeed, he let no particular emotion show other than mild interest. But no one could mistake the hand laid to the hilt of his longsword, or the steady look that rested on the hobgoblin in particular.

Here's the town map:

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/Drellins%20Ferry_zpsyfo6mofu.jpg~original

Key:

Red dot: you are here
1 - Checkpoints
2 - The Green
3 – Town Speaker’s Home
4 – The Green Apple Inn
5 – Morlin’s Smithy
6 – Shrine of Lathander
7 – House of Sertieren the Wise
8 – Old Toll House
9 – Town Armory
10 – The Old Bridge Inn
11 – Jarrett’s Sundries
12 – Delora’s Livery Stable
13 – Iormel’s Warehouse
14 – The Ferry
15 – The Ruins of the Dwarfbridge
16 – Gausler’s Brewhouse
17 – Jendar’s Warehouse
18 – Sterrel’s Provisioning
19 – Grove of the Old Ones

Thought this was the simplest way to help you guys orient yourselves - if you need short clarifications of these locations let me know, though fuller descriptions will follow as you explore as you see fit. Location 9 is the small stone tower referred to, Location 14 is the Ferry with two long ropes laid across the river. Locations 5, 8, and 15 are recognisable to Balboa as dwarf-built.

[esorscher]

"Travelers," Marius says, stepping forward. He is well experienced dealing with people. "We were attacked on the road by an organized band of Hobgoblins. Our initial investigations indicate they are part of a larger warband. It is imperative that we speak with whoever is in charge of this town. Please, take us to them."

[Saintheart]

Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The guardsman looked over at Marius, glancing back at the hobgoblin for a moment. "He's your prisoner, then? Impressive work, saer -- we've had bands of them," he said, nodding at Rekazz, "skulking near the town for days now. You're lucky to get through one of their ambushes. A lot of people haven't."

He took another, longer look over the companions; he sized up the powerful forms before him, and quickly toted up the improvised travois with its load of captured armour. A slight, approving smile flickered across his face. "But then you look like capable sorts, and I won't deny we're in a hard spot. I can't leave this post, myself, but head over to the Old Toll House -- that big stone building, there, down near the water's edge -- and ask for Captain Soranna. I'll have to ask you to hand over the hobgoblin to us. Can't have one of them running loose around here."
Rekazz snorted at this last remark, but said nothing.

[Dexam]

The guardsman looked over at Marius, glancing back at the hobgoblin for a moment. "He's your prisoner, then? Impressive work, saer -- we've had bands of them," he said, nodding at Rekazz, "skulking near the town for days now. You're lucky to get through one of their ambushes. A lot of people haven't."

"Speaking of suchlike, we discovered the bodies of five men where we were ambushed, presumably from this town," Tarrock informs the guardsman. "One wore the attire of a merchant or someone of similar wealth and status; three were clearly warriors, guardsmen or hired swords; the last had the look of a farmer or peasant labourer." He nods at their hobgoblin prisoner. "He claims they were attacked and slain today; do any of these folk sound familiar to you?"

Tarrock, appearing perfectly human in the full light of the setting sun apart from his dusky-grey skin, makes no move to prevent Rekazz from being handed over to the justice of these townsfolk; though he does give the hobgoblin a sinister smile.

[Saintheart]

Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Sounds like Jendar, sarge," said one of the farmers, laying a weathered hand on the mail-clad man's shoulder. "Merris told me he came through here this morning. Him and those three sellswords out of Terrelton."
The mail-clad guardsman squinted at the farmer silently.
"Well, what were they supposed to do?" said the farmer. "Throw them all in the Toll House?"
"I would've, if I'd known," said the guardsman. "I told that damn fool he had no business risking his neck west of the town with the troubles out that way. Him and his bloody 'deal' over in Sheirtalar. Lot of good his deals do his wife and sons now. Bloody Iormel'll be turning cartwheels when he hears about this." The guardsman exhaled heavily, shaking his head, turning back to Tarrock. "Cry your pardon, saer. I'd guess the merchant you found was probably Jendar Lakelock; he's got - had - a warehouse here in town. I don't know who the farmer would be, but there's a few outlying homesteads that still haven't had word of the raiding--"
"Wait, you mean this piece of filth killed Jendar?" said another of the farmers, stepping forward towards Rekazz. "You son of a--"
"Stand down, Erid."
"But, Hersk--"
"I said step back," snapped Hersk. "There'll be justice enough later. And that's sergeant to you, boy."
Erid, a sandy-haired boy barely out of his teens, hesitated for a second, then moved to comply, kicking the dirt as he moved back, leaning on his spear, fixing Rekazz with an angry stare.
"Apologies again, saer," said Hersk to Tarrock. "Appreciate you bringing us word, anyway. At least we'll know not to look for him from out of the west. If you don't mind me asking -- are you from Halruaa? Your accent sounds like it, and, begging your pardon, but you seem to dress a little like one of the magefolk, but I've not met anyone with your, well, complexion before."

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf stayed close to the companions. He had learned it was much easier to pass in civilization if he pretended to be one of their pets, however distasteful that was.

While the men spoke, he had a relaxed and slightly bored body posturing. Upon the threatening gestures, his ears laid back and hackles raised slightly, though he did not show his fangs yet to the guards.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[jojolagger]

Walking up to the angry farmer, Heiter tells him the fate of the other Hobgoblins, hopefully placating the man. "16 Hobgoblins ambushed us. That's the only one left. They had set up an ambush, and their magic-user summoned monsters to fight for them."
Then Heiter starts grinning, "Their leader complained that we weren't fighting fair. After Marius separated their leader's head from his body, five of them fled. Those ones died tired."

Now that the man who wants the Hobgoblin hurt knows that they were, Heiter gets back on focus. "Their magic-user seemed to have been doing something with runes. Is there anyone here we could ask about magic?"

[Dexam]

"Apologies again, saer," said Hersk to Tarrock. "Appreciate you bringing us word, anyway. At least we'll know not to look for him from out of the west. If you don't mind me asking -- are you from Halruaa? Your accent sounds like it, and, begging your pardon, but you seem to dress a little like one of the magefolk, but I've not met anyone with your, well, complexion before."

Tarrock ponders the question for a long, awkward silence before answering. "Halruaa, yes, something like that," he says somewhat evasively. He pulls back on a sleeve of his robe to look at the dusky grey skin tone of his forearm. "I am genasi," he says, "this happens sometimes to my people." Close enough to the truth, though an honour bestowed rather than something one was born with; albeit a most painful one. Still, the agony of having one's soul shredded by whips of freezing, searing shadow was but a minor discomfort in the face of being elevated to the caste of Shade's most elite.

[Saintheart]

Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Oh." Hersk cleared his throat. "I see. Again, apologies, saer, I meant no offence. I just was surprised to a Halruaan travelling in such ... mixed company," he said, glancing at Tarrock's companions and to Marius in particular. "We, ah, don't get many Cormyrans out this way, you see. I worked for Lews Alamber over in Rethmar some years ago, but he's about the only Cormyr man left in these parts. He's even hired local people for his work."
Lews Alamber was a name Marius would recognise. It was the name of the merchant he had been told to contact when being unofficially exiled to this part of the world.

Across the way, Erid, the farmer, had stopped scowling. His grin matched that of Heiter, though he shrugged when the redcap asked about magic. "Well, there's Sertieren." He pointed across the way to the north side of the village, where the land rose and a decent-sized, expensive-looking building stood overlooking the water. "That's his house. He works with magic from what I heard--"
"You could also try Morlin Coalhewer," said Hersk, cutting Erid off. "He makes up his trade mostly in smithing, but he does stock enchanted weapons and some armor. Not much call for that sort of stuff out here until recently, and there aren't that many people round here who can afford what he sells, but he does stock it at least. " Hersk took another glance at the piles of armour and shields on the improvised travois the companions were dragging behind them. "He'd probably be interested in whatever you've recovered from the hobgoblins. That's his smithy, up on the east side - he's dwarven, been here a long time. I remember him working his forge here when I was a boy. And there's Brother Kandil at the Shrine of Lathander up that way if you need healing. Erid! Stay away from that animal!"
"I was just going to--"
"--get your hand bitten off, that's what you were going to do! Don't you recognise a wolf when you see one?" Hersk looked over at Balboa, who was standing closest to Marak. "Fine specimen, might I say. Domesticated, or do you have some magic to control him?"

Sertieren's house is number 7 on the map, the Shrine of Lathander at number 6, and Morlin's smithy is at number 5.

[esorscher]

"I'm sure there will be time for introductions later," Marius interrupts. "For the moment, there are more pressing issues." He guides the group away from the inquisitive guardsmen and to the Old Toll House, where he, as instructed, asks for Captain Soranna.

[Saintheart]

The Old Toll House,
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

On closer inspection, the Old Toll House established itself as the largest building in the town, even if it was not the tallest. The worn, oversized blocks making up its stone walls and the overbuilt entrances and exits making it workable for people of human height (and more) confirmed it as dwarven-made. Balboa could surmise its original purpose, particularly given the name: there obviously had been a dwarven span here once, long ago, now collapsed, and this building had been where tolls were extracted from those passing over that bridge. Now, though, the building served a different function. Noticeboards were secured to the exterior: dates of the next court sessions, declarations of the Town Council establishing checkpoints on exit roads, calls for those professing to possess the will of one Abrem Stoneshaw to come forward given his death. There were two guardsmen at the doorway, but did not bar their way. Such places were familiar to Marius: inside, while the place's activity was winding down with the dusk, it only took a glance to establish this building was essentially the seat of what passed for government in small towns like this: a combination town hall, courthouse, jail, and guard headquarters.

The companions accosted a guardsman who'd already stowed his armour and was departing for the day. When Hersk's name was mentioned, he nodded and disappeared into a back room, emerging with a woman who had the look of someone accustomed to opponents made of parchment as much as steel. The guardsman volunteered -- not without a wistful glance towards the open doorway -- to look after their recovered possessions while they spoke with the captain.

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/Soranna_zpsemwwatod.png~original

Captain Soranna Anitah, as she introduced herself, was younger than Marius had expected for someone with that rank. He guessed they were speaking with the captain of the local guard rather than the actual decisionmakers of the town, but in his experience dealing with nobility such individuals' views carried considerable weight with those in power. And given the size of the town, captain was probably about as high as the ranks went for military purposes. Either way, she sized them up with a gaze decades older and invited them back into her office, a spartan affair with scuffed desk, closed cupboard, parchment pile to one side, and a recently-lit candle whose tallow smell was slowly filling up the room. There were a few wooden chairs scattered around the room, and she gestured to the companions to make themselves comfortable as she leaned on the front edge of the desk.
"So. You were attacked by a hobgoblin warband, managed to defeat them." She peered at Marius's injuries. "Looks like they did you some damage. Still, you came through it - and picked up one as a prisoner, to boot. Many thanks for that. So, what can I do for you?"

[esorscher]

Marius remains standing as he addresses the young but apparently experienced captain. "The question, I think, is what can we do for you? As I understand it, these warbands are not a sudden occurrence, but rather something that has been troubling this region for some time. I can only assume that you have been unable to address the root of the problem, which I, again making assumptions based on my own experience in the army of Cormyr, suspect has to do with a lack of resources, manpower, or some combination of these and other factors. My companions and I have proven our ability to handle this threat. Whatever compensation you can afford would be most welcome, and of course, all the information you have on these hobgoblin warbands would be as well.

"Furthermore, we have these weapons and armor that we took off the hobgoblins themselves. They are well made, if mundane. Naturally, we have no need for them, but you could put them to use outfitting your local militia. The hobgoblins are going to become more dangerous before they become less dangerous, and your people will need protection. We would be happy to sell them to you, for a fair price."

[Saintheart]

The Old Toll House,
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Though she disguised it, it wasn't difficult to perceive Soranna's relief. "Well, that is a welcome proposition. But it's not a proposition I can really authorise on my own -- just a moment." She went to the door, apparently calling to the guardsman who had waited around in the anteroom: "Merris, go ask the Speaker -- politely -- to come down here. Tell him I've got some people who may be able to deal with our problem." Speaker was a familiar rank to Marius - in Cormyr the title tended to be mayor, but old-fashioned name or not, it meant much the same thing: a person who spoke for the entire settlement in all matters except a minority of cases which required the consent of the Town Council.
The guardsman outside said something the companions didn't hear from their chairs.
"Take it out of the time you spent at highsun sinking tankards at the Apple," replied Soranna. "Get going. It's serious."

The noise of receding footsteps echoed outside, and Soranna turned back to the group before her, moving back around behind the desk to her chair. "The town's under attack," she began. "Hobgoblin raiders have been harrying the area for several days. They've attacked and killed people in the outlying homesteads, and they've been waylaying travellers along the Dawn Way - and some of the smaller outbound trails, as you've just seen. It's gotten to the point where all roads north, west, and now even south are unsafe to travel. There's a good fifty or more people who're taking refuge in town. It's too dangerous to stay out there in isolated hamlets."

Marak recognised the road she mentioned, the Dawn Way: it was the principal east-west road through Channath Vale, running from Channathgate at the eastern end through to Drellin's Ferry and then turning north through Shaareach Forest's southwestern end to terminate where it met the Old North Road and the Dwarfroad.

"We've had some trouble with hobgoblins before," continued Soranna, "A raid now and then on farms on the west side of the river, usually not that bad -- but this is different. It looks like a large, aggressive tribe has moved down out of the Wyrmbones. Frankly, I'm afraid there might be enough of them to sack the town. I'm not really sure how many there are - maybe a hundred warriors. There have been at least three different warbands around our lands at the same time, each about fifteen to twenty strong, so fifty at the minimum." She hesitated. "I sent a dozen guardsmen west, up the Dawn Way to find out where the hobgoblins might be lairing, but they got cut to pieces a few miles inside the forest. The warbands have been using fearful monsters and evil magic against us. Hounds that breathe fire, even a couple of manticores."

There was a knock at the door as they spoke, and Merris opened it from the outside for a tall, balding man of about fifty, dressed in well-made garments--

http://www.handsomechap.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/Sean-Connery-cropped-hair-and-beard.png

Soranna stood. "Speaker Wiston," she said.
The Town Speaker waved it away. "Please, Captain, no ceremony. Yes, thank you, goodman Merris, that'll be all for now," he said, smilingly closing the door on the guardsman and turning to the companions. "You must be the company of whom our captain was speaking. Did you bring in the hobgoblin I just saw Sergeant Hersk with? We haven't managed to achieve that with all of the captain's guard put together," he said.
Soranna flushed. "Speaker, the goodman from Cormyr," she nodded at Marius, "was saying they would be willing to assist with our issue." She explained both Marius's words and what she had already told them.

Speaker Wiston nodded, turning to the companions. "Beyond the immediate threat, the Dawn Way is our lifeblood. If the hobgoblins keep that road impassable to the west, trade won't come this way, and we'll be ruined. Opening the Dawn Way again is as important as repelling the raiders. So," he added with a friendly grin, "having just given you the leverage to extract an exorbitant sum of money from us, I can tell you we can pay you as much as five hundred gold each, if you can drive off the hobgoblins. And you're free to keep anything you find in the course of your investigation, of course, we don't require tithes on windfall gains here. As for the gear you've already found - really, our militia are fitted sufficiently, and the town's coffers are already squeezed with the troubles we're having. Might I suggest Morlin Coalhewer, over at his smithy - I probably couldn't match an offer he might make you for that gear anyway. You might catch him this evening. He usually works well past dusk. Very industrious sort of fellow, and he's been a fair trader for longer than I've been a man, let alone a Speaker of this town. But getting back to your proposition - what do you say?"

[Nettlekid]

"Ya say they've got manticores? I daresay we've got something better." Balboa snorted, looking to Marak. "I know I fer one have no qualms about taking back the pass. But the numbers alone may prove difficult. I know little of the land under the sky, but is there on that Dawn Way a narrow pass, perhaps cutting through the mountains or into a tunnel, that can prove a choke point? If not then give me time and I can try to make one. The hobbos bandits that we slew were no match for us, but their minuscule might was multiplied by virtue of the terrain and their advantageous positioning. If we can turn that table on them, and put the land to our advantage, then their numbers won't matter. We pick them off like ants marching in a line. But that's provided we can fortify a position like that."

Balboa paused, thinking back on their fight.
"Although we are strong as steel and sturdy as the root of the mountain, I fear we may find ourselves underequipped in the long run. The hobbos don't fight only with iron, they use trickery. We found on the corpses of the fallen bandits peculiar iron rings, some etched with runes and some not. We discussed it, and we suspect they are some kind of hobbo voodoo which grants exceptional accuracy and skill but only for a single strike, and the runes are exhausted upon use. If bandits on the road were in good supply of those rings, I would not be surprised to see them as common equipment among the hordes. And if so, then like a stone under dripping water, we'll be worn away. What I'd like to know is if you have in this town one knowledgeable in matters of alchemy and magic who can understand these runes, and either replicate them that we may even the playing field or provide some shield or counter against them. If that knowledgeable person also has skill in medicine, we could do with a supply of healing. Our party scavenged potions of healing from the hobbo bandits, but those won't last forever."

Balboa paused again.
"It's the wolf. In case there was any confusion. The wolf is what we've got that's better than manticores."

[Saintheart]

The Old Toll House,
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Soranna glanced at the Speaker, then turned to Balboa. "It's probably easier to show you the surrounds." She went to the cupboard and took out a long piece of parchment, rolling it out onto her table, securing the four corners with small lead oval weights.

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/Shaareach%20Wood_zpsy83hcox2.jpg~original

Soranna gestured at the map. "This is about as good a map as we've got of this end of Shaareach Forest. It's been put together over the years from the accounts of those who choose to live or wander the area. As it is, there's precious few who'd go strolling in that lot - the forest claims a woodsman or hunter every year, even without hobgoblins to deal with. We know the area around the Dawn Way best, that's a solid, dwarf-built road all the way through, the forest hasn't claimed it back in all this time and we tried to keep it that way."

She rubbed her chin. "Like I said, normally the hobgoblins stay close to or in the mountains -- Shaareach melds with the foothills of the Wyrmbones to the west, you can see. There are hills and ridges in the wood, but not much that you could really call a choke point or defensible pass. The only thing along those lines would be Skull Gorge. Melodramatic name, I know, but I've seen it. Fall off the edge of the gorge and you'll have a lot of time to think about it before you hit bottom. Of course, there's a dwarven bridge, part of the Dawn Way, that crosses it. After that the country gets a lot easier -- Cinder Hill is more or less the northern edge of the forest, from there the road drops into open country again. But given the way we're getting hit with raids, I'm thinking the hobgoblins have to be lairing somewhere in the woods, especially since they cut down my men only a couple of miles inside the forest's edge."

She drew their attention back to the south end of the map. "About the only natural barrier between ourselves and the forest is the Talar River itself -- and you were hit south of the river, which says to me they're fording the river somewhere I don't know about. For all I know they could've floated across on logs. That's all flat, level country, good for crops and fields, but not much good for fortifying. I'm sorry, master dwarf, but I don't think there's much defensively formidable down here, unless you count the river itself."

"On the other hand," said the Speaker, "when it comes to alchemy and runes, I'd still suggest you talk to Morlin. There's Sertieren who does produce magical items, but he's crotchety about visitors after dark. And I've yet to meet anyone proffer any iron or weapon that Morlin couldn't tell them something about. As for healing, Brother Kandil up at the Shrine of Lathander should be able to see to your needs in that area. Still," he said, glancing at Marius, "I'd not expect to meet anyone of the great Vangerdahast's reputation or strength here. We do what we can, but we are a long way from Cormyr."

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf lolled it's tongue out, panting at the comment made by the dwarf. It's ears were perked forward as the Alpha of the town spoke. He quickly grew bored with that, as it was all talk of money and trade.

Instead, he hefted his front paws upon the table and looked down to the map, head tilted slightly as he inspected it. He sniffed at the spot where the gorge was marked and then snorted and dropped back to the floor, circling twice before laying down lazily.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Saintheart]

The Old Toll House,
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"There's more to him than meets the eye, I take it," said the Speaker, taking a long look at Marak as the wolf settled to the floor. "Especially if you say he's better than a manticore."

[Dexam]

Tarrock stares at Marius, somewhat annoyed that the Cormyrian had all but volunteered the group's services without consulting the others, however he does not express his irritation other than a slight change in body language.

"If the prisoner is to be believed, these are no mere raiders or bandits, or even a single tribe," he says to the Captain and the Town Speaker, "but rather multiple tribes, unified under one that they call the Dragon Queen. This is her symbol." He fishes out the five-coloured amulet taken from the dead hobgoblin spellcaster and displays it to Captain Soranna and Speaker Winston. "Worse than that, they are fanatics; or at least their leaders are, from what we heard from their own mouths, and certainly our captive is."

The swordsman looks over the map, studying it in detail. "The captive mentioned that their leaders, a sorcerer and another they called a 'Wyrmlord', were based in a human-built castle in the woods to the north, across the river. Do you have any idea where this might be?"

He stares at Sorana and then Winstone. "What can you tell me about Vraath Keep?"

[Saintheart]

The Old Toll House,
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Soranna's face brightened. "They must be one and the same thing. Vraath Keep's an old ruined castle in the forest -- it's supposed to be about fifteen miles or so out along the Dawn Way. Makes sense if the hobgoblins have taken it for their stronghold. They might not care that it's supposed to be haunted."
"Vraath Keep is supposed to be a lot of things," said Speaker Wiston with a patient smile.
"Jorr Natherson told me he's been there," she countered.
"Jorr Natherson told me he fought off ten Harpers once," said Wiston. He turned to the companions. "The keep is an old ruin, but you would be hard-pressed to find anyone here who knows its exact location. It fell long years ago -- the forest reclaimed any direct paths to it there were. That, the rumours of ghosts, and the forest itself have kept most sane people from looking for it. Of course," he chuckled, "it doesn't stop the odd party of treasure-hunters searching for the place. The ruin and the ghosts and the location seem to go together with stories of a treasure left in it. Not that anyone has managed to find said treasure - not even Jorr Natherson."
"He hasn't found the Fool's Cache because he doesn't dare," replied Soranna. "He told me he won't set foot inside the ruins. You didn't see him when he was talking about the place."
"I'm more interested in ending the hobgoblin threat and reopening the Dawn Way," said Wiston. "If the hobgoblins are lairing in Vraath Keep, well, at least we have a place to start looking. As for this symbol," he said, gesturing to the star-shaped object Tarrock had produced, "I can't say I recognise it. This 'Dragon Queen' could just be Koth's mistress for all we know."
"I haven't seen anything like it," said Soranna. "Maybe it's some sort of religious seal? Brother Kandil might know something of it." She turned back to the companions. "But listen - if you're going to go looking around in Shaareach Forest, I would advise you to seek out Jorr. He's been living out there for decades."
"True enough," said Wiston, nodding. "Stories aside, you can't find someone who knows the woods better - gods know he's survived out there on his own longer than anyone sane would have lasted. His cabin's out of the way, but it could be worth the walk. If you're on the Dawn Way, take a right on a trail about nine miles from the forest's edge."
"The other way is along the Witch Trail, north once you're across the river," said Soranna. "Go left at the first big trail crossing - Jorr's cabin is about seven miles in, near the Blackwater."

[esorscher]

"Noted. Is there anything else you can tell us, anything else you think might be helpful or useful?" Marius asks. He has little else to do with the guard captain, and is interested in exploring the town--both the smithy and the shrine of Lathander are at the top of his list of places to visit next.

[Saintheart]

The Old Toll House,
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Not really," said Soranna, with a look at Wiston. "There's the Green Apple Inn or the Old Bridge Inn to stay in - the Apple probably has more rooms available, the Old Bridge is billeting a lot of the farmers who're taking refuge here."

[esorscher]

"Alright, then." He turns to the rest of the party. "I'm headed to the Shrine of Lathander, first, but I intend on heading to the smithy before he closes shop for the night. After that, I'll be at this Green Apple Inn. Anyone is welcome to accompany me, and if you choose to go to the smithy first, I'm sure I'll find you there." He'll wait for the party's responses before leaving, but assuming no one shouts at him to stay with the group, he'll head off to the Shrine.

[Dexam]

Tarrock stows the star-shaped symbol in a pouch at his belt. "I will come with you to the shrine," he says to Marius. "Perhaps this Brother Kandil of Lathander can tell us more about the amulet. The smithy interests me not."

Tarrock turns back to Captain Sorana and Speaker Winston. "Five hundred gold pieces each, for when the hobgoblins no longer pose a serious threat, sounds reasonable." He glances at Marak on the floor, then returns his gaze to Sorana and Winston. "But that also includes the wolf. If that poses a problem, I'm sure he can always extract his payment in livestock and unwary townsfolk." The shade gives them a thin smile as if he's joking, but the humour doesn't quite reach his eyes.

[Saintheart]

The Old Toll House,
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Five bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Wiston turned a knowing grin on Soranna. "And this is what you came up with to save the town?" He turned back to Tarrock. "As you will. Five hundred each, for a total of 2,500 gold."

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The panting wolf licked it's lips at the mention of livestock and townsfolk. It got up with a grunt and stretch and padded over to stand next to Marius as if to show he was ready to leave this building. The talking obviously seemed to disinterest the animal.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[jojolagger]

Heiter speaks, "If Marius and Tarrock are going to the Shrine, Balboa and I should probably start lugging all the gear to Morlin at the smithy. Worst case, I have to listen to them agree about stone and metalwork until you show up." with a bit of a smirk.

He then continues, being careful to phrase the next part as a suggestion rather than an order, "Marak would probably prefer the Shrine to the Smithy. Fires of industry and all that."

[Nettlekid]

"Tch, I may have had a good discussion with this Morlin if the man had been Dwarf. From the sound of it, he's just another of you folk. Which isn't to say anything poorly, of course, but it's not as though you've appreciated the beauty of a geode without cracking it open like an egg or coaxed the shape of iron without coercing it with flame, eh? Still, if you trust him with your steel then so can we. And if you say he can aid us with the matter of the rings, all the better."

[Saintheart]

Lathander's Shrine
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The shrine stood at the east end of the village, the last light of day gleaming on its walls. Made of fieldstone and dark wood, the building itself was a regular, single-storey structure with a doorway into it. Its garden, though, was exceptional: paths of white river stones made graceful arcs across a carefully-kept lawn as green as washed emerald. They had to look twice at the plants growing at artfully-selected locations around the garden; they appeared shrunken trees, and only close inspection revealed them to be small bushes cut so to beautifully resemble conifers. In the centre of the garden stood a stone plinth with a large iron cylinder on it, somewhat incongruous with the surroundings. Lathander's symbol, a rising sun, was carved into the lintel above the wooden doorway. Marius, Tarrock, and Marak entered through that door to find a modest, even spartan, space which was clearly a temple, although far too small to act as a true church. Symbols of the rising sun were set into the walls and the windowsills.

There was a small, stocky man with dusky, leathery skin speaking to two others. Arkaiun, Marak realised: the man was an Arkaiun, that ethnicity of men noted most for being enslaved by the Dambrathi to the east of here. But the man had a gentle, calm smile as he spoke to the two other men: younger than him, they had the look of students, with small packages in their hands.
Or acolytes: the Arkaiun was in plain, peasant robes, but one could not mistake the symbol around his neck - Lathander's symbol. This had to be Brother Kandil.
"I forgot - will you stay with Wellim until he falls asleep?" said Kandil to one of the acolytes. "It's five years tonight since Jacynda passed. He'll drink himself down if you don't."
"I won't be able to get over to the Stoneshaw house tonight if I do," said the acolyte.
Kandil nodded, holding his hands out for the acolyte's package. "Very well. I'll go to the Stoneshaws. Off you go - and start at the outlying homes, yes? I want you both doing your last rounds right in town. The Morninglord go with you."
The acolytes bowed briefly to him, and then excused themselves, glancing at the companions as they went.

Kandil turned to the three, but as he opened his mouth a small chime sounded -- from a water clock sitting on a sideboard nearby. He smiled apologetically. "Please -- come in. I'll just be a moment."
Kandil hurried out into the garden, pulling a long wooden stick from inside his tunic -- and struck the iron cylinder hard six times in succession, the noise ringing out across the town. There, it seemed, was the source of the chimes they had heard earlier. The cleric turned back to them, moving back into the temple, closing the door softly behind him. "Well, I can guess why you came here," said Kandil, peering at Marius's injuries. "And I suppose a welcome to Drellin's Ferry is in order - I don't recognise you from our town. But is there anything else I can help you with?"

---------

Morlin's Smithy
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The smithy stood in defiance of the setting sun. It was a big blockhouse of a building - typical dwarven design and construction, and at a glance Balboa could tell it had a similar vintage to the other dwarven buildings they had seen - old, far older than any of the buildings around it. It was a squat ziggurat of a building without an upper level, a slowly-smoking chimney at its top, the doorway made of well-crafted stone which pivoted on silent stone pins. The heat from the interior washed over them as Balboa and Heiter entered. No shopfront or concierge here; this was a place of work as much as commerce. Two forges blazed bright red at the rear of the room, providing most of the light. No one manned the bellows; Balboa could see they'd adopted the not-infrequent dwarven design of automated bellows, driven by a system of pulleys, wheels, and slowly-draining casks of water. Firelight glinted and danced off weapons arrayed on racks and on the walls. It required no magician's eye to see several of them were magical in nature - and there were any number of other mundane items around the large room as well on tables. Above them, suspended on chains from the ceiling, was an iron plaque with a stylised smith's hammer above a burning forge. And that, too, Balboa realised, was cunning: it seemed to advertise the place as a blacksmith, but to any dwarf it was apparent as daylight that it was a symbol of Moradin.

The dwarf emerged from the shadows. Morlin Coalhewer had a bald head, but his eyes, brows, and beard were as black as a devil's soul with white shot through them like veins of ice in black rock. His beard was hardly visible against his brown skin -- a gold dwarf. His leather apron was as brown as his skin, and he had tied his beard back with a thong, a shockingly white sweatcloth tied around his forehead. The smith was dusting his hands off, white (and stained) sweatcloths tied around his palms. When he spoke, his voice was deep and carved from rock and dusted with smoke.
"So you've some ..."
The firelight revealed Balboa's face.
Morlin stopped still. His eyes widened. His hands dropped to his side. "Soul Forger's hammer," he whispered. He bowed low, taking a step back. "Gr'karthik Kar'thang, Urdunnir kai Dumathoin iz-khamagga!"
Balboa understood the words, the language dwarven: You do honour to my forge with your presence, Urdunnir, child of Dumathoin! The smith slowly looked up, bowing once more as he met Balboa's eyes before standing straight. More words, in the dwarven language: What brings a blessed one of Dumathoin beneath my roof?

[Nettlekid]

Balboa at first wondered what had so clearly given his kind away, and then remembered that he hadn't used the door to enter. And that this wasn't usual for most races. He was a bit taken aback by Morlin's frankness in his praise - In his past, the only dwellers who used the Dwarven tongue were Duergar, and those weren't the most hospitable of people. He had been prepared to answer hostility with hostility, and this took him by surprise.
<Your words do me honor, Smith of Moradin. I admit, I had been wary that any who walked earth rather than swam it would have long lost the ways of the All-Father, but I see at only a glance by your home and your steel that you as much a Dwarf as I. Or perhaps you are a diamond in the rough, for these weapons seem better crafted than even those of the Deep Dwarves I have had cause to come across.>
A tad brazenly, he notes the swords and shields on the wall, and picks up a small ingot by them. With his racial Shape Metal he molds the ingot like clay or putty, not into any particular shape but just to look at its composition. Eventually, deciding it would be rude not to actually make anything, he shapes the ingot into a small iron goblet and puts it back down.
<I admit, for even my upbringing I am not a crafter such as yourself. In that way you respect our ancestors more than I. Your metal is good, but your skill is better yet. You have my respect, Smith of Moradin.>
Balboa then remembers Heiter, and switches back to the Common tongue.
"Yes, needn't waste time, we do have some business with you. We've just been to discuss matters of the gobbo raids with Captain Soranna and the Speaker. Our aim is to rout them from the Dawn Way before they set in like a mold. But they have some curiosities that could do with an educated eye. First of all we have some hobbo armor, nothing special but not all too shoddy either. We'd like to get it off our hands at the very least, and at best you might be able to tell us about the make and origin. Perhaps there's an uncommon ore, or a smithing technique that's not usual to gobbos. They seem to suggest they're not working alone.

The second matter is a shade more unusual. A bandit raid in the forest was making use of special rings, simple iron bands marked with what look like expendable runes, each which offers a single strike of masterful accuracy before the power is used up. They had several of these rings on them, and if a simple bandit party had this many then I imagine any stronger forces have far more in their supply. Even with strong armor, it becomes difficult to withstand punishment from that kind of assisted assault for long. Captain Sorrana seemed to think you might be able to understand these rings, and ideally either find a way to give us that same advantage to even the playing field, or find us a means of negating their use of it so we can fight the way we're meant to."

[esorscher]

The thought of healing was only secondary to Marius's main reason for attendance: to pay his respects and worship Lathander. That would have to wait until dawn, however. "Greetings. You must be Brother Kandil. My name is Marius, and this is Tarrock and the wolf Marak." He gestures to each of his companions in turn. "While you are correct in your assessment of my health, and any aid in that regard would be welcome, I have in fact come to worship." He reaches into his collar and removes his own necklace with the symbol of Lathander, albeit a smaller and considerably less impressive one. "The Morninglord has kept me safe thus far, and I wish to show my gratitude. I will, of course, attend mass tomorrow morning, but with your blessing, I would like to spend some time here this evening. I lost a friend on the road, and although she has already been buried, I would be remiss if I did not pray for her safe passage into the afterlife."

"When that is finished, if you'd like, I would be happy to make your delivery to these Stoneshaws, provided you can offer me directions."

[Saintheart]

Morlin's Smithy
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Morlin had taken a cursory glance over the armour Balboa had mentioned, but his brows shot together as the Urdunnir explained how they had found the rings and handed a pair over to the smith. The gold dwarf took them gingerly, and stopped short again when his eyes met the markings on the ring. From that point, he handled the rings carefully, peering at the markings and keeping his fingers well away from them. It was difficult to read Morlin's eyes other than see five or six emotions wash across them in quick succession.

At length, the gold dwarf took a deep breath, turning to the redcap and the urdunnir. "Aye, saer. Moradin preserve us all, I know this form of crafting. These rings - no, the writing on them, in truth - they're works of rune magic. It's an old way of crafting spells into writing. It's not that much different from the way one brews a potion, or makes a wand, in truth. A cleric, or some such magician touched by the gods, casts a spell into the writing placed on an object, and when anyone touches the writing, the dweomer breaks free, casting the spell upon the person who touched it - surely as if the cleric had cast the spell himself at that moment."

Morlin held up the rings. His eyes gleamed in the firelight. "But in its way, it's a far more powerful way of holding a spell in an object. Potions, wands -- these things can only hold so much magical power, can only sustain spells of a certain strength. And it takes a good day at least to make one. Runes like these can hold any spell the cleric can gain from his god, or from other places, and it'll take minutes to make one. And the rune will last indefinitely, until one touches it. And there's nothing to stop one using more than one rune at once, if the runes are placed wisely. Any finger can touch it, and the spell will be unleashed. These runes contain only a single charge of magical energy; use them once and they disappear, leaving you with nothing but a piece of iron. I was told there were rune magicians -- runecasters, they called them -- who devoted their lives to the study, and they could accomplish incredible things. Runes that could fire whenever one walked within a certain distance of them, ones that could be used every day. The greatest -- the ones they spoke of in whispers -- could make runes that never faded away, runes that would always cast a spell forever."

The smith looked steadily at the redcap and the urdunnir. "This way of magic was the secret of the shield dwarves, far and away to the north, for thousands of years. Perhaps it should have been left to Dumathoin, Keeper of Secrets, rather than dwarfkind, to guard its lore. But the lore did escape them. Generations of dwarves have devoted their lives to hunting down every creature, be he giant, goblinkin, or gnoll, who managed to discover the secret of runecasting. But the fact you found these in the hands of stinking hobgoblins only proves that they failed, as we knew they would. There are precious few in the world who know the secret outside dwarvenkind, but there can be no other conclusion - somewhere, the hobgoblins have found one who knows rune magic. So," said Morlin, laying the rings on the nearest bench with a heavy clank, "I can give you nothing to neutralise them. But, on the Soul Forger's hammer, I'll do all I can to help you. Because, you see, I am a cleric of the Soul Forger. And I know the secret of inscribing runes. And I can do damned better than some gods-damned hobgoblin hedge cleric who wants to bring death on my town with holy dwarven arts!"

With an effort, he calmed himself, turning to the other items present. "As for this lot -- I'll gladly take them off you, for a good price too. Might not have enough gold to pay you outright, but I'll happily extend you credit in the right amount, and I trust you won't insult my anvil by questioning whether my credit's good. Not to mention my goods are available for sale, too. Anyway, not much to tell from the smithing -- looks like regular hobgoblin rubbish work, probably out of their dirty forges in the Wyrmbones where they all skulk when they're not bothering normal folk. Looks a little more mass-produced than usual, but that's about all. So. You want to get some of that stuff up here and we'll get toting, before my forge runs cold?"

In the hopes of speeding things up a bit on mercantile matters so you can get number-crunching ASAP: Balboa's presence gives you an advantage on terms of trade.

- Goods can be sold for 75% of their D&D "book" market price.
- Goods you plan on buying (there's some +1 weapons and/or armor around, let me know what you might want and we'll see what Morlin has available) are at regular market price, i.e. no markup.
- Runes: Morlin's a cleric 5/runecaster 3/expert 1 with the Inscribe Rune and Craft Magic Arms and Armor feats, so he can render any cleric spell he can cast as a rune. He's a runecaster 3, which means he can also make multiple-charge runes or runes that trigger when read or pased.

The cost of a rune: spell level x minimum caster level x 50 gold x number of charges required. (If it's a rune that triggers when read or passed, the cost is doubled.) Takes 10 minutes + casting time of the spell to craft a rune. Again, no markup on the price.

I've got to head off to bed now, but happy to answer queries or questions to clarify any of this...

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The hulking feral-looking wolf snorted and yawned, baring ivory fangs as Marius made his proclamation of faith. Setting his nose to the floor, he walked up and down the isles, sniffing about for anything of more interest than speeches about soft gods.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Saintheart]

Lathander's Shrine
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"All who share the Morninglord's faith are welcome here," said Kandil, glancing at Marak as the wolf snuffled around the room. "I thank you for your offer, but it is not a simple delivery. Abrem Stoneshaw's heart gave out four days ago, poor man. His wife and children are not coping terribly well. It is a pastoral errand - one more for words than feet. Either way, you are most welcome to remain in contemplation if you wish."

Marak, meanwhile, didn't find much of interest. He got a nose full of camphorwood and cloves, and his senses lit up from a gently-smoking pot of aromatic twigs in one corner, but the place looked exactly as it seemed - a simple temple to Lathander.

Again in the interests of mechanics - Kandil can cast cleric spells at 50% of "book" D&D rate, up to third level. He can be commissioned to scribe scrolls of 3rd level or lower, and has the following potions for sale at full D&D rates:
- bless
- cure moderate wounds
- cure serious wounds
- dispel magic
- lesser restoration
- resist energy

[Dexam]

Tarrock carefully conceals the contempt that he feels as he glances about this place of worship for one of the gods of light - there has only ever been one goddess in his life, and there will only ever be room for her.

He remains silent as long as he can, doing his best to ignore their irrelevant prattling, until he spies an opportunity to interrupt.

"Information," he interjects, "Captain Sorana says you might be able to tell us something about this." He holds up the symbol by its cord in front of the priest. "One of the followers of the one who bore it - a hobgoblin spellcaster - called it the symbol of the Dragon Queen, and She Who Breathes or She of Many Faces."

He looks expectantly at Kandil.

[Saintheart]

Lathander's Shrine
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Kandil peered closer at the symbol. Some of the warmth of his smile leached away as understanding entered his eyes. "You were told true," said the brother. "That is the symbol of the Dragon Queen. Or She of Many Faces, or She Who Breathes. Those are all names she's known by. But the name she is most known by is the name she was given in Unther centuries gone: Tiamat, goddess of chromatic dragons. Five dragon claws in a star, one colour for each of her heads: red, blue, green, black, white. You say you found this on a hobgoblin? That's most unusual. They normally follow Maglubiyet, their patron god. Cults of Tiamat are few and far between, but she's grown stronger in the pantheon of late - thanks to the ferocity of her following."

[esorscher]

While Tarrock discusses the mundane details of their quest, Marius is deep in meditative prayer for the soul of his trusty horse. When he has finished, he stands, and turns to Brother Kandil. "Thank you for your time," he says. "I will be here tomorrow at dawn for services." With that, he nods to Tarrock, signalling that he will be headed to the smithy as he's previously stated. He then departs for the aforementioned smithy.

[Saintheart]

Morlin's Smithy
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"...and that one's a plain iron ring, sorry to say," finished Morlin, tossing the last circle to the table. The door opened on stone pins again, and two more of the remaining companions walked in. Morlin frowned. "Haven't had this much business after dark in a while. Do something for you, human and ... wolf?"

[esorscher]

"We're with them," Marius says, pointing to the others already inside. "I'm Marius, and this is the wolf, Marak. What have I missed?"

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf padded behind the man and gave a huff when he was introduced to the dwarf. He veered as far from the forge fires as the crowded room would allow him, being no fan of singed fur. Once he was a comfortable distance, he sat on his haunches and waited for the others to answer Marius.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Tarrock stepped through the inn's doorway. The place smelled of hay and spilt beer and roasting meat, but the air's taste on his tongue was that of fear. There was a decent-sized common room, around which the patrons of the place were hunched and murmuring. No obvious people of ability here from a quick glance around the room; they all had the look of farmers and townsmen. About the only swords in evidence were those worn by a couple of men dressed in the same gear as the guardsmen they'd met earlier, though obviously off duty given the tankards nursing in front of them. The room gave him a look over as he stepped in but went back to their drinks, and the barmaid working the room hadn't noticed him.

The woman's voice, from his left, was an agreeable purr, low enough for discretion. "Travelling on your own, stranger?"
She walked towards him one hip at a time, smiling, brushing a dark red wash of hair away from her face. Her dress was full length but cut a little deeper between the breasts than was exactly appropriate.

[jojolagger]

Heiter answers Marius, trying to consolidate the happenings down to the essentials. "Morlin and Balbao chatted in dwarven a bit, seemed to get along well. The runes on those rings are an ancient secret magic stolen from the dwarves, that Morlin here is trained in and very unhappy about the hobgoblins having." Heiter pauses a moment to take out the painting kit looted off the hobgoblin caster, again with a grin, "He's probably happy that there's one fewer hobgoblin practicing Rune Magic now, and that's just us starting. We were just about to sell the gear to him. He said he might not have enough gold on hand to pay in full, but we'll probably have enough interest in his wares to more than cover the rest. Find out anything about that symbol?"

[Dexam]

After pressing the priest of Lathander for as much information as possible about Tiamat and her cultists, Tarrock makes his way to the Green Apple inn to acquire lodging and food for the group.

The undercurrent of fear in the air as he enters the common room instantly puts him on guard, his hand unconsciously brushing the hilt of his shortsword as he surveys the room, assessing the situation and judging the potential threat of the occupants. Determining them to be mostly simple peasant folk and town guardsmen, he relaxes - though only a little.


"Travelling on your own, stranger?"

Tarrock eyes the woman suspiciously, once again on guard.

"No," he replies curtly. "So unless you are the proprietor of this establishment, I recommend you direct me to them."

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"So tense!" said the woman, smiling. She gestured at the heavyset dwarf woman behind the bar, racks of bottles arrayed like troops for battle behind her, before turning back to Tarrock. "Be careful. She's charging out-of-towners a gold piece and locals five silvers per night." She twirled a strand of her hair. "My name's Miha. I was hoping for a little news, maybe a little company. The guardsmen aren't letting anyone leave town unless they're in large groups - they say some merchant and his bodyguards were killed on the east road this morning. So I'm stuck here until the morning at least. Are you heading east?"

[esorscher]

"Find out anything about that symbol?"

"It appears to be a symbol of Tiamat, confirming what we already suspected. The hobgoblins have fallen under the sway of a dragon cult." He turns to Morlin. "I'm certainly intrigued by what these runes can produce. If you are unable to cover the cost of all the various items we wish to sell you, perhaps we can put something in writing regarding the remaining balance, a line of credit, so to speak."

[Saintheart]

Morlin's Smithy
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Aye, saer, that's what I had in mind," said Morlin. "Frankly I'll probably have to give you a pledge of credit if you don't buy anything here today - although I can tell you between here and Brindol there likely won't be a smith or crafter who can do you any better. But as I said to the good saer," he nodded to Balboa, "my credit's good, and I'd be mighty happy with more than a once-off for business, I can tell you that."

The settlement's got a 800 gp limit, apparently.

[esorscher]

"You don't seem like a welcher, and if you are, well, we know where to find you." Marius grins. "I'll take some time to come up with which ones exactly, but I'm sure I'll want some runes."

[Dexam]

Tarrock considers just dismissing the woman, but decides that such a course of action may attract even more attention than just briefly indulging her curiosity. He carefully studies Miha for several seconds of silence, paying close attention to her hands; hands can reveal a great deal of information about a person - nimble, ink-stained fingers might indicate a scholar or mage; certain calluses tell of one used to the frequent handling weapons; weathering and scars can reveal a life of labour; soft, unmarked and bejewelled fingers are signs of nobility.

Completing his study of the woman, Tarrock eventually shrugs. "It's her establishment; she can charge as she pleases." He starts walking slowly towards the dwarf woman behind the bar, talking as he goes. "And they are correct; a local farmer was also slain. As for destination, that has yet to be determined."

He catches the attention of the dwarf woman behind the bar. "A night's lodging for five, if available; and meals for four, once my companions arrive," he informs her.

He turns back to Miha. "Now, fair turn about; are you travelling alone? And where are you headed?"

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The study of Miha and her hands in particular was not entirely unpleasant. She was an attractive-looking woman, one who knew the impact of dimples. She had a beauty spot and soft, full lips. Her age was any. Her clothing looked more expensive than the standard peasant's blouse - perhaps that of merchant quality or so. Her hands were not callused; quite the contrary, she obviously cared for the long, slender fingers, and there wasn't a hair on the backs of her hands. She wore no hand ornaments at all. Festhall girl? No - there were a couple of bored-looking women with overpainted faces by the wall, and she hadn't come from that direction.

The dwarf woman distracted him for a second, telling him there were rooms available and brusquely telling him to order up food for four when four were actually there, rather than waste her time.

She was still next to him when he turned back to her. "Rethmar," she said, smiling. If she'd been at all discomfited by his slow study of her she didn't show it. She effortlessly annexed a slice of the bar and gestured to the open seat next to her. "I'm heading east, back to Rethmar, since it looks like the west roads are too dangerous from here on. It's a decent valley, this. One where even someone like me can travel alone. Although I also hear the roads in this town are dangerous after dark."

[Dexam]

If anything, the fact that Miha seems so out of place in the inn makes Tarrock even more suspicious than he already is. Just one of these 'adventurers' that seem so common? Or something more? he wonders.

Somewhat strangely, the dwarf woman's brusque behaviour seemed to genuinely amuse Tarrock. "Some wine, then, whilst I wait." He slides a handful of silver coins across the bar. "Something with a bit of bite to it."

Ever since undergoing his transformation, Tarrock found that he no longer required sleep, or food, or drink; the darkness that had been forcibly meshed with his very being provided him with seemingly boundless energy. A minor downside was that most food and drink was now bland and flavourless, despite his heightened senses; only the richest, strongest tastes seemed to linger on his palate.

He turns back to Miha, resuming his contemplation of the woman.

"Back to Rethmar? What brought you to Drellins Ferry in the first place? If the guards are to be believed, then even the roads east will soon be too dangerous to travel alone, if they aren't already so," he pauses, sneering, "Unless one is some kind of mage, or a fool, or both." When his wine arrives, he takes a sip. "Many places are more dangerous after dark; how is here any different?"

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"I've been called many things, but fool is not one of them," said the woman, resting her chin on one of her elegant hands and looking up at Tarrock. "But some of the people here," she shook her head, sending shards of red light dancing in her hair, "might better suit that. There's the raiders, of course, but the people here are talking about some sort of ghost stalking their streets at night, stealing people, disappearances, that sort of thing. They call it the Moonlight Killer or some such. All I wish is that the roads were open. I'd planned on Halruaa, but if the passage west is closed I suppose I'll just have to head back to Rethmar again. There are more opportunities for someone like me among the magefolk. Perhaps you could tell me? You sound like you come from there."

Before he answered that, she smiled at him again. "And by the way, it's custom to buy a drink for the lady you're talking to."

[Dexam]

Tarrock raises an eyebrow at that. "Are you not a lady of means, perfectly capable of buying your own drinks? And, as I recall, 'twas you who started talking to me - shouldn't you be buying me a drink?"

He waits for her reaction, before placing a few more silver coins on the bar with the instructions of "The same for her" to the bartender, indicating his own goblet of wine.

"A ghost that haunts the streets of Drellin’s Ferry at night? Sounds delightful," Tarrock says sarcastically. "Nine times out of ten, what the common folk believe to be a ghost is something else. Of course, the tenth time it actually is a ghost." He takes another sip of his wine, enjoying its flavours as best he can.

"So, not a fool, but one who believes there are opportunities for 'someone like her' amongst the magefolk of Halruaa... an aspiring mage, then? Or one seeking to serve a mage? Without knowing who exactly 'someone like you' is, and what you are capable of, I cannot answer the question."

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Miha smiled when he queried whether she was a lady of means. "I didn't want to leave the impression you were some penniless suitor of mine. It would be terribly rude to embarrass a man so."

The glass of wine for her came while Tarrock was talking. When he asked her who she was, she gestured at it. The glass floated to her outstretched hand. "A sorceress is what I am. As for who I am, my name is Miha. I didn't catch yours." She took a modest sip of the wine. It flowed to her soft lips in a slow trickle.

[Dexam]

Tarrock gives a noncommittal shrug. "Believing that I might be embarrassed implies that I even care what anyone else in this tavern thinks of me."

He watches Miha levitate and drink from her goblet, idly entertaining a few fanciful notions about the woman; thought the kind of notions that would most likely make the local priest of Lathander recoil in shock if he knew of them. He remains unimpressed by the demonstration of her power, however; it was a simple trick that most apprentice Arcanists could replicate within weeks of beginning their training.

"Tell me, Sorceress Miha, why you think there would be more opportunities in Halruaa, where many are well versed in the arcane arts, than here, where those with such skills are more rarely found?" Tarrock has another drink from his goblet, but does not take his eyes off the woman. "As for my name," he gives an annoying smirk, "I did not give it, and you have not asked."


Yeah, he's deliberately being a butt difficult right now. :smalltongue:

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"So mysterious," she said with a chuckle. She deployed her dimples, batting her eyelids, steepling her hands. "Will you tell me your name if I say please?"

"As for why Halruaa ... well, because there isn't much potential in this vale. A few arcanists, none of whom are terribly willing to apprentice or trade their knowledge, so Halruaa seems the better option. And you? To coin a phrase, what's a nice man like you doing in a place like this?"

[jojolagger]

Heiter finalizes the sale of gear to Morlin, then sets about preparing for future fights. At first, Heiter seems to be making reasonable requests. A few runes to mess with those they're fighting stuck on sling stones. A rune stuck on one of the iron rings in case they need to read the Hobgoblin's plans. Then Heiter asks "Could you make anything that would kill a dragon?" Once Morlin inevitably says no, Heiter asks the easier question, "How about something to hold a Dragon still while we kill it?"

After he finishes discussing what will be a huge waste of money unless Wyrmlord isn't the hyperbole one would expect from someone with a drop of dragon blood and a need to impress the grunts, Heiter thanks Morlin for his help and heads to the inn for the night.

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Morlin had assured Heiter that all of the goods he was seeking would be prepared early the next morning - "I can probably knock together a bandolier tonight, but the runes will have to wait until tomorrow morning, once I've spoken with the Soul Forger at dawn. Even so they'll not take long - maybe a bell, two bells altogether."

The redcap stepped into the Green Apple. The common room had the smell of fear hanging over it. He scanned the room. As expected: a couple of halflings in one corner of the room double-taked when he came in and seemed to shrink back into their seats, but they didn't make any moves against him.

By contrast, all the moves in the room seemed to be happening over by the bar, where a certain grey-skinned human seemed to have found himself an extracurricular activity if not pastime. The female tossing her hair back to laugh at something Tarrock had said wore a long, deep red dress. The garment's cloth looked to have been the victim of a knifing to the area over the chest and long slashes down the thighs.

[Dexam]

"So curious," Tarrock replies, his tone gently mocking. "I might or I might not tell you my name if you say please, but I will point out that you still haven't asked."

He nods as she explains her reasons for wanting to travel to Halruaa. "A fair point; but what will Miha the Sorceress do now that the road to Halruaa is closed, other than return to Rethmar?"

Tarrock raises an eyebrow at her final question. "I have been called many things, but nice is rarely one of them. As for what I'm doing here, why, I'm seeking food and lodgings for myself and my companions; I thought that would be obvious?" He spies Heiter entering the tavern. "Speaking of which, here's one now."

[esorscher]

Marius makes similar arrangements to return the following morning and collect his own list of runes, then joins the rest of the party at the Green Apple.

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf huffed and followed the Redcap out and toward the inn. At least this one is close to the wild. Having dealt with fey before, Marak did not like their whimsical and often silly personalities and so far he hadn't seen that from this one.

He paused at the doorway but then strode forward. If the fey and shade weren't chased out by torch-bearing locals, a wolf shouldn't bring any stranger reaction from them.

He immediately regretted the decision. The noise of cackling people split his ears and the bitter stank of booze assaulted his nose. Ears laid flat against his head, he followed behind, hoping this would be over as quickly as the last two meetings.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"My," said Miha as the other members of the group stepped in. Her eyes widened and her lips parted just a tiny space as Marius walked in. She gave Tarrock a mischievous smile. "Well, if you're not going to tell me who you are, you can at least tell me who he is."

[esorscher]

"My name's Marius," Marius says, holding out his right hand (with its conspicuous gold band around the ring finger), "And you?"

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Oh, I'm impressed," said the woman archly as she brushed his fingers in response. "Forgive me - my name is Miha. Although you look a little worse for wear, Marius. Is it true you're travelling with this charming man?" she asked, indicating Tarrock. "He's been most kind to buy me a drink. Where are you all headed?"

[Nettlekid]

Balboa stays chatting briefly with Morlin, then lets him get on with his work and the evening as he goes to join the rest of the party.
"Look how fast I'm moving! It's like I'm flying!" he chortles as the Boots of Striding and Springing carry him over the ground at the speed of a normal Dwarf.
Balboa is hesitant to enter the Green Apple.
"Neither Dumathoin nor Moradin intended floors to be made of wood. It's bad luck. Feel this, it's like walking on springs made out of moss, who would like this? Dreadful," he mutters, stomping across to the bar (leaving footprints?) and ending underneath Marius' outstretched hand.
"Lass, barmaid!" he calls out to the Dwarf woman. "What do you have that's made of fungus? If you don't have Mushroom Wine, then give me anything an Elf couldn't stomach!"
His order made, he turns and notices Miha's bosom at Dwarf-eye-level.
"By my stones! Those are something indeed!" he exclaims. "Those must get in the way when ye'r mining! And look at that, so exposed. A sword would run you through! Have you met Morlin, at the forge? He can make you armor. You should go tomorrow. He's closed by now, I think."

[Dexam]

Tarrock sighs."Alas, it seems that our little game is at an end, and I am forced to forfeit. I am Tarrock; meet my charming companions," Tarrock says dryly, swirling the wine in his goblet before taking another sip, "Marius, Heiter, and Balboa. The fifth member of our little troop is Marak, the rather unhappy looking wolf skulking by the door."

He turns to the dwarven innkeeper. "Methinks that now would be a good time to prepare those meals, yes?"

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The innkeeper didn't take long to come up with the party's meals, or drinks to suit all their tastes.

Miha didn't join them at their table -- yet -- but instead turned and asked for something from the innkeeper. The dwarven woman quickly returned with a sizeable-looking ham joint, raw. Miha picked it up and threw it across to Marak.

[esorscher]

"Much obliged," Marius says. Once the party has gotten settled in, he turns to the others and says, "Alright. What do we know, and what do we need to know?" It was as good a question as any to start the discussion about the task that lay before them.

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The large midnight-furred wolf gazed up at the woman who tossed the bone in his direction. He sniffed it suspiciously and, with a huff, knocked away the cooked item.

He padded across the floor and laid down next to the table, speaking in a low-toned growl. "This place. It stinks. I rest outside. Hunt gnolls. First light?"

He lifted his head to check his companions reactions, ears perked. He glanced sideways at the woman for a brief moment, only to make sure he kept account of her.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[jojolagger]

Giving a nod to Marius, Heiter provides a quick recounting, starting with what they know.
"Wyrmlord Koth is the enemy leader, and apparently a sorcerer. His second in command, Karkilan, supposedly a bigger guy, probably a bugbear. The whole lot of them seem to be Tiamat worshiping fanatics. They also have magic stolen from the dwarves. But we've got a dwarf with that magic in our corner. And once he's done his work, I'll be able to kill Koth's Wyrm once we find it."

Followed by what they should be learning.
"Sertieren is a local magic user that occasionally produces magic items, talking to him to find out if he can supply us with anything before heading out would be smart. Jorr lives in a cabin near the woods and could probably serve as a very effective guide, we should talk to him and at least get a better sense of the terrain. After that it's just find out where the warbands and leadership is to crush them."

Then an explanation for Miha, "Marak likes his food fresh...ly killed. And he probably isn't very hungry. He hunts for food while we travel, and he's very good at it."

[Dexam]

At this point Tarrock stares coldly at Miha, eyes narrowed dangerously. "I believe that this is where we part ways," he says in a low voice to the sorceress. "Unless you are planning on signing on with this little expedition, it's time for you to leave. I don't mix business with pleasure."

To Heiter, Tarrock replies "Crushing the warbands is a secondary objective; the pittance the town is paying us pales in comparison to the potential value of our true goal."

[Saintheart]

The Green Apple
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Sixth of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Well, then, perhaps you can make them one and the same," said the sorceress, settling back on her chair. "What's the expedition you have in mind? Are you taking the field against these hobgoblin raiders they're all talking about?"

[esorscher]

The following morning, Marius is up just before the dawn, and after quick maintenance of his bodily needs, heads immediately for Lathander's Shrine, to take part in the morning service worshiping the Morninglord as promised. "Good morning, Brother Kandil," Marius says, nodding.

[Saintheart]

Lathander's Shrine
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Kandil smiled as he gave a last, authoritative clang of the sounding-chime in the shrine's garden and turned to Marius. "Goodman Marius, was it not? Welcome. Yes, please make yourself comfortable inside; the rest of my congregation isn't quite as, shall we say, punctual as yourself. We'll begin in a moment or two." He led Marius into the small shrine, moving with a smooth efficiency around the room as he gathered vestments and chalices. "You've come a long way to worship at our little shrine, I think, saer," he added as he walked.

[esorscher]

"I go where the Morninglord sees fit to send me," Marius says, "It is my good fortune that there is a shrine to Lathander here, rather than any specific intent." He helps Brother Kandil collect the scattered ritual items, then finds a seat near the middle-back.

[Dexam]

After wandering and investigating the town throughout the hours of darkness, Tarrock feels much more satisfied in knowing the layout of the streets and buildings, should combat or flight in this locale ever become important. He also makes note of a couple of points worth further investigation upon their return.

He completes his roaming the same place that he started - his room at the inn. To all intents and purposes, it's as though he never left the inn. Ignoring breakfast, Tarrock heads outside, finding an open space not far from the inn. There, he starts with a period of meditation, followed by a series of simple martial exercises that become increasingly more complex and involved as he progresses. Finishing just as the sun clears the horizon, he silently sheathes his sword and returns to the inn common room to meet up with the others.

[Saintheart]

Lathander's Shrine
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The shrine's congregation wasn't large, in keeping with the size of the room; maybe two dozen people filed in over the next few minutes, a collection of townsfolk that would not have looked out of place in any of Lathander's temples back in Cormyr. One old white-bearded peasant gently placed his pitchfork by the doorway before shuffling in. The Speaker, arriving ahead of most of the people, nodded in greeting to Marius before taking a spot somewhere in the middle of the room. And a lean, pinch-faced man in well-appointed clothes strode in at the last minute and took a place cautiously left open in the frontmost row of seats.

Kandil began the ceremony. It kept to the same form as the standards Marius had seen in Cormyr, albeit without the gleaming trappings in richer churches there. But any wealth that the place lacked was made up for and more when Kandil opened his mouth and slowly began to sing the opening prayer. The plainsong version of the ceremony wasn't popular in Cormyr, but the man's voice and projection was the best Marius had ever heard in a church, and damn well close to the best he'd ever heard in a tavern. Kandil let his passion throb through his voice, and Marius could see around him how the people responded to it: they seemed to lift just a little, straightening, rumbling the spoken responses with real conviction.

The man's voice was such that the ceremony was over before Marius realised it. Echoes of the cleric's soft tenor died away into the warmth of the morning light, and with almost an inaudible sigh, the congregation slowly began to rise and depart for the day.

[esorscher]

Marius rises and moves to Brother Kandil to shake the clergyman's hand. "Best service I've ever attended," he says. "Thank you." He'll then depart as well, to find the rest of the party and prepare for the day's activities.

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

Marak rose from his sleeping place beneath a large tree near the inn. A yawn and arch of his pack to stretch his hind quarters before sniffing about.

He watched Marius head toward the shrine from the night before with a distasteful chuff and then watched Tarrock swing his sword at nothing. He yawned again and sat on his haunches until the man was done fighting imaginary enemies and followed him inside to the main hall.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[jojolagger]

Heiter groggily stumbles out of bed, and is checking that he still has his gear as he heads out of his room. He quietly nods to any of his traveling companions in the tavern as he leaves it. Still half-asleep, he munches on some of his everlasting rations as he walks north towards Sertieren's house.

[Nettlekid]

Balboa wakes up considerably later than the others, and takes longer getting ready. He had slept in the bed for the sake of "normalcy" (at least as surface-dwellers would see it) but the mattress had been too soft for his taste, and he was feeling sluggish now. That and the bed frame had been partially splintered under his weight, but he didn't pay much attention to that. The others had left for Sertieren's house, and although Balboa didn't know where that was (or indeed that they were going there) he managed to Track them down.

[roll0]

[Dexam]

Seeing Heiter leave the inn, Tarrock returns to his room in order to grab his pack, then follows after the halfling. After a few moments of walking quietly beside Heiter, Tarrock somewhat unusually breaks the silence.

"The road north; along the Dawn Way, or this Witch Trail through the woods... your thoughts?"

[Saintheart]

The Home of Sertieren the Wise
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

While the companions spoke, they steadily moved north, up to the northernmost part of the village, atop a bluff overlooking the Talar River. At the top of the bluff was a well-appointed, clean and well-maintained noble house of some kind; it had the usual accumulation of faux turrets and gables marking it as the home of a wealthy person, but the architecture style was old - not as old as the dwarven constructions dotted around Drellin's Ferry, but not a contemporary structure by any means. And yet it showed no apparent signs of decay.

The garden around it, though, was something else: overgrown, weeds had conquered what had probably been the resistance of generations of gardeners. Mystra's Tear, a small, bright azure flower, glinted from every patch of green, and Love-Lies-Weeping had overtaken the white picket fence that had once protected the house's front boundary. Still, nothing opposed their trespass into the garden, and though weeds lined the cobble path up to the front door, not one blade of grass hung over or lay on the yellow stones. The door, a well-oiled, single carved piece of wanderwood, swung open on silent hinges as they approached, though no doorman came to meet them.

The foyer of the house was more varnished and polished than many they'd seen. Marble-tiled floor and a round skylight inlaid with clear (and therefore expensive) glass let light dance around the chamber. Doorways led into presumably other rooms, and through one of these doors the halfling came.

He was ageing, white hair framing his features, and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. His clothes were well-made, though, and there was a certain incongruity to them. As if they didn't settle back to his body when he stopped moving as the lack of wind would ordinarily compel. Or perhaps it was some sheen on the material that came not from silk or any other rich material that would ordinarily produce it.

He clapped his hands together, taking in their group with a single, nearsighted peer. "So. You must be the folk that are being talked about. Well, then, I suppose you've not come here for a social call, heh, my door wouldn't have opened for you if you were. So let's get on with it. I am Sertieren. You, I presume, are looking for, heh, some rather more, heh, unusual wares."

Gear available right at hand:
- Scrolls of Dispel Magic, FIreball, Invisibility, Fly, Mage Armor, Web
- Potions of Cat's Grace, Invisibility, Fly
- Bracers of Armor +1
- Ring of Protection +2
He can be commissioned to scribe scrolls (sorcerer/wizard spells of 3rd level or lower) or crafting wondrous items (CL 5th or lower.)

[Dexam]

Tarrock peruses the items with interest, paying particular attention to anything that might either grant flight or assist with battling creatures that can fly.

"Sadly, I cannot afford any of your wares right now. Perhaps if you can manufacture something affordable that can protect against falling, for when I have more funds at my disposal? Also, if you have some means of identifying the properties of enchanted items, that would be useful," he says to Sertieren.

[Saintheart]

The Home of Sertieren the Wise
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Against falling? Heh. Yes, I can make something for that - tokens, very inexpensive, not hard to create, no. Haven't got any lying around right now, but if you come back tomorrow with coin, I can give you as many as you need. And as for identifying the properties of enchanted items -- heh, yes, heh."

The elderly halfling turned to a pink-white, translucent vase standing on a mantelpiece by the nearest wall.

Tarrock was fairly certain the vase hadn't been there a moment earlier.

Sertieren shuffled over to it, picked up the vase, and gently shook out a handful of small, brown wafers no larger than a coin. "Yes, heh, there's these. Not much call for them around here, hm, adventurers without spellcasting companions are few and far between. But these will do. Eat one of these wafers, and the next item you grasp in your hands will have its enchanted properties revealed to you. They're a hundred gold each. Another ten silver if you want some sugar to make them go down a little easier. Heh."

These latest things are custom magic items - 100 gp each, an edible wafer that casts Identify when you consume it and then pick up or touch an object. Sertieren can be deemed to have as many of them as you need.

[Dexam]

Tarrock merely nods at the halfling mage.

"Most useful indeed; should we... recover any enchanted items in our ventures, I'm sure we could make use of them." He pauses a moment, silently contemplating, before asking "Is there anything you can tell us, legend or otherwise, about Vraath Keep or the cult of Tiamat?"

Once Sertieren has answered, he turns his glittering eyes to the rest of the group. "Unless any of you have more orders to place, or questions to ask, I believe we are done here?"

[esorscher]

Having said his prayers and with the rest of the group in command of the shopping venture, Marius nods his readiness.

[Saintheart]

The Home of Sertieren the Wise
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Tiamat?" Sertieren's bushy, white eyebrows rose. "Never heard of any cults by that name around here. Heh. Leave that sort of thing to adventurers. Heh. Like yourselves. And Vraath Keep ... legends is most of what you'll hear of it, I wager. The legends may not exactly meet up to reality. Heh. The most certain thing about the place is the name: Vraath Keep, named for the Vraath family. Heh. A soldiering clan, if the stories tell true. They were given the keep long years ago, centuries ago, heh, to serve as the sentry of a kingdom long gone, so the stories say. But that kingdom, wherever it was, is long gone, and the Vraaths are long gone, too, all dead. The last of them was an Amery Vraath, fought a war against giants and got himself killed when the keep fell. If you believe the best stories they tell about the place, they -- folk here, that is, heh -- they say the place is haunted. But then they say my house is haunted too, and I've yet to hear anyone rattling chains or moaning at midnight."

[esorscher]

After the shopping venture is completed, Marius suggests a course of action. "This Natherson fellow may have useful information for us. Although it may delay our mission, I propose we seek him out and see what we can learn from him."

[Dexam]

"I concur," says Tarrock. "I propose that we follow the directions given by the Captain, following the so-called Witch Trail."

[esorscher]

Marius nods, and adds, "With such a name, I'd wager we'll encounter either an actual threat, or something that might take such a shape to a superstitious person."

[Saintheart]

The Home of Sertieren the Wise
Drellin’s Ferry, Channath Vale
Six bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Oh, pffft," said Sertieren into their conversation. "Witch Trail indeed. Shaareach Forest is sometimes called the Witchwood by idiots around here who heard a mopoke's call and soiled their britches running away from the sound. There's no witches in there. Heh. Still. Plenty of things will get you killed in that forest other than ugly magic women, especially ones who have, heh, intimate relationships with their cats and like wearing black. Heh."

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf yawned and sneezed as the gnome commented about deadly things in the forest. He had remained relatively quiet for nearly the entire day, simply letting the humans do as they would, which to him had seemed like a lot of nothing.

It didn't seem to bother him though, this trip had been easy enough and if they got him closer to his prey, he'd waste all the time they needed in order to feel comfortable and venture on.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Dexam]

"Unless you have any practical advice regarding things in the forest that might get us killed, I believe we are done here."

Tarrock leaves the halfling's house and, now familiar with the layout of the town due to his roaming during the night, heads directly to the roads leading northward.

Assuming Child of Shadow stance once we clear the town perimeter. If the forest is shadowy enough, switch to Assassin's Stance when we get there.

Seeing as no one has objected, we'll follow the Captain's instructions on finding Jorr.

[Saintheart]

The Witch Trail,
Shaareach Forest, Channath Vale
Ten bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The moment the trees closed over the group and the shadows rose to meet them, the party knew some power was alive within Shaareach Forest; something that had given this stretch of forest its moniker as the Witchwood. It was nothing any of them could particularly put a finger on. Tarrock sensed it as a certain surge of welcome as the shadows grew thick enough for him to merge with them and for his true form to be revealed under the boughs of the wood. Marak felt it as a kind of primal tang to the scents passing through his nose. Heiter could hear it as a sort of dark harmony, an undertone, in the singing of birds in the wood. Marius and Balboa felt it as a subtle coldness and a subtle heaviness in the air. Even though the day was warm, its full force did not reach the forest floor. The pungent smell of rich earth was everywhere.

'Witch Trail' was a generous title. A footpath leading from the fields north of Drellin's Ferry, it was crisscrossed by a handful of older trails, half-covered in dark emerald moss and knee-high grass that nodded in response to barely-seen breezes. It kept within earshot of a slow, lazy stream which occasionally glimmered when they saw it off to the north of the path. Four hours of this, even with Balboa earth gliding, and even that felt a little strange here for some reason.

Marak, somewhat ahead of the group, spotted it first. About a hundred feet ahead, the canopy opened a little, and there lay a small cabin in a deep forest glade. A ramshackle front porch was littered with fishing baskets and skinning frames. The cabin overlooked a dark bayou or lake, with old gray cedar-trees draped in moss rising out of the water. An old skiff was tied up on the shore nearby, and a little smoke curled from the fieldstone chimney.

Assuming Marak was taking point as scout once more - he's about 80 feet ahead of the rest of you if that's so. Sorry about the delay in updating. Also, explicitly, the light's low enough out here that Tarrock's Shade powers are online without needing to adopt Child of Shadow.

[Nettlekid]

Will save to disbelieve any illusion here. The cabin or water or what-have-you. [roll0]

"I dun like this place," Balboa mutters, for the first time that day. "The loose earth would be nice, but it feels off. An' it's not easy going with the roots branching over this way an' that. It's like we're in a big cradle."
Looking on ahead, he spies the cabin and the water.
"Let's...let's how about we have nothing to do with any of tha'. There is no way in deep heaven tha's any good for any of us. Dun' even have the decency t' be made outta candy."

[esorscher]

Marius laughs. "I hate to leave a potential threat at my back, but I agree, I mislike the feel of the place."

[Dexam]

Tarrock gives Balboa a blank look, the dusky-skinned man's expression practically unreadable in the shade of the trees and his hood.

"I'll go have a look and make certain it's safe for you, shall I?" the shadow-man says dryly, sneering.

Tarrock vanishes from sight and heads over to scout the cabin, making little more noise than a light breeze.

Using Invisibility.

Hide: [roll0]
Move Silently: [roll1]
Listen: [roll2]
Spot: [roll3]

[Saintheart]

The Witch Trail,
Shaareach Forest, Channath Vale
Ten bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The shadow moved silently past Marak and down the path, still keeping to the undergrowth. The cabin itself was on clear ground, a good fifty feet out from the nearest bushes, although the shadows of the great white wanderwoods over the clearing would likely be enough to keep his abilities available to him. It occurred to him that they were at least in the rough vicinity of the area identified to them as Jorr Natherson's abode: perhaps seven miles from the forest's edge along the trail.

Still, it didn't hurt to take precautions. Particularly as he reached the edge of the clearing and spotted movement below the porch. Three big hunting hounds -- easily the size of riding dogs Tarrock had seen -- lay under the shelter of the porch, clearly asleep, two of them comically lying with their feet sticking up in the air in that way dogs sometimes did. One of them yawned, rolled over, and then went back to sleep. Hard to say whether their sleep made them unaware of him or whether his bond with the shadow camoflagued him to smell as well as sight in this place, but Tarrock had the feeling he'd not be seen or heard even if he trod right up the wooden step onto the porch and knocked on the door. The breeze shifted, and he heard it: faintly, from within the cabin, a human male's voice, singing tunelessly.

Tunelessly meaning ear-bleedingly off-key. Tarrock had heard more melodic wailing from shadowcats in heat.

For Balboa - Will save to disbelieve doesn't result in any change in what the urdunnir is seeing, no matter how much he rubs his eyes :smallwink:

[Dexam]

Tarrock returns to the others, reappearing before them.

"Almost certainly Jorr Natherson's cabin; there's at least one adult male within, most likely human by the voice. Also, three large hounds outside." He glances at Marak. "Do try not to kill any of them, it will probably make getting any information out of Jorr a bit more difficult if you do."

Tarrock starts walking towards the cabin, in the open and hands well clear of any weaponry - anyone who chose to live alone in relative wilderness was most likely to be somewhat unwelcoming of unexpected visitors.

[esorscher]

Marius nods, and walks with Tarrock, palms open and in front of him indicating he has no weapons and no intentions of harm. "Mr. Natherson!" he calls out ahead of them, giving even more advanced warning.

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

Marak laid his ears back against his head, both at the sudden loud shout and at the warning against violence. There was little he hated more than domesticated guard animals. There was no real reason other than they hated him first.

His ears kept flat and his tail rigid. The hackles on his back flared slightly as he waited for the yammering of dogs and their inevitable rush toward the group.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Saintheart]

The Witch Trail,
Shaareach Forest, Channath Vale
Ten bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The dogs under the porch came scrambling out as Marius and Tarrock approached. Loud snarls and barking filled the clearing. But they'd barely gotten more than ten feet from the porch when a shuttered window on the cabin's front was pushed opened by a thick, heavy hand. The air split with a sudden, high whistle, and then the shutter fell closed again. The dogs immediately dipped their heads, trotting back to the porch, where they sat obediently on the short grass that spread across the clearing.

The cabin door groaned open. The man who took a step out onto the porch was a lean woodsman of indeterminate age, somewhere between sixty and six hundred or so it seemed. He had a seamed, leathery look to his face and arms, and a big curved knife sitting in a sheath strapped to one thigh. The thick, heavy hands held a yew longbow, the shaft nocked to its string pointing to the ground.

http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc4/Borf_the_Dwarf/Clint%20Eastwood_zpstvgacj2n.jpg

"The **** is this?" the man said. His voice rattled with age. "Get off my lawn."

[Dexam]

If Tarrock is any way surprised at this reaction, it's certainly not visible beneath the cowl of his cloak. He halts his advance as soon as Jorr Natherson appears, hands still held clear of his sword hilt.

"'This' is some adventurers seeking information," Tarrock says calmly, just loud enough to be heard. "The sooner you tell us what you know, the sooner we'll... get off your lawn."

[Saintheart]

The Witch Trail,
Shaareach Forest, Channath Vale
Ten bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Is that so," said the man. "Well, this isn't the ****ing library of Rethmar, sonny, and I'm not a ****ing scholar, so I don't know what sort of information you've come out here looking for. But whatever you're gonna do, why don't you get on with it and stop killing any more of my grass. Gods-damned wanderwoods cast so much shade you can't grow anything taller than an inch or two off the ground in here at the best of times."

[Dexam]

Tarrock's eyes narrow at Jorr's tone of voice.

Two can play this game...

"Very well, two things; firstly, Vraath Keep - you claim to have been there," he stresses the word 'claim', as if already doubting the truth of it, "Tell us what happened, and how we can find it? Secondly, hobgoblins - seen any around recently? Possibly with odd reptilian hounds or pet manticores? If so, where and how many? Be quick about answering; we haven't got all day," he says, feigning irritation.

[Saintheart]

The Witch Trail,
Shaareach Forest, Channath Vale
Ten bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The mention of Vraath Keep loosened the man's scowl for a second. Then the scowl was back in place, deeper than before. He was silent a long moment before answering. "I don't claim to have gone to Vraath Keep. I've been there. Once. Won't forget that in a hurry, either. And there's hobgoblin a-****ing-plenty in these woods, all over the place. Only question is, what do you want with that ****ing scum?"

Make a Diplomacy check here, guys...

[Dexam]

Diplomacy: [roll0]


"Really?" Tarrock says in a disbelieving tone, continuing to bait Jorr. "Do tell? As for the hobgoblins... simply put, we're getting paid to hunt down their leaders and kill them. They're not friends of yours, are they? Because this could get awkward very quickly."

[Saintheart]

The Witch Trail,
Shaareach Forest, Channath Vale
Ten bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The man immediately released the tension on his bow, pulling the arrow from its rest and stowing it next to the door. "Well, why didn't you say so? No ****ing friends of mine, stinking hobgoblins. Name's Jorr Natherson - but you already knew that." Natherson came clomping across the porch, down the stairs, and across his lawn to meet the party. "I've been seeing 'em all over the place. How many of 'em altogether I don't know. A lot, I'm guessing - stinkin' pig****ers normally stay up yonder in the Wyrmsmokes, but looks like we've got a big war party down here. Maybe they came down the Old Forest Road, maybe by Skull Gorge. I'd be guessing Skull Gorge." He stopped suddenly, nodding to himself. "Vraath Keep - you're thinkin' they're holed up in Vraath Keep. Just the kind of stupid thing the gods-damned porkheads'd do. As for where it is..."

Jorr hesitated again, glancing off to the west where the Witch Trail continued back into the forest. "This trail keeps on back to the Dawn Way. No more'n about two miles I'd guess. Once you hit the Dawn Way, turn north, eight miles -- that's about where Vraath Keep is. Even so, I'd guess you'd get a pretty ****ing warm reception. I've seen a lot of worg riders around the Dawn Way, at least as far as Cold Creek."

[Dexam]

Tarrock nods at Jorr's words.

"You're not the first to mention Skull Gorge as a likely place to find these hobgoblins," he says softly. "It seems we may be headed in that direction next."

He pauses, as if unsure how to proceed with his next question. "You say that you've been to Vraath Keep once? What happened there, that a man such as yourself should consider it a... sensitive subject?" He smiles coldy. "The more we know, the easier it will be to find and kill the hobgoblin's leaders."

[Saintheart]

The Witch Trail,
Shaareach Forest, Channath Vale
Ten bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"I didn't see anything," Jorr said, abruptly, after a long silence. "Just a bad feeling. A really bad feeling, like ice down every one of your bones, when I came near the main gate of the place. Can't explain it better than that. I came across the place out hunting once. The dogs had gone off track and while I was chasing them I saw it through the trees. I went and took a look up that way, and that's when I felt it, as I came round to the main gate, shattered. I couldn't set foot in the place. I know how it sounds. But you wouldn't be smiling at it if you'd been there when I was, I'll ****ing tell you that."

[Dexam]

Tarrock's cold smile turns into a smug, condescending smirk.

"If all goes well, I expect to find out for myself quite soon just how it feels. Now unless you have anything else to tell us, my companions and I have a decision to make." He turns and glances at the others. "The gorge or the keep - to which shall we venture first?"

[esorscher]

"My vote's for the gorge," Marius says, rubbing his beard. "If they're holed up in a ravine, we'd have an advantage if we attack from the surrounding heights. If they're in a keep, we're at a disadvantage."

[Deadguy]

http://i.imgur.com/YwXuzAv.jpg?1
Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)

The wolf chuffed at the mention of being at a disadvantage against anything, especially these things. He paced back and forth behind Tarrock, like a caged beast, waiting for the conversation to be done and be back in the wilds away from domesticated dogs.

At least these had been trained well enough that he hadn't had to kill them. He had learned that men tend to be less inclined to help if you kill their animals.

Marak (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=246486)
M CN Feral Werewolf Human RHD 2 / Barbarian 2 / Warshaper 2, Level 6, Init 4, HP 113/89, DR 10/Silver, Speed 60
AC 23 (+6 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect, +6 Natural, -2 Misc), Touch 11, Flat-footed 21, Fort 17, Ref 5, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 5
Grab (+18) Claws +16 / +16 (2d6+9, )
Trip (+17) Bite +14 (1d8+5, )
Tail Spines (24) +9 (1d6+5, )
Abilities Str 26, Dex 14, Con 26, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None

[Dexam]

"Well, then," Tarrock says with a shrug, "I guess we're off to Skull Gorge to kill some hobgoblins." He gives Jorr Natherson a half-mocking salute, then turns and walks in the direction of the Dawn Way.

[Saintheart]

The Witch Trail,
Shaareach Forest, Channath Vale
Ten bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

"Well now, hold up just a moment there," said Jorr, stumping after them. "You all might be the meanest ****ers who ever walked this end of the earth, but that's not exactly a walk in a pasha's palace garden out there. Shaareach Forest is one of the meanest ****ing places in Faerun to wander around if you don't know the place -- and I've been living out here for decades. Besides -- you might've misheard me. I didn't say I think they're holed up in Skull Gorge, I said I'd be betting they came down the Dawn Way. Skull Gorge itself isn't anywhere you can hole up -- it's a deep canyon, fast-running river along the bottom, no caves, just cliffsides for a good ten, twenty miles either side of the bridge crossing it." The old man shook his head violently, then spat noisily at an unoffending toadstool off to his left. "Gods damn it. You're all going to get yourselves killed or lost out there without someone to guide you, aren't you. Well, I'm your man. I know the trails. I can get you to Skull Gorge, or to that ****ing Keep if you want it, and I can do it without you all crashing around out there and telling the hobgoblins you're coming from twenty miles away. Five gold, that's all I ask."

In mechanical terms, having Jorr along drastically lowers the wandering monster chance (including any hobgoblin patrols) and also removes any need to make Survival checks to find direction and food while in Shaareach Forest and while he's with you, i.e. you won't get lost even if you have to trailbreak off the marked trails. 5 gp to hire him for the whole of the time you're in the forest.

[esorscher]

Marius hands over the gold readily. "Wherever we end up going, it'll be good to have you by our side."

[Dexam]

Tarrock sneers at the "crashing around" remark.

"Five gold? Sounds like a bargain; just don't get in our way, and do try not to get yourself killed."