Demise & Fall

[Townopolis]

Death's Door, Rattling Tor's solitary tavern, is a low and dimly-lit affair. Squat, narrow windows let in little light. Indeed, they seem more arrow-slits than proper windows. Here and there on the roof, a slat is opened to let sunlight filter in through loose wicker weave, but just as much light comes from the smoky fire. Even that is subdued by the large copper cauldron of pottage hung from a stone peg.

All around, small tables with short benches are filled with bowls of unseasoned stew and tired miners. At the back of the tavern's common room, Goodwoman Siobh fills clay mugs with a local brew. She is slow about the work, unworried by the crowd or keen at all to hurry up, save when one or another local comes up to claim a drink. Then she is quick to collect her due in coin or the sharp reminder of a promise made. Shrewish as she may seem, the atmosphere is, if not friendly, comfortable and relaxed. That could well just be the lutist's work, though.

The quiet hubbub is disturbed when sound of a commotion breaks through from outside. One by one, the patrons shush their conversations and hold their mug and spoons still to better hear what is happening. As they do so, the source of the commotion also draws nearer and nearer the tavern. Soon, everyone can hear the shrill voice of a child calling "Goblins! Goblin raiders in the hills!"

Malgrim
Rattling Tor is in the middle of a large hilly region that lies due west of the narrow badlands and The Graves of Groves. The Graves of Groves is a vast dead forest and home to blights, undead, hags, and worse. Years ago, The Graves of Groves was home to the coven of hags who kept Malgrim's parents as thralls.

[Anubis Dread]

Redric stops the strumming of his loot. A goblin attack? Progress! This would be perfect for his thesis. Didn't seem to be a band of heroes around though. Was he going to need to deal with this himself? Was he still working on his backstory? Perhaps, or maybe they'd all meet up during the battle. Hm, that complicated things. If he DID need to go off alone, what would give him the best odds of success? The comic relief going to stop something like this by themselves was a good way to get them killed off to show how foolish they'd been. The avenger? No, no, he couldn't do angst. It always made him look like he was constipated instead of angry. The mysterious stranger? He could do mysterious. Not the gruff or mystical kind, but the kind of up beat happy mysterious stranger shouldn't be a problem. And there was no way he'd get killed off until his mysteries had been unraveled, so there was no way a simple band of goblins would kill him that way.

"It's about time," Milroc flicked his hat out of his eyes and hefted his lute over his shoulder. Yes, that statement would need later explanation. Not that it actually HAD one, since he hadn't been expecting the goblin attack at all and certainly hadn't been looking forward to anything of it's like, but the universe didn't know that. "I guess I'd better go take care of that then." Confidence was good, he thought to himself as he walked to the door. If you were confident then you were the hero, and if you were the hero then you won, simple as that.

[Townopolis]

A handful of locals also head for the door, and Milroc finds himself caught in the center of a small crowd forming on Rattling Tor's street. A boy on a plowhorse tries to keep his mount calm whilst simultaneously continuing to shout about the goblins. To Milroc's left, a man and a woman turn to each-other and share a look before hurrying off. Meanwhile, more villagers are arriving, and some of them are hefting swords, spears, axes, shields, or other armaments.

Moments after Milroc steps out, an armored man arrives on the scene. He is an older man with graying hair, and he carries a sword at his hip and a shield slung over his back. "Where are they?" he demands. When the boy repeats his general cry of "east," the gray-haired man waves it away and demands "Which farm are you from?"

As he speaks, the grayhair grabs the plowhorse's reins and draws the beast's head down. As the creature is subdued, the boy quiets as well. "Bundlecorn" he says. The grayhair nods and gives the reins back to the boy before turning to start shouting himself.

"Anyone who can swing a sword, gather east of town! There's goblins by Bundlecorn farm and headed our way!"

The sound carries well into the tavern, where the remaining local patrons share surly glances before getting up and heading out. Goodwoman Siobh stands with a hand on her hip and scans the common room for anyone else not responding to the call.

Outside, the crowd, now mostly armed, begins oozing its way east, toward the edge of town and the hills beyond.

[Gwendol]

Outside of the inn, close to the kitchen door, a cloaked figure stirs as the shouting begins. Malgrim gets up on his feet, downs the last of yesterdays stew and hands over the cracked bowl to the woman inside.
There is movement in the street, and he silently observes the crowd from the inn, the boy, the grizzled old soldier. As the name of the village is known, Malgrim sets off towards the gathering point, making sure to take the side streets as he does so.
Moving with a loping stride he unfurls a cloth bundle, producing a sturdy staff and a long bow. The bow goes on his back and the staff in hand. The cloak hides his features, yet it takes but a second look to see that this is no man. Long, strong arms, broad chest, and copper color skin. Have the goblins already breached the perimeter? The hobgoblin shakes his head, no - his kind has already been considered an ally. These goblin raiders will not change that - who knows what may drive them?

[Townopolis]

East of Rattling Tor, the crowd halts. Grayhair begins shouting orders once again. One group of townsfolk is told to form on the northern flank, and another is sent to watch to south. Most of the remainder are divided into three brigades. As they form groups, more locals arrive, all variously armed and mostly unarmored. Here and there, someone has a thick leather jerkin or padded gambeson, but it is mostly wool shirts and breeches.

When Grayhair is done forming his brigades, Milroc finds himself left as one of fourteen left unassigned. With him are Goodwoman Siobh, who was one of the last to arrive, a sandy-haired boy and a redheaded girl who both look too young to fight but have armed themselves nonetheless, and a cloaked man with a bow slung over one shoulder and a staff in his hand.

"The rest of you, form a loose line behind the front and keep your eyes peeled for skulkers!" commands Grayhair of the remainder. Then he turns around and gives a few, forgettable words of encouragement to everyone and gets the whole impromptu skirmish formation moving.

[Anubis Dread]

Ah, companions! ...though they seemed more the 'will either die to show how strong the enemy is' or 'will not contribute much but needs an introduction early on so the hero will have an excuse to know them later' type of companion than a permanent one. He hoped so anyway. The one in the cloak would be competition for his role as the mysterious stranger otherwise, and he couldn't compete with a CLOAK. That was mysteriousness personified! In any case so far so good. He was given a role in a specialist unit that could turn the tide of battle rather than being a member of the rank and file.

"Ah, goblins. That reminds me of a story I heard once," Milroc comments as he begins strumming his lute idly. "You see there was once a boy who was raised in a hole in the ground by a deer..."


Activating the Leader feat if I have time to give myself and the others in the unit temporary hit points.

[Gwendol]

The cloaked one looks like he's about to speak up as Greyhair barks out his orders, but remains silent and accepts his position in the rear guard. The cloaked head swings from side to side, sizing up the force of the line.
Any of you seen action before? If they break through the goblins will run for the town to loot and pillage as fast as they can. If they should decide to attack us on their way, get behind me.
The voice coming out from under the hood is dry and cracked, and doesn't instill much confidence.

Then the lute comes out and the heroic looking fellow starts singing, causing the hooded fellow to grow silent. He falls in line, making sure he's in the middle, and as they slowly advance eastward straps his staff across his back while picking up his bow and puts an arrow to the string.

Malgrim looks at the sides and ahead for any sign of goblin scouts. Or wolves.

[Townopolis]

Siobh harrumphs at Malgrim's suggestion, but the two youths position themselves closer to the cloaked figure, and the villagers advance into the hills.

The march takes hours, and the sun begins to dip and threaten to fall below the hills, but a shout goes up from the northern flank, and then you see them. Goblins perch atop the next hill, one of them mounted on a wolf. The goblins mass on their hilltop, and then they are joined by others. Four larger figures--human-sized--appear at the top of the hill. One of them bears a standard, and another can clearly be seen ordering both goblins and the larger creatures into a battle formation. Grayhair's formations hesitate at the sight,but he shouts encouragement, taunts, and orders at his militia. Soon enough, the two lines are close enough for bow-fire to reach, and archers on both sides begin pelting the other.

And, for now, the battle seems to go in your favor. The goblins seem worse shots than the villagers, or perhaps they are just armed with weaker bows. One goblin falls, then another and another. One of the larger creatures even cries out. Those villagers not armed with bows do their best to ward off goblin arrows with their shields, or cheer, or both.

As the fighting goes on before them, those in the rear picket wait for something to try to break through. Then Malgrim hears a noise behind them, the rustle of grass and the scrabble of scree. Looking behind, he spots the enemy's flank-march. Six goblins lead by a hobgoblin are attempting to sneak up on the rear picket.

When he realizes he's been spotted, the hobgoblin roars and charges. The goblins, realizing they're also spotted rush forward as well, but stop short once they've reached decent vantage points and begin loosing arrows at the picket. One arrow flies near Malgrim and strikes the sandy-haired boy in the chest. With a cry, he goes down.

Malgrim and Milroc may both go.
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]

[Gwendol]

Watch out, goblins behind us! Malgrim calls out as he tries to warn the others. He lets out a curse as the boy next to him takes an arrow, then says to the girl next to him Lie down quick, and maybe you'll live!
Then Malgrim rushes forward towards the hobgoblin, switching from the bow to the staff as he closes the distance.
Rush the archers or find cover! he cries out, hoping the guy with the lute and the nice voice will come up with a better plan.

Move + Dash towards Hobgoblin (H on map), switch to quarterstaff

[Anubis Dread]

Huh. Guess they were just chumps to make the heroes look better. A little disappointing, actually. He kind of liked that guy. And the goblins were too spread out for him to hit them all conveniently and make his first introduction look suitable awesome. At least he could do a little bit.

Whistling to himself, Milroc got into position before strumming a particularly sour note.


Vicious Mockery on the hobgoblin.

Damage: [roll0]

[Townopolis]

Malgrim's warning comes just in time to save several of your allies from being skewered unawares. Then, with a collective shout, the rear picket turns and rushes at the goblin flankers. The goblins pause drawing and nocking more arrows to retreat back down the slope.

The hobgoblin leading them, meanwhile, raises his shield to break Malgrim's charge and then pours his own momentum into a nasty swing of his battleaxe. Fortunately for Malgrim, something distracts the other hobgoblin right as he's lining up his swing, and it is an easy matter to evade the axe-blow.

[roll0]
[roll1] for [roll2]
[roll3]
Map (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1LgSe7c-N4IltXYWZ_d3aq4lmbmKG7FGGYnjlAUDRGP0/edit#gid=0)

[Anubis Dread]

The goblins were running away? That was a little anticlimatic. Wait... the only one that wasn't running away was the hobgoblin. Was the cloaked figure the hero here, dueling the enemy? But... that'd make him the sidekick! No, wait, that wasn't necessarily the case. It could be a buddy story. The cloaked warrior could be the brawn and he could be the brain. Yes, that worked much better.

"You can do it! Go for it!" Milroc cheered as he strummed another note.


Bardic Inspiration on Malgrim.

Vicious Mockery on Hobgoblin: [roll0]

[Gwendol]

Coward, attacking from behind! Now you die. Malgrim snarls as he brings the whirling staff about, striking the hobgoblin hard.

Attack (+6): [roll0], damage: [roll1], bonus action attack (+6): [roll2], damage: [roll3]

[Townopolis]

Malgrim's staff strikes the enemy hobgoblin square in the face. His foe snarls and opens his mouth to spit something out, but just then Malgrim comes in with a backswing that unhinges his foe's jaw. The enemy hobgoblin collapses to the ground.

Below, the goblins see their leader fall and break. Two of them die before they can quit the field, having foolishly allowed the villagers to close. The rest of them begin running southward, away from the fight but away from the village as well. Several villagers give chase, but a few seem content to shout at their retreating backsides.

To the east, fresh shouting erupts, and a glance that way tells you that the mounted goblin and his hobgoblin warriors have charged down the hill to break Grayhair's front line.

[Anubis Dread]

Well... that didn't bode well. Too bad he was too far away from making a meaningful difference. Unless... he was the brains right now. He had to think. His songs were either too inefficient or too indiscriminate to use, so perhaps a little bit of a trick was in order.

Raising his hands to the sky, Milroc chants in Fomor. "Come forth demon of the underworld, and slay mine enemies!" In the sky above him a rift in space opened, two huge clawed hands forcing their way through and attempting to pry it open further to make more room. His illusions were a little limited in terms of space, but having something bigger behind a barrier was totally something he could pull off.


Moving into a better position and casting Minor Illusion. Deception: [roll0]

[Townopolis]

Milroc's display is enough to unnerve Siobh and the other picket members, but alas the charging hobgoblins have their attention focused squarely on the front line and the arrows coming their way; they do not seem to even notice the illusion.

Grayhair's archers turn their attention to the advancing warriors and loose arrow after arrow. Two volleys fly, but few hit and fewer still stick through the hobgoblins' metal armor. They are enough to drive the goblin wolf-rider back, though. He beats a hasty retreat back towards his own line of archers, or at least he begins to. Halfway back, the wolf rider turns to ride parallel to the two fighting lines, perhaps seeking to come around the flank.

[Gwendol]

Malgrim looks a little hesitant at the display of magic, yet decides to focus his attention on the charging goblins. Moving towards the line he once more switches weapon to his bow and fires an arrow at the wolf rider.

OOC: attack +4: [roll0], damage [roll1]

[Townopolis]

Malgrim's arrow flies true and sticks in the goblin's armor. All the same, the goblin is able to navigate its wolf around the edge of Grayhair's front line. That's as far as he gets before confusion strikes between mount and rider. The wolf seems to want to dive into the rear of the front line, while the goblin tugs the reins in Malgrim's direction.

In a moment of pure frustration, the wolf-rider reaches back to snatch up a javelin and hurls it at Malgrim, then resumes pulling the reins and shouting at his recalcitrant mount.

Goblin and wolf are about 100' from Malgrim and Milroc.

[roll0] with [roll1]
[roll2]

[roll3]
[roll4]

Oh, and I should probably mention that the wolf can move up to 100' per round.

[Anubis Dread]

Still out of range... plus he was supposed to be the smart one. Which meant not aggravating the scary hobgoblin on the death beast. Still he could provide a little support at least.

Hustling over to support his cloaked ally... and certainly not just to use him was cover... Milroc dismissed his illusion before summoning up an illusionary fire in front of their position. The wolf didn't seem very inclined to listen to its rider, it might scare it off if it attempted a charge.

[Townopolis]

Check for the impact of Milroc's illusion
[roll0]

[Gwendol]

Malgrim covers his face as the flames erupt, then lowers his arms as he does not feel any heat.
Your handiwork? Neat! he asks the minstrel before sending another arrow in an attempt to break the charge. Considering the distance between them, Malgrim then drops the bow in favor of his staff.

Another bow shot (+4) [roll0], damage [roll1]

[Gwendol]

Using the bardic inspiration roll to boost my attack (1d6): [roll0]

[Townopolis]

The wolf-rider finally gets his mount pointed toward Malgrim and is charging that way when another arrow sprouts from his chest. At this closer distance, Malgrim is able to see that his first arrow barely lodged itself into the goblins thick hide armor, but this second arrow buries itself deep. The goblin lets out a cry of pain. His mount, meanwhile, shies away from the fire that has sprouted up before Malgrim, and his freshly wounded rider is in no state of mind to urge him past it.

The wolf hesitates and then decides to turn away. Once it has done so, the goblin curses and grabs the reins to steer away from the front line and back to the other goblins. And so they flee.

Meanwhile, the front line is faring less than well against the hobgoblin warriors. One hobgoblin has fallen to arrows, but the remaining three have cut down twice their number in humans. The villagers are beginning to break. Those in the rear are backing up quickly while trying to find a clear shot. Those in the front are finding it difficult to break through their enemies' guards. Still, the line hasn't broken yet.

Suddenly, the Grayhair, who has been holding the center of the front line, falls. The hobgoblin he is fighting catches Grayhair with a sword-blow to the ribs, and the old soldier cannot keep on his feet. The victorious hobgoblin lifts his fist in the air and shouts "Scatter and flee! I am Gorun the Wealthy, and the day is mine!"

And then the line breaks. Those waiting for a shot take one when their fellows flee, and a second hobgoblin is brought low, but then the archers are fleeing too. Of the two standing hobgoblins, Gorun gives chase to the retreating villagers while the other kneels down to tend to his wounded companions.


You are both fairly well-versed in who the local companies of note are, and Neither of you are familiar with Gorun the Wealthy, meaning he's probably just some jumped-up bruiser.

However, you both know of the warband of Skadr the Wealthy. They earned their moniker in the sack of Kar Cragge, where Skadr's warband was among the first to breach the fomor defenses and made off with quite a lot of loot as a result. Since then, you've only heard of their slow decline as Skadr aged and most of his strong warriors abandoned him for other warbands, but all accounts say he still has a half-dozen warriors with him. You know that that warband, or whatever it should be called now, is in the area.

Gorun the Wealthy is about 90' away.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Anubis Dread]

...alright, this was probably quite stupid, but he couldn't let the entire village be run down by hobgoblins. If he could even just take down the mounts they'd be forced to fight on foot, which would give them a fighting chance to escape.

"Cover me!" he implored his cloaked companion. Running forward, Milroc began to strum a soothing tune on his lute. The enemy was finally in range of his more potent songs, he intended to take full advantage.


Sleep, trying to hit Gorun the Wealthy and every other enemy I can. [roll0]

[Gwendol]

I'm right beside you! Malgrim replies, rushing forward towards Gorun. As they draw closer Malgrim issues his own challenge:
You're Gorun the Imposter, more likely! And you have yet to carry the day... RATTLING TOR!!!!

OOC: Move + Dash puts me at about 40' away. Bonus action to enter tunnel fighter defensive stance.

[Townopolis]

Malgrim puts on a brave display, but Gorun drops his sword and falls to the ground before he can close the distance. Behind him, the last conscious hobgoblin escaped the sleep spell only by dint of distance. He looks up at Malgrim's battlecry and sees that his leader has fallen.

You are close enough to see the hobgoblin hesitate. He looks quickly at Gorun and then Malgrim, and then he looks at the battle as a whole. Quickly, he raises his arms above his head in surrender.

[Anubis Dread]

"...huh. That was easy," Milroc strummed a quick victory tune on his lute. He'd kind of expected something a little less anti-climatic. A part of him was disappointed, but he WAS supposed to be the brains right now. It made sense his plan would work. As much as 'cast a spell' was a plan anyway.

"So... we should probably tie them up, huh?" Killing someone who was asleep or surrendering was not the heroic thing to do.

[Townopolis]

Tying up the prisoners is a simple affair, and you have plenty of help in doing so. With Gorun fallen, enough of the villagers rally to come back and secure the field. This is aided in great part by the goblins deciding to flee when the last hobgoblin surrenders.

More problematic are the wounded. The grayhair is severely wounded by a cut to his abdomen, and several other villagers have been cut, stabbed, or contused in some way. The hobgoblins are also looking worse for wear. None are uninjured, and only Gorun and the one who surrendered look like they will survive without medical care.

The villagers seem mostly unconcerned with the welfare of the hobgoblins, having far more important issues to deal with in saving their own kin. Siobh quickly busies herself tending to the grayhair, and others do the same for the rest of your wounded. For the moment, all four captured hobgoblins, dying and otherwise, are left to you to deal with.

[Anubis Dread]

Hm... he could heal some of them on up, but what was the point? He'd use precious magic keeping alive someone who was probably going to be executed anyway. And there was still one conscious and not dying goblin anyway. Not exactly heroic to let someone bleed to death, but in a story they would have just died immediately anyway so he'd call it a wash.

"So... what made you think this was a good idea?" Milroc asked curiously, sitting down next to their not bleeding prisoner as he tuned his lute.

[Gwendol]

Malgrim decides to hang about the prisoners, letting the villagers tend to their own. Standing over the prisoners he listens to their jabber, if any, still not letting them more than guess his own goblin heritage.

At the sight of some bleeding out, Malgrim finally decides to not stand idle. Finding some rags and clean water over where Siobh is, he stays long enough to try and help her with Greyhair's wound, then attempts to help the wounded hobgoblins.

+1 help another [roll0], treat wounded hobgoblins [roll1]

[Townopolis]

With Malgrim's help, unwanted as it may be, Siobh is able to staunch the grayhair's bleeding, bind his wounds, and revive him. "Where am I?" he asks as soon as he comes to. "Am I dead?" Siobh assures him that he's alive and you won.

"Good" he says after a moment, but then the sharpness returns to his eyes. "What of the hobgoblins? They had a warband? We must find their camp."

Whether or not he wishes to hear more of the conversation, Malgrim must leave the grayhair if he wishes to tend to the other hobgoblins. Taking fresh bandages and water, he goes to where Milroc is interrogating the one conscious goblin. Malgrim cleans and bandages the wounds of the two critically wounded enemies, but it doesn't look good. By the time he is finished, one is already passing over the threshold to the afterlife.

[roll0]

Milroc's work with the conscious hobgoblin doesn't seem to be going much better. Your erstwhile foe stays silent until he sees one of his comrades slip into death. When that happens, he finally decides to open his mouth, but only to spit in Milroc's face.

[Anubis Dread]

"Charming," Milroc sighed, wiping the spittle from his face. If he wasn't going to talk then pushing further was pointless. He'd let someone else take it from there. He supposed he should try and keep spirits up. They lost a few people in the battle. Frowning to himself, Milroc leaned back to watch the proceedings while strumming his lute as he began to compose a victory song.

[Townopolis]

The hobgoblin resumes ignoring Milroc, and the villagers continue about their business of recovering the wounded and watching for more attacks. After a little while, a group of hunters arrives at the battlefield and asks for "Reeve Dougal." They are directed to where Siobh still tends to the grayhair. There, they cluster around him and it quickly becomes clear they're holding some sort of council.

[Gwendol]

Malgrim notes the arrival of the hunters, but decides to hang around the prisoners, should they speak among themselves if not to them. He has no hope of doing better than the minstrel at interrogating them knowing they will treat him as the outcast he is. He checks the wounds of the other wounded hobgoblin.

What you think they talk about? I wonder if they came across the fleeing goblins... he asks Milroc in a raspy awkward voice.

+1: [roll0]

[Anubis Dread]

As much as Milroc wanted to butt in on that council session, talking to his new ally was more important. It was pretty obvious they'd be hanging around together for the indefinite future after all.

"On a guess they're probably wondering the same thing we are and what caused this attack to begin with. We lost people, but we still held a strong advantage throughout the fight. Attacking like this doesn't make much sense," Milroc notes. "Any theories?"

[Townopolis]

Malgrim is able to save one hobgoblin, at least. The soldier comes back from death's door with a groan and a request for water. Whether he gets water or not, though, his attitude takes a sharp turn downward when he sees who has saved him, and he clams up. Once Malgrim has moved away to speak with Milroc, the prisoners cluster up and speak in low voices. They aren't so quiet as to keep their conversation a secret, but neither is it anything of great use. The one is simply filling in the other on their defeat.

After a few minutes, the hunters leave their conversation and approach you. They give the prisoners a wide, wary birth to approach you two specifically. When they see Malgrim, they give him a wide berth too.

"You, bard," their apparent leader calls out "We've found the enemy encampment, and Dougal has requested that you come with us to disperse them before they can regroup."

[Gwendol]

Me? I think they would indeed have carried the day if not for you. I also think the leader, Gorun, is a fraud meaning his carrying a name he does not truly deserve. Maybe he managed to replace Skadr the Wealthy recently, or names himself after him to enhance his own reputation and standing. Perhaps we'll know more soon? Malgrim manages to say before the humans interrupt him.
Malgrim slips back as the others address Milroc.

[Anubis Dread]

Ah, now things were getting interesting. He couldn't really allow them to exclude his cloaked companion however. He was clearly important after all.

"Excellent! We'd be happy to accompany you," Milroc replied with a wide smile. "We can hardly wait for them to launch another attack after all."

[Townopolis]

The lead hunter nods is agreement with Milroc, although he does catch the 'we' and gives Malgrim an unhappy look. He shrugs it off, though, and says "We'd best lose no time, then." With a wave of his arm, he gets the hunters moving again. Some of the hunters aren't as perceptive as their leader; they don't realize until you're already moving that Malgrim is included in the group. When they notice this, a few of the hunters wordlessly hustle to put distance between themselves and the ugly hobgoblin.

As you leave the camp, another group from the militia takes over guarding the prisoners, and someone gets the grayhair up on his feet to command. But then you are in the hills, and your sight of the camp is soon frequently obscured.

One of the hunters joins up with the two of you to inform you that they found the encampment about one-and-a-half miles to the north, and that they saw a three hobgoblins but expect the fleeing goblins to rally there as well. Your purpose, when you get there, is to ensure that the hobgoblins aren't able to attack the hunters while they harry the goblins into retreat. Then you settle into the fifteen minute march to battle.

[Anubis Dread]

Milroc walks along in silence with his new cloaked companion for a while. Idly stringing on his lute. Eventually however his sense of curiosity drove him to converse. "So... what's your deal?" he asked casually. A simple question that could be interpreted however the listener felt.

[Townopolis]

The march passes, mostly in silence, and you arrive before the hobgoblin camp. You crest the last hill between you and your destination, and you can see the camp on the next hill over. It is small, with only a handful of leather tents circling the crown of the hill. No smoke rises from any campfires, and there are no beasts of burden or stores of supplies. However "wealthy" Gorun may be as an individual, his warband was not.

Goblins trickle into the camp, and a small swarm of them can be seen moving about therein. From this distance, you can see no purpose or direction in their movements. Every now and then, you see something larger than a goblin but smaller than your typical hobgoblin come around the outside of the tents. These figures are armed and carry shields, and it seems likely they're on patrol. As you watch from your hill, you judge that there are only two of these creatures on patrol, and each one patrols alone. This is all you're able to discern from your first minute of observation.

[Gwendol]

As they contemplate the soon-to-be-raided goblin camp, Malgrim decides to break the silence. I'm cursed. The villagers have already heard of me, that's why they don't want me near. the raspy voice declares from underneath the cloak.

Can you put goblins to sleep again? It was a neat trick, and if we can use it to cover the charge of the hunters it would probably decide the battle. We should try to sneak closer first.

[Anubis Dread]

"I hate to repeat the same trick twice, but I can pull it off," Milroc replies. He supposed it was more a buddy story than him being the brains and Malgrim being the brawn. Perhaps that was for the best. "You're right that we should sneak in though. I need to be very close."

[Gwendol]

Maybe we can time our approach with the pattern of the sentries? Better you tell the hunters to ready themselves.

[Townopolis]

The hunters receive the word to ready themselves. Whether Milroc or Malgrim tells them, it makes no difference. Soon, they are split into two small groups and each hides behind the crest of a different hill. There, they wait for a signal to attack.

[Anubis Dread]

Malgrim's plan, such as it was, was the best course of action they had. One Sleep spell could accomplish their objective after all. Why bother with anything more elaborate than that? Of course that just left sneaking into a position where they could deal the most damage...


Stealth: [roll0]

[Gwendol]

Rather to his surprise the party organizes itself to attack on their command. As they are about to make their approach the hobgoblin addresses the minstrel. "Stay close to me, I'll cover you while you work your magic, the others are waiting for your command."

Looking over the camp Malgrim gagues the distance and the timing of the patrols such that they make their approach while they have their back turned and/or are out of sight.
"Now!" He quietly says while stealthily moving closer.

OOC: stealth +4: [roll0]

[Townopolis]

Malgrim times your approach fairly well, and Milroc leads the way stealthily up the hill. Of course, the way is too far for you to get all the way there before the next patrol comes around, but you've gotten very close. As the next sentry comes round a tent, he sees you at almost the same time you see him. This close, you can tell he's just a smaller hobgoblin. He is armored in a leather jerkin and carries a short cutting sword at his belt and a shield on his arm. As he sees you, he opens his mouth to call out.

Malgrim
The sentry is clearly between the ages of 12 and 15. He's surely green and probably hasn't even finished his combat training.

[Gwendol]

Malgrim pulls back the hood of his cloak, thus revealing his features and throws himself forward in attempt to reach the youngling.

initiative (+2): [roll0], attempt to grab youngling and put a hand over his mouth to keep him silent. Strength roll (+4) [roll1]

[Anubis Dread]

Milroc curses, drawing his sword. He didn't want to use any magic right now. His minor cantrips weren't potent enough to help while he needed his remaining stronger spell for the task ahead. So he simply rushes forward in case it comes to a fight.

[Townopolis]

Malgrim is quick and sure, but not quick enough. The sentry lets out a cry in the goblin language that even Milroc can identify as a call for help. Then Malgrim is upon the sentry, wrestling him to the ground. There is a brief scuffle between Malgrim and the sentry, during which several goblins rush over to see what's happening. Some yell, some turn and run back. Some reach for weapons.

Then a voice booms out in Nob "move aside!" and another hobgoblin emerges from the camp. This one is fully grown, old even. His hair is graying or turning platinum blond. His limbs are wiry and corded as much with veins as they are with muscles. Still, he seems strong, and his back is not bent. He is armored in a leather jerkin, just like the sentry, and he holds an iron halberd. He stands at the ridge and looks down at where Malgrim and the sentry struggle. In almost the same moment, the newcomer also appraises Milroc and scans the area for whoever else may be about.

When he sees no one around save you two, the elder hobgoblin lowers his halberd into a fighting stance and says, in Rede this time "unhand my sentry and leave, and I will let you live."

[roll0]

[Anubis Dread]

"Counter offer - lie down and we'll make your death quick," Milroc quips.


Initiative: [roll0]

[Townopolis]

The old hobgoblin snarls at Milroc and barks something in nob at the goblins behind him: "Get your bows, they've come for your heads."

[roll0]

[Townopolis]

Before he has even finished speaking, the old hobgoblin rushes forward at Milroc. His halberd is leveled until just before he is within reach, and in that last moment, the hobgoblin brings the weapon down in an swift chop followed by a sudden jab of the weapon's thrusting tip.

He doesn't follow up after his attack, closing distance or continuing to swing. After his initial thrust, the hobgoblin instead adopts a defensive stance. The head of his halberd is raised slightly and held just to one side, where it is ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Malgrim
The hobgoblin is using the same Tunnel Fighter stance as you use.

[roll0]
[roll1]

The hobgoblin ends his turn 10' away from Milroc, and about 15' away from Malgrim.

[Anubis Dread]

Ack! That was no good! Milroc immediately launched his spell, trying to catch as many of the enemy as possible without catching himself or his ally. Retreating was pointless, he couldn't move away fast enough. Better to try and prevent the assault and retaliate when he could.


Sleep: [roll0]
Also using Bardic Inspiration on Malgrim.

[Townopolis]

Milroc's incantation fills the air, and the old hobgoblin's movements begin to slow for a moment as lethargy sets in. Then his knees buckle and he drops to the ground. A short ways off, the sentry Malgrim was wrestling also goes limp... and then begins to snore softly. Malgrim is able to pick himself up and retrieve his weapon just in time for the group of you to both notice the sounds of goblins arming themselves in the camp. It isn't the most awe-inspiring sound, in fact Malgrim can hear two of them arguing over someone's favorite bow, but they're definitely getting ready to attack.

[Gwendol]

"The goblins are about to attack; time to give the signal!" Malgrim rather quietly says as he grabs his staff. Then drops it and picks up the polearm wielded by the older hobgoblin. Malgrim moves towards the sound of the jabbering goblins and stops after a few steps.

[Anubis Dread]

"There was a signal?" Milroc asks, scratching his head as he follows after. He didn't remember that part. But they'd taken out the hobgoblin, so that mission was accomplished at least.

Oh wait... yeah he remembered now. Shrugging he flicked his hand and created an illusionary burst of fireworks above their heads for a moment, before dismissing the spell.

[Gwendol]

"I don't know!? The hunters are waiting to attack: wave at them to advance, or something. You're the brains." Malgrim looks a little puzzled, having believed the minstrel to figure it all out.

[Townopolis]

The response is immediate. Arrows arc from the other hilltops and rain down upon the camp. There is no attempt at precise aiming; the hunters are merely emptying their quivers into the general area occupied by the goblin camp. There is screaming, shouting, and general panic. Occasionally, a goblin rushes down your side of the hill, but they either run quickly in another direction or are cut down. In only a few more seconds, the goblins are routed.

Both hobgoblins, those who aren't Malgrim, sleep through the whole thing. They are still sleeping when the hunters finish their volleys and come up to meet you and check their handiwork.

[Gwendol]

"Help me tie them up!" Malgrim asks as the hunters arrive, producing a length of rope from his pack. He will remove all weapons he find, and look for other items of interest while working the rope.

[Anubis Dread]

"Yes, help him tie them up," Milroc agrees with a nod. Truth be told his upper body strength wasn't exactly good enough that he'd be comfortable trying to use it to tie up a huge hobgoblin, but better they think he was a trifle arrogant than weak.

[Townopolis]

Most of the rangers ignore Malgrim, but one calls out "Orrel!" and waves in your general direction. The ranger who spoke with you on the trek here splits off from the group and helps you tie up your two captives. The rest of the hunters proceed up the hill.

There is, sadly, nothing of much value on the hobgoblins. Neither had any money on them, and both wore only leather armor. Malgrim already has the elder's halberd, and he collects a scimitar and dagger from each and a shield from the young one as well. The elder also has a quiver of arrows on him, which Malgrim also collects, but no bow.

In the camp itself, the goblins and hobgoblins appear to have kept most of their wealth in provisions, and nobody is able to turn up any treasure. There are plenty of bows short and long, daggers, hatchets, spears, scimitars, and round shields, though. Most are from the corpses of goblins killed by arrows, but the scimitars at least are of good quality.

Once they've completed their quick search of the camp, the lead hunter says "That's enough of them. They won't come back soon, I think. Let us return."

[Anubis Dread]

"Huh," Milroc shrugged. He wanted to point out that it had been easier than he had expected, but considering he'd been heavily wounded and others had died it seemed a little insensitive. So 'huh' it was. "Sure, we better check back in with the town in case anything else happened," he agreed.

[Townopolis]

The trek back to Rattling Tor is long and uneventful. When you return, you find that the gray-haired Reeve is much recovered, although his bandages could use changing at this point. He sits outside Death's Door, chatting with everyone who comes his way and nursing an ale, only every now and then does he turn alert and scan the area for trouble. The hunters direct you to a low, stone building for the holding of your prisoners. There, you find that Gorun and the other hobgoblin soldier have already been shackled and secured in cells. They're nothing spectacular, simply a row of tiny rooms with sturdy walls and doors.

Outside, the villagers seem to have decided that the attack warrants taking the rest of the day for rest. Siobh has her hands full pulling drinks for all her neighbors, and the village green is almost crowded. Some of the more serious-minded, especially the hunters, come and go on patrols against further incursions, but everyone else is keen to decompress.

[Gwendol]

How about skipping the celebrations and try finding out what the goblins were up to. What is in Rattling Tor they desire? I see nothing worth losing a life over. Malgrim growls as they walk back. Once in the village he heads for the strong house and the prisoners.

[Townopolis]

The front room of the stronghouse is small and businesslike. A table and a few chairs occupy the right side of the room, and the left side has a sturdy if simply-made armoire set against the wall. One narrow window lets sunlight in, although there is a wooden shutter that you could close if you wished that to not be so. At the back of the front room, a door leads to the cells. There are three on each side, and the end of the hall is just an extra-thick wall. Each cell is tiny, barely five-feet across. You find that Gorun and the one two other hobgoblins you captured on the field have each been given a room on the right side. The three rooms on the left are empty. A young man who you recognize fought beside the reeve on the battlefield follows you in. By the fact that he has proper armor and a sword, you judge he must be one of the reeve's underlings, or perhaps the only one. By the iron ring of keys at his waist, you judge he would be the one to let you talk to the prisoners, if you so wished.