The Ironfang Invasion Part I - Trail of the Hunted

[Lionheart]

The town of Phaendar, nestled along the southern bank of the Marideth River, a stone’s throw from the Southern Fangwood Forest. Trade comes through the town over Phaendar Bridge, the only suitable place to traverse the swift, rapid-coursed river for 50 miles in either direction. The town of 400 residents rarely sees any excitement, making today's Market Festival a major source of news, entertainment, and revenue.
The 2-day affair, held once every 3 months, gathers farmers and herders from across the Nesmian Plains, as well as woodcutters from the nearby Fangwood and prospectors from the Hollow Hills, to trade for supplies and raw materials. Even traders from the “big city” of Tamran make their way to the event, swelling the town’s population to half again its normal size
It is late afternoon, and the festival is in full swing. Hawkers and merchants shout to be heard over the din of the crowd, for the sounds of laughter and merry-making threaten to overwhelm those of haggling and barter.

[Zero Prime]

Isafel Vitas Aesernas
^{Hit Points: 11 of 11 | Armor Class: 18 | Conditions: None.}

Isafel, excited for the coming festival, had returned from the Fangwood to the hunting lodge he maintained on the wood's southern edge. He had been ranging, practising the woodcraft skills, as taught to him by Aubrin, that would be required were he to gain acceptence into the Chernasardo Ranger's and their fight against Multhoni aggression. The morning of the festival, he drew water from the creek, set a fire to boil it, and poured the still steaming water into a basin, he eased himself in slowly, and bathed, scrubbing the forest dirt and grime from his body, while soothing the aches and pains of a three day ranging from his body. When he exited the bath, he combed his hair and beard, applying a small amount of oil to detangle and manage his oft wild hair. Pulling it back and tying at the rear of his head, he donned his clothing, dull browns and forest green, atop that he layered a leather doublet, which he wore under his armor.

He pondered whether or not he should wear his armor, it was a festival after all, however, knowing that Esmerelda and her family would be at Festival in their wagons, he wanted to cut an impressive figure. Some color rose to his cheeks at the thought, and a slight smile broke through his stoney countenance. He strapped on his sword belt, a bandoleer, through which he carried his spear, he secured his dagger and his quivers, before picking up his bow, and pack. He made for the door, but not before he heard the soft steps of Lucretia, one of his mothers.

"Isafel?" She called, he stepped out, smiled, "Mother." "Ahh, there you are. And looking fine today, oh," she exclaimed, as if she'd forgotten, he rolled his eyes as she continued, "That's right, Festival, Esmerelda will be there will she not?" He shuffled awkwardly while his mother just clucked, "You'll need to practise your footwork if you mean to ask her to dance this year," she laughed. Reaching into her skirts, she withdrew a small piece of parchement, "Before the festivities this eveing, I need you to go to the Trading Company and procure the herbs on that list, my snakespike and eldaas supplies are running low," she paused, a wicked smile on her face, "and should you see Esme, tell her I would be glad to continue our discussion on the uses teriko weed." Isafel, knowing that teriko is used as contraceptive for young women could only blush, while shouting in dismay, "MOTHER!" The young man proceeded west and south towards Phaendar at a near run, while his mother's laughter echoed in his still burning ears.

---

After fleeing his mother's wicked tongue, Isafel slowed to a walk, moving cautiously through the rolling fields, eyes scanning the distance looking for quarry. Judging by his burden as he cross the bridge into Phaendar, his persistance had paid off. He had three large jack rabbits, and a single fat quail tied to his spear, which he carried over his shoulder. Spying the brightly painted caravans, and hearing the sounds of the harp, the fiddle and the tamborine, that was oft heard from the Varisian Caravans, he walked forward, an old gruff man, with weathered skin and bushy dark eyebrows inspected him carefully, eyeing his weapons and armor.

"Good morn!" He called to the Caravan guard, "I come to offer you some food for your fires," he picked a rabit from the spear, holding it out for the older man, "and inquire as to whether Lady Cristeanu has already headed to the festivities?" he paused, awkwardly, before continuing, "If she has not, let her know that I would be honored to escort her." He stumbled over his words, "It's uhh, Isafel."

OOC: Most suitors would bring flowers, and be dressed in their Sunday finest. 7 Charisma Rangers bring dead rabbits, and are dressed for a hunt. Go go dump stat!

[Mizu_Makura]

Esme Cristeanu HP6/AC12
__________________________________________

Esme's uncle, Dmitri, was always gruff and rude but surprisingly took the food with a smile. He however did not give Isafel a reply. He turned around and let the beaded curtain fall behind him as he walks back inside. Esme was just finishing up preparing spells for the day as Dmitri comes up to her. Beedy her familiar quickly scurries into her silk outfit because he's never been fond of the man. "That one came by, brought us some food this time. Guess dinner is covered." Dmitri says in his deep throaty tone as he starts to pull out cooking knives and other tools out of a small homemade cabinet built to the frame of the wagon. "Oh yeah...He's still waiting outside for you." He nonchalantly adds.
"Seriously?! You didn't feel that pertinent information to share?!" She storms off with an exaggerated "Ugh."
Esme flips the beads away like it was her hair. "I hope you weren't waiting on me too long Isafel! Dmitri can be a real pain..."
She breaks into a large smile, "Are you ready for the festivities though?! I'm hoping all these grumpy dwarves around town can finally have some fun. They always give me the shivers, feeling everyone's anxiety around this time of year isn't great. Maybe it'll be different this time 'round.."

[Zero Prime]

Isafel Vitas Aesernas
^{Hit Points: 11 of 11 | Armor Class: 18 | Conditions: None.}

Isafel nodded absently, "Yes, the town IS certainly abuzz with excitement," he suddenly placed an arm in front of Esme,then stepped in front of her, preventing her from taking a step forward. A horse galloped by, it's rider painfully oblivious of the pedestrian's he nearly barreled down. "Olef's son," he said by way of explanation, "the Roan is too broad, to powerful for him, but he's too stubborn to realize it, to eager to please his father." He shrugged his shoulders, took off his cloak and knocked away the clumps of mud left by Oleg's mad dash across the sodden expanse of road prior to the wide stone bridge that spanned the rapid waters of the Merideth.

"I believe Master Grathulkas could be found at the Taproot, I believe he rents a stable there." A smile shone through his typically stoic face, "He certainly smells like either the stables or the alehouse, sometimes both." He nodded as Esme mentioned her trepidation around the his stout friend, "He is a gruff man, not accustomed to niceties, but a truer, more loyal friend, I don't think I could expect to find." Awkwardly he shoved his hands into his cloak, "Perhaps we should ensure that Master Grath is awake, and the straw plucked from his beard, before this evenings festivites?" Finding the parchment his mother had given him, and remembering her jibes he could feel the heat rise to his cheeks, he took a deep breath and sighed, then turned to his companion, "Esme, would you accompany me to the Trading Company this aft, my mother requires some medicinals to stock the pantry prior to winter, and you paid more attention to her lessons than I."

[ProudGrognard]

Asdoukar
HP:15 AC:16

At the same time that he is the topic of discussion of a pair of young humans, Asdoukar is making his rounds around the carnival. Contrary to certain speculations, Asdoukar has paid special attention to his looks today. His beard is combed, his tunic straightened and his hair and beard locks polished. Today is Market Day, and Asdoukar hopes he will find work. His uncle, Torag keep his soul, had always insisted that when negotiating work, one had to look at his best.

However, a military contract for a company of mercenaries and guard work in a small town is not the same, but Asdoukar has not yet caught on to the fact. His scale mail is gleaming and well-oiled and his greatsword polished, but both are out of place for such a happy gathering. The fact that Asdoukar is holding up a large jug of ale does not help either, as most people are weary of armed dwarves with ale in their hands.

Asdoukar does not even particularly like ale, preferring gentle wines. But it is a traditional dwarven drink, so he carries one.

As luck would have it, Asdoukar passes by the main street just as Isafel and Esme stroll by. Asdoukar almost shakes his head. His friend is smitten with the thin lass. Why doesn't he just buy her from her parents, like any sensible dwarf suitor would do? Humans can be strange.

Walking like a one-dwarf military parade, Asdoukar goes straight towards the couple. He bows his head to Esme and hits Istafel with his elbow in his elbow in the dwarven manner.


"As stone endures, Istafel and Esme. Are you out for a walk in the Market?"

[Zero Prime]

Isafel Vitas Aesernas
^{Hit Points: 11 of 11 | Armor Class: 18 | Conditions: None.}

Accustomed to his stout companion's mannerisms, Isafel returns the forearm clash with strength and respect. "Master Grathulkas!" He smiled, nodded his head towards Esme, "The Lady was just inquiring whether you would be joinging the day's festivities, and we were headed to the Taproot to rouse you had you not already waken." He shrugged, "I'd just asked Lady Cristeanu if she would be so kind as to attend the Trading Company with me, my mother has some herbs she needs restocked for her healer's kit, and I had hoped she could ensure I was purchasing the correct one's, according to my mother's wishes."

He knew what was edible and what was not, how to avoid the dangers of poison oak and ivy, yet the healing properties of herbs changed depending on whether they were boiled, or chewed, ground to a poultice, and a powder, and honestly, it was a little beyond him. He much prefered the simplicity of stalking and hunting, moving through the dappled trees, from pools of shadow to shade. He shook his head, pulled his thoughts from the forests, and the lessons of forestry that Aldren had been sharing with him.

"Care to accompany us? I believe there are some food stalls that way, and I have some game I would trade at the butcher's stalls for coin."

[ProudGrognard]

Asdoukar

Asdoukar smiles and grunts a pleased 'Hur' at the firmness and accuracy of his friend's answer. This human is good enough to be a dwarf. Then Isafel launches into a complicated explanation of where he is going and why, and how, and Asdoukar takes a second to untangle everything in his mind. This seems to happen to his friend every time Esme is near. But eventually, he does.

"Yes. I will come with you to Trading Stall. And to Butcher company. Perhaps you can help me find work? Someone who needs strong dwarven arms and armor."

He pauses for a bit.

"And dwarf who can use them, the dwarven arms. Not only the arms."

After a bit, Asdoukar slaps his forearm, making a surprising amount of noise given he is armored.

"Almost forgot. Your mother passed by. She said not to forget to buy teriko weed. I said to her, this is terrible weed. Very bitter, once I tried it. She laughed. I don't know why, it was very bitter."

[Mizu_Makura]

Esme Cristeanu HP6/AC12

Esme is overcome with shock as a cheeky smile forms from her lips. "Teriko weed?? But that's for...Isafel! You never told me there was woman in your life." She starts to lightly chuckle, not so much at Isafel's embarrassment, more just of the situation.

As she finishes laughing she finally acknowledges the unemployed Dwarf. "Asdoukar it is quite nice to hear more than a few words out of your mouth. Perhaps my family could help you with your work problem. We could always use a watchful eye and a strong arm around our Fortune-Telling tents. Maybe one of my aunt's has already set up her tent; It's worth a shot!"

Esme swishes around to Isafel so quickly she has to brush her hair out of her face. "Shall we make our way to the festival, or are there more secret friends of yours you haven't told me about Isafel?" She says before giving him a wink.

[Zero Prime]

Isafel Vitas Aesernas
^{Hit Points: 11 of 11 | Armor Class: 18 | Conditions: None.}

Isafel's cheeks reddened, and he sputtered, "I, wha-- NO!" He shot a withering glare at his dwarven companion, before he turned to Esmerelda, "I -," a pregnant pause, "My mother, she -- it's for Old Man Maksim, he purchased the last of my mother's stores and she wants to ensure she has some on hand."

He coughed, then looked to Asdoukar, "Yes, yes, the festival stalls, we should be able to purchase some of that spiced meat you like so much!" And then to Esma, however, he could not look her in the eyes, "And I hear their are acrobats, dancers, and musicians, it should be exciting to see."

[ProudGrognard]

Asdoukar

Asdoukar looks at the conversation with a confused stare. While he is not very bright, he is quite perceptive and he is pretty sure he blundered somehow. He has the same feeling as when he mothersbrother was negotiating a contract and Asdoukar mentioned their need for the job. Asdoukar had to dig latrines for a week in dull armor after that.

But by Torag's hammer, he had no idea what he did wrong. He takes a sip of his ale and winces a bit. If only wine was a traditional dwarven drink.

"Old Man Maksim must really like bitter roots"

But the possibility of work and of spiced meat makes him assume a slightly maniacal grin

"Yes, let's move"

[Persant Lamorak]

Magrem Borsk HP 9 / AC 15 (17 w/t shield) and Goremund HP 18 / AC 18

A week prior to the market festival, Magrem arrived in town alongside his fellow trappers and a cartload of pelts. The time in the wild had been tough but he could rejoice in the fact that he would see his daughter again.

Magrem rose early today as the market festivals were the best opportunities of the year for selling furs and skins. Magrem hunted and collected the hides while his brother Rowland cleaned them and crafted them into clothing and blankets. Today, they would team up and sell their products together to make a tidy sum.

With his hair tied back and beard freshly trimmed, he still had the appearance of a rough frontiersmen with his light brown hide armor and forest green cloak. Part of being a good salesman was looking the part. Before leaving, Magrem said a prayer over some berries imbuing them with a slight magical energy. They may come in handy later in the day if business is too good to sneak away for lunch.

The two brothers left the house shortly after dawn while Rowland’s wife Alvina made breakfast for the children. They transported their wares by cart to the marketplace. Magrem’s pet boar walked in stride beside him like a well-trained puppy would. It was a sunny, pleasant day with mild temperature. The kind of weather that people enjoy spending time in. A lovely day for a festival.

Magrem and Rowland began selling their wares and chatting up the festival goers. About mid-morning, Alvina came by their booth with Magrem’s daughter Bethany and Rowland’s son Morgan. The younger children were filled with the wonder and excitement of the festival. It’s been the happiest Magrem has seen Bethany since the passing of her mother.

Magrem went on a break and took Bethany shopping for a new doll. Bethany’s eyes lit up with great enthusiasm as she viewed the variety of sparkly eyed dollies. Magrem broke a smile in seeing Bethany so happy as his large boar companion sat down beside him. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a tall male half-elf, a woman, and a dwarf walking in his direction…

Spoiler: Goodberries

Show

Number of goodberries created: (2d4)[8]

[Zero Prime]

Isafel Vitas Aesernas
^{Hit Points: 11 of 11 | Armor Class: 18 | Conditions: None.}

As the small group walked through the stalls, Isafel noted Master Borsk, and his daughter Bethaney. His mother had spent much of her time with Lynette towards the end, refusing to accept payment from Lynette's husband, Tobias Borsk. During Lynette's passing, Lucretia had urged her son, Isafel, to take Bethany outside and play with her, to keep her distracted from the harsh truths she had to speak of with Master Borsk. During that time, Isafel developed a soft spot for the young girl, so on seeing her he knelt on the side of the road and reached into his belt pouch to pull out some sweet root, one of Beth's favorite treats, "Bethany! Look out, there's a bear behind you," he looked to Master Borsk, and winked a good-natured smile on his face, "that bear must be smelly!" He crinkled his nose, and held out the root bul, "take some sweet root so you don't have to smell it!"

After Bethaney took the root, he stood up, ruffled her hair, and stepped forward to clasp arms with the druid, "Master Borsk, good to see you. How goes the trading today?"

[ProudGrognard]

Asdoukar

Asdoukar follows Istafel in meeting Magrem. He barely knows the man, but he has seen him in the forest in the last weeks. Istafel has told him that he is a druid. Wishing to appear polite, Asdoukar bows his head to Magrem.

As for the little human child, Asdoukar is not sure how to treat her. He likes children in general. Having nothing to give her, he holds his dagger at one hand and his ale flagon, for her to choose what to play with.

[Persant Lamorak]

Magrem Borsk HP 9 / AC 15 (17 w/t shield) and Goremund the Boar HP 18 / AC 18

Bethany giggles from Isafel’s jests were music to Magrem’s ear. Magrem extends his hands to Isafel as Bethany savors the sweet root. “It is good to see you too. The festival is going very well. Everyone is out to bask in the sunshine and enjoy the festivities. My wares glisten in the sunlight inspiring purchases from the crowd. The forest has been kind as of late. Plenty of animals and fewer of the more nefarious creatures. How have you fared in the woods? Have they been quiet of late?"

[Mizu_Makura]

Esme Cristeanu HP6/AC12

Esme gives Magrem a little curtsy before greeting him, "Ah! That's right I have seen you in the forest before. Esme Cristeanu, it's a pleasure to meet you. We were all just making our way to do some trading ourselves!"

She tears off a piece of pink silk from her outfit and calls the girl over before tying it around her dainty wrist to make a pretty pink bow.

[Persant Lamorak]

Magrem Borsk HP 9 / AC 15 (17 w/t shield) and Goremund the Boar HP 18 / AC 18

Magrem gives a slight bow in response to Esme’s greeting. “Yes, many traveling through the forest eventually stop by our camp. We stay in a generally safe area and it is well known to many. I’m Magrem Borsk of the Borsk Trapping Company. If you’re looking for a fur for the winter, we have many good quality furs that would fit you well.”

Bethany appears confused at first when Asdoukar offers her a dagger and flagon. She studies both carefully before cautiously taking the large flagon with two hands. Filled with ale, the flagon is heavy for her and she jiggles it at first before getting control of it. “Tank you!”

She looks in the direction of the giant boar with a large grin on her face before Esme gets her attention with a ribbon of pink silk. Bethany plops the flagon down on the ground and waits with restrained excitement as Esme ties a silk bow around her wrist. “Ooooh. It’s so pretty! Tank you! Tank you!” She proudly takes turns showing her new bow to everyone in the group.

[Zero Prime]

Phaendar, Nirmathas. Market Green.
^{Fireday evening, 16 Arodus, 4709}

Spoiler: Phaendar

Show

• A. Orled's Fine Shop
• B. Phaendar Trading Company
• C. Riverwood Shrine
• D. Taproot Inn
• E. Phaendar Bridge

Fireday, being the end of the week for the hard working people of Phaendar, passes quickly in a cascade of festivites, marked by Varisian music, billowing, brightly colored silks, the aromatic smells of roasting, spiced meats, the press of the crowd, and the calls of merchants and hawkers. The fiery passion of the Nirmathian people evident in the heated haggling of merchants, the uproarous laughter of the celebrants, and the vigorous dancing of maidens around the Maypoles. The day passes in a haze, as the small group of companions move through the festivites, completing their various tasks as they moved through the press of the crowd, Rowland even agreeing to take his niece Bethany after the furrier stall closed, allowing his brother to celebrate with his companions. Phaendar, normally a small town with upwards of two score families, had swelled to a population of well over five hundred individuals with the festivites, and so as the Burning Mother descended, the town was alight with a variety of winking, fluttering torches in the warm Arodus air and the companions found their way towards the Taproot Inn.

The two-story inn’s walls are made of hewn timbers stained a dark green, all capped with a pine shake roof. A wooden statue of a rearing grizzly bear, standing nearly nine feet tall, guards the front door, which are wide open, the crowd, broken into small throngs of friends and companions, drink merrily as sound of laughter and celebration echo from within. Pressing through the crowd, the proprietress, Jet, a recent transplant to Phaendar of mixed Shoanti and Varisian descent with twin black braids, black eyes, and an iconic teal scarf worn around her waist, waves the companions over, clearing a spot for her favorite dwarven patron.

"Master Grathulka," she calls over the raucous crowd, "I saved you and your companions a seat closest the fire!" A massive fireplace and the horns of two dozen elk make up most of the bar’s decor, along with rough hewn, but solid oaken furnishings which dominate the room, providing more seating than even the Riverwood Shrine. Even as she speaks, she clears a half dozen tankards from a table that had just vacated, clearing it for the group of companions.

Spoiler: Taproot Inn

Show

Phaendar’s Market Festival draws a crowd from all over Nirmathas, many solely to hear Aubrin the Green—the retired Chernasardo Ranger-turned-Caydenite cleric—recount bawdy tales of adventure from her youth. Outside, the celebration continues, as raucous shouts carry on the night air. Warmed by the firelight after a long day, any levity comes as a welcome reward to the rough, earthy souls of this riverside trade town.

“So there I am, thinking, when will I ever be able to talk to a bear again? So before the grizzly can stand back up, I turn to it and say, ‘All I need is the honey. You can keep the bees!’” The room erupts into laughter as Aubrin finishes her winding story and takes another draught from her tankard. “But it’s fine now. All’s good. She named a cub after me. Someday I’m going to have to check in on little 'Ow Oh Gods That’s Too Many Bees.'” Crowd members share their own boasts and jokes, but eventually someone tops off Aubrin’s tankard and pushes her back into the center of the room. “All right, all right! Don’t shove,” she slurs a bit. “Okay, Cayden strike me down if this isn’t true—“

The front door explodes into flinders. A cry of agony pierces the chaos. Aubrin lies on the floor, gasping and clutching at the blood gushing from a wound in her chest. A ballista bolt still quivers in the wall behind her. Two hobgoblins in military dress stand beyond the shattered door, blades drawn. Behind them, lit by the glow of burning homes, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of hobgoblin ooldiers march the street. Phaendar burns, shouts of celebration now replaced by the panicked screams of the frightened and dying. Behind them, above the flames and humble rooftops, rises a tower of black stone.

OOC: Players begin around the far round table closest the fireplace on the west wall. There are two Hobgoblins inside the inn, occupying the two squares directly adjacent the doorway into the common room. The ballista shot came from behind them, where you can see a host of other hobgoblins. In, what is effectively their surprise round, they each strike down two adjacent townsfolks. Due to the press of the now panicking crowd, the interior of the Taproot is considered difficult terrain.

After their surprise round, the two Hobgoblins will act on Initiative 13. Please roll Initiative and you may act, react appropriately. I will roll, act, for Isafel once all players have acted.

[Persant Lamorak]

Magrem Borsk HP 9 / AC 15 (17 w/t shield) and Goremund the Boar HP 18 / AC 18

This had been the most wonderful day that Magrem has had in a very long time. His daughter had been happy as can be with the excitement of the market. He spent much of the day with his family and friends. When the market closed, Magrem joined his friends for drinks at the Taproot Inn. Goremund found a resting place just outside of the crowded inn as Jet was keen on making him tomorrow’s breakfast.

Magrem is the last to sit down and pulls up a chair between the bar and the table. He is half way through his beer listening to Aubrin’s story when the ballista bursts through the door.

Spoiler: Initiative

Show

Initiative: (1d20+1)[3]

[ProudGrognard]

Asdoukar
HP:15 AC 16 (18 vs goblins)

Asdoukar has been enjoying the day immensely, and the gathering at the inn was the perfect ending. He was roaring with laughter when the ballista slammed the wall.

It took Asdoukar precious seconds to understand what was happening. But then suddenly everything clicked.

My mothersbrother 's killers! Here!

Asdoukar can feel the rage starting to kindle inside him. With an effort of will, he puts it down. Not yet. Not yet. The scum were too far away.

Looking for a way to at least neutralize one of them, his eyes fell on the table. It will do.

With his prodigious strength, he upends the table and starts to push and shout others out of way. He slowly gains momentum, finally shoving the table in the hobgoblin's face.


Waaaaaaaaargh!

Spoiler: OOC actions

Show

Thanks for allowing the cool improvisation.
Move to the hobgoblins.
Grapple roll with +4 with the table (1d20+9)[19]

[Mizu_Makura]

Esme Cristeanu HP6 / AC12

While Esme had enjoyed the festivities, even promising little Bethany that she'd read her fortune soon, she knew in her heart the sinking feeling that danger could still approach at any moment. And then it hit, like a rock across her face, she felt the anguish of the villagers as the ballista shot through the Inn. She had to do something, but what? Her emotions were driving her but they were as scattered as her brain in that moment. In a flash, her hands quickly grasp her crossbow and she loads a bolt.

Spoiler: ooc

Show

Initiative: (1d20+8)[20]
As soon as she has the chance to act, she draws her crossbow and loads it. Ready to fire when/if the hobgoblins escape from Asdoukar's table.

[Persant Lamorak]

Magrem Borsk HP 9 / AC 15 (17 w/t shield) and Goremund the Boar HP 18 / AC 18

Two hobgoblins enter the hole created by the ballista. The crowd gathered in the bar begins to panic and scatter. Magrem chugs the other half of his beer as patrons move behind him to get to the rear exit. He slams down his empty mug, rises as his chair goes flying, sternly stares down and points at a hobgoblin. "I’ll skin your hide goblin!"

Spoiler: Intimidate

Show

Intimidate (Demoralize) on the hobgoblin not smothered by a table (DC 12?): (1d20)[10]

[Zero Prime]

Isafel Vitas Aesernas
^{Hit Points: 11 of 11 | Armor Class: 18 | Conditions: None.}

The pewter tankard in Isafel's hand dropped to the Taproot's wooden floor as the retired Chernasardo ranger fell to the floor, a ballista bolt suddenly erupting from her shoulder in a spray of blood. Chaos erupted across the room, the tall, broad hobgoblins, equipped as if for war cut down two of Jet's patrons. Master Grathulka shouted his rage, his arms, thick with muscle and sinew, heaved a table that weighed more than two men and drove forward through the surging crowd, pinning one of the attackers against the tavern wall.

His companions charge had cleared a path to the fallen ranger, the young bearded man screamed as he dove across the floor, tearing a swath of cloth from Aubrin's cloak. "Stay with me," he could be heard muttering as he pressed the cloth to the wound, tying it tight to her shoulder. "Stay with me ..."

OOC: Move Action to move to Aubrin's fallen form, standard action to perform 1st Aid. DC 15, rolling Heal of +5, (1d20+5)[14].

[Zero Prime]

Phaendar, Nirmathas. Taproot Inn.
^{Fireday evening, 16 Arodus, 4709}

The poor trapped Hobgoblin pushes futilely against the stocky dwarven warrior's table, unable to free himself he howls, a larger form filling the door, "Ekrig, Ridror!" The large hobgoblin, a longbow in his hands looked in the tavern, noted the bellowing druid, drew an arrow and aimed while the smaller of the two scouts surged forward, driving his rusted, notched longsword into Isafel's stomach as he leaned over the fallen Aduin.

Isafel screamed and slumped to the ground while the Hobgoblin barked a howl of victory.

OOC: Trapped Hobgoblin vs Asdoukar's CMD 16 to Break Grapple (1d20+2)[6]; Second Hobgoblin moves 15' forward adjacent to Isafel & Aubrin and swings at Isafel, who is flat footed while administering 1st Aid. +5 Attack vs AC 15, (1d20+5)[24] & (1d8+2)[7] Critical Hit Confirmed & 4 additional damage, bringing Isafel to zero. An ignominious beginning for our heroes!

Players are up, there is a larger trooper in the square immediately outside the door, blocking exit from the common room. 1st hob is still trapped, 2nd hob is currently at the middle table closest the fireplace.

Round 2, heroes up!

[ProudGrognard]

Asdoukar
AC:16 (18 vs goblinoids) HP: 15

Seeing his friend go down, Asdoukar wastes no time.

"I will hack you to pieces!"

Asdoukar unslings his sword and goes for the hobgoblin's head, swinging mightily, growling all the while

Spoiler: OOC Attack with Power Attack

Show

Move and Power Attack
(1d20+5)[21] dmg (2d6+9)[13]

[Zero Prime]

Phaendar, Nirmathas. Tap Root Inn.
^{Fireday evening, 16 Arodus, 4709}

Round 2:

Asdoukar drops the table, farmers and patrons scrambling for cover, and swings a blade that is almost as tall and as wide as the dwarf himself. However, due to the press of the crowd and his poor footing, he isn't able to get the clearance he needs for a clean decapitation. Instead the blade sinks heavily into his collar bone, with a sickening crunch of bone and chain mail deep black blood begins to flow from the wound while the hobgoblin struggles to keep a grip on his weapon.

OOC: Nice shot! Still alive, though barely, Magrem & Esme are up, Isafel will act just before the remaining hobgoblins.

[Mizu_Makura]

Esme Cristeanu HP6 / AC12

"By Calistria....Isafel, No!" Her face grows grim with sadness seeing her good friend being injured like that. But she perseveres as her face angruly contorts into a deep burning desire to drive off these damned monsters. Asdoukar almost laying waste to the hobgoblin that had struck down Isafel made her heart a little at ease so she takes aim at the other one that Asdoukar had a hold of with the table. She fires the crossbow, her grip so forceful it hurts her palms. She send a bolt through the air praying for good fortune, "May The Unquenchable Fire scorch your souls!"

Spoiler: ooc

Show

Crossbow Atk: (1d20+2)[22]
Damage: (1d8)[5]
In case of a crit I guess: (1d20+2)[10]
Crit damage: (1d8)[8]
Oh jeez I hope this doesn't go south...I could hit someone running in a panic, but it's too late to turn back now, I already typed this all out XD

[Zero Prime]

Phaendar, Nirmathas. Tap Root Inn.
^{Fireday evening, 16 Arodus, 4709}

Round 2:

The hogoblin, seeming to recover slightly from the dwarf's murderous attack, widened it's stance, dropped it's shield and gripped it's rusted, notched long blade in two hands preparing to drive it's edge into the stout warrior before it.

**KATH-CHUNK**

The sound of a crossbow, a quizzical look flashed across it's face as it looked down at it's chest, a bolt had having suddenly erupted from it's breast, deep dark heart's blood mixing with the spray of his earlier wound, it could only utter a confused "Awrooo?!?" Before he slumped to the floor, dead.

OOC: Magrem you are up, one Hobgoblin inside the building by the stairs, another, larger one still in the door frame.

[Persant Lamorak]

Magrem Borsk HP 9 / AC 15 (17 w/t shield) and Goremund the Boar HP 18 / AC 18

Magrem’s taunt failed to gain the hobgoblin’s fury as it surged forward and stabbed Isafel as he tried to stop Aubrin from bleeding out. Retribution was quick, as the hobgoblin met a swift death from Asdoukar’s sword and Esme’s bolt.

Magrem rushed forward through what remained of the crowd to reach Isafel. He muttered some archaic words and a soft yellow glow emanated from his hand. Touching Isafel with the light, the stab wound sealed.

Spoiler: OOC Spell

Show

Move action to reach Isafel. Standard action to cast Cure Light Wounds for (1d8+1)[2]

[Zero Prime]

Isafel Vitas Aesernas
^{Hit Points: 2 of 11 | Armor Class: 18 | Conditions: None.}

Isafel looks at Magrem with wonder, as he feels an intense intching from where the wound in his side begins to knit itself closed, scabbing over almost instantly. As much as he has questions for the furrier, he looks to Aubrin, still dazed from the thick ballista shaft embedded in her chest, and pulls her limp body across the floor, using one of the tables closest the stone worked fireplace for cover. "I ... I ... what the? Hobgoblins?!?"

OOC: Standard Action to grab Aubrin, move action to crawl to cover behind a table, pulling his mentor with him.

[Zero Prime]

Phaendar, Nirmathas. Tap Root Inn.
^{Fireday evening, 16 Arodus, 4709}

Round 2:

As a small grin plays across Asdoukar's face when he sees Esme's bolt tear through the Hobgoblin, he spins, noting the second hobgoblin stalking him through the crowd, it's lips drawn back in a snarl of rage. "Die Stone Born," it howls as it leaps at the broad dwarf, it's blade swinging down with some force, though partially deflected by the dwarf's massive blade. The hobgoblin trooper at the doorway levels his bow at the young woman who put down his trooper and draws a black fletched arrow back, letting fly striking Esme solidly in her left shoulder, sinking deep.

OOC: Hobgoblin closest, inside the bar, moves to Asdoukar and swings his Longsword with a +4 bonus, (1d20+4)[19], vs AC 18, if that connects, (1d8+2)[3]. The hobgoblin in the door way will fire his Longbow at Esme after watching her gun down one of his scouts, (1d20+5)[18], vs AC 12, and if that hits, (1d8+2)[6]. I even gave her partial cover for the crowd! Wow the dice do not seem to be with the good guys!