Sanctuaries Overrun- Proper Game

[CyganAngel]

The adventurers are at the gate of Iengard, a town bordering the Wilderness.

In their hands, each holds a letter with their task on it.

Dear Adventurers,

I am sorry to have to ask this of you. But you very well may be our last chance.

We need you to go out and investigate the goblins nearby. They're starting to really test our defences. I'm worried about what may happen if we don't deal with the problem now.

May Heironous look after you. Come back safely.

[Wizibirb]

Alton stood near the meeting place, he was flanked by two guards which only seemed to accentuate his miniature height. He stood there the manacles keeping him in place, a look of distraught horror plastered on his face... Everything had been finally going his way, why had his ego gotten the better of him? He wished that he could go back in time and undo his mistake, but at least they had not given him the gallows... Though it still seemed like a death sentence.

[kladams707]

Cade stood there, attempting to look friendly to the others. However, he did not speak. He merely looked on, awaiting their journey. He noticed Alton, another small being, only manacled and guarded by two taller people. He merely shrugged, but did not dare approach. Cade was quite unsure why the being was manacled, and while a bit curious, was not in a hurry to find out. A smile was upon this halflings face, though it seemed forced, as if trying to look friendly to the others.

[GFawkes]

Goblins: the second lowest thing on the food chain, just above kobolds. Sure, I didn't mind slaying them, but did they have to pair me up with so many non-humans? I haven't trusted them since that one time. Ah well. I'll need a few scapegoats incase things get ugly.

[Land Outcast]

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Near the town, in a small but stout house, Farakas is already clad in his armor, he has gathered everything he'll need for the mission, and has awakened the man who had been working with him in the small parcel of land.

Everything had been planned, Farakas will leave for indefinite time, but the house, the land and the forge (the animals were lost in the repeated raids) are left in care of his apprentice of the last nine years to tend and profit from.

The fire of the forge is kindled, and a worker for Moradin melts a golden piece in its heat as an offering to the All Father.

Farakas leaves that which was his home towards the front gate of Iengard. And with the first fiery lights of day the black-bearded dwarf arrives to the rendezvous point, the dull splint mail rustling with his every step.

He surveys the gathered group, his dark blue eyes passing over each in turn, the three younger humans with leather armor, the other human, and the two halflings, he stares for a couple of seconds at the manacled one.

Standing in the path in front of them, Farakas makes a slight bow and says:
Well met ye all! Me name is Farakas, Axe of tha All-Father, and am here to shed black goblin blood by yer side.

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Meanwhile, or after he's been answered, Farakas walks close to the guards, looks up to one of them and asks away:
Sir! what does this mean -he motions towards the manacled halfling- is tha jargh in league with tha goblins? will he lead us to thar lair?

[journeyman]

The young man with the silver hair glances around nervously and looks like he wants to say something, but can't quite work up the courage yet. So he busies himself making one more check of his arms and armor. Despite the peg leg that clearly slows him down, he's carrying an impressive arsenal. The longsword he pulls from a battered leather sheath is freshly sharpened and oiled, if clearly little used from the lack of nicks on the edge. The longspear across his back is carved from sturdy oak, as is his heavy wooden shield in the round nordic style. The silver dragon painted on it is no great work of art, but a credible effort for an amatuer with time to kill. It too shows little sign of use in combat. The simple leather of a common sling is tucked into his belt next to the pouch of bullets to feed it. Like his sling, the studded leather he wears is of a pale shade, possibly bleached for some reason. It alone of his gear looks well used and comfortable on him. Despite the cool of the morning, he's already loosening his monk-style linen tunic and keeping to the shade.

When the dwarf breaks the awkward silence, he sighs with relief and returns a half-bow from one knee, the better to match his new companion's height. The boy's (for such he must seem to the much older dwarf) voice is melodic but makes a good effort at the proper depth and intonation of the dwarven tongue. He speaks first in dwarven and then repeats himself in common for courtesy's sake (and in case he got a word wrong in the dwarven )

"Hail and well met, Farakas, Axe of tha All-Father. I am Stephen, called Silverhair, son of Garrik the Iceblood, Skald of the Frostreaver Clan. I look forward to standing beside you on the field of victory."

(He'll exchange similar pleasantries with anyone else that cares to introduce themselves and listen with interest to anything the guards say, but otherwise keeps to himself unless someone speaks to him or asks a question he might be able to answer.)

[Wizibirb]

Alton looked around at the 'volunteers'... He wondered why ANYONE would willingly 'volunteer' for this suicide mission. He ignored the awful looks he seemed to be getting for everyone and instead focused on trying to get more comfortable in the damn manacles.

He gave the one who called himself 'Farakas' a truly horrible look, and let loose a few choice words in his native tongue. Glaring at the man, how dare he think that Alton would ever help the goblins....

"I'm no traitor, any more than your heathen god." A small smug smile of satisfaction on his face.

He looked at Stephen who had just introduced himself and sighed... He was doomed.

[kladams707]

Cade begins to introduce himself, but no sooner does he open his mouth Farakas approaches the guards. While he himself was unsure of the manacled humanoid, he felt it quite unfair to be judged so. A slight tremble could be heard in his timidly small voice as he spoke. "Name's Cade Tosscobble. This prisone...no, this person's reaction was justified, despite it possibly being over the top. We'll all need to cooperate, and neither accusations nor knee-jerk reactions are going to help."

[journeyman]

Though no stranger to shouted greetings many other cultures consider impolite, the sudden vitriol shocks the quiet bard. It is not an uncommon practice in the north for defeated enemies to serve as indentured thralls for a time. Perhaps naively, he had thought the small man to be such. The verbal onslaught seemed to contradict any thought of this being an honorable duty for the halfling. Was he then a criminal? Perhaps he was a thief. The small folk were known for such misdeeds after all. More interesting was the tongue he spoke. Though fluent in the dwarven and elven languages, the sheltered skald had met few of Yondalla's children and was unaware that they had a language of their own.

...Then the little man looked his way and sighed in resignation. Maybe the halfling was some kind of hunter after all. Certainly the hunting parties the northman knew well had always responded the same way any time he asked to be counted among their number.

"Greetings to you, Cade Tosscobble. I respect your words and mean not to interfere, but isn't the question's intent more important that any scrapping among ourselves? How are we going to find the goblin lair? Their kind are well known for being devious little sneaks. They could hide in any number of burrows and caves. We need a scout's report at least, if not a guide who has been there in person."

[kladams707]

Cade looks on at the bard and considers his words. Slowly, he nodded, realizing perhaps he didn't think his words through all the way. I must admit, I've never been good with words. It was just my attempt to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand," his said with a soft tone. "Perhaps that should be your job though," he quipped with a nervous laugh.

[Land Outcast]

Well, there sure is some value in this boy... The dwarf shows himself pleased by the respect from Stephen, and nods respectfully in reply. He's too much used to living among humans who don't give due respect to others or even to each other.

"We shall, son of Garrik, I say goblins won't allow a day to pass without tha opportunity fer victory."

---

Farakas ignores the words from the prisioner, he doesn't even look at him. The dwarf just waits for a reply from the guards...

"Name's Cade Tosscobble. This prisone...no, this person's reaction was justified, despite it possibly being over the top. We'll all need to cooperate, and neither accusations nor knee-jerk reactions are going to help."

Farakas turns towards the small halfling who kept to the background "Well met, master Tosscobble" and asks politely "tha manacles might have deceived me. Be this boy yer charge then?"

[kladams707]

The halfling looks up at the dwarf, he just shrugs. No, no he isn't. Though... Cade turns to Alton and sighs, thinking to himself Really? I'm the one that has to ask this? Please, forgive my directness but...what...what are you doing in those manacles?

[Private-Prinny]

"The name's Maxwell. Just call me Max." Max, too, glances over to the shackled halfling. "Hm... I wonder who makes their shackles... Making them strong enough can be a challenge."

[Hefty Lefty]

A young woman aimlessly walks the city streets. The wind today is akin to any other in its physical nature, however the wisps of whatever deity blows upon the earth's surface today decides to twist the girl's fate upon its head. In a heap of sand and dust, a tattered parchment blows onto her legs. She bends down to pick it up, a bit wobbly from the flask she has been sipping from since early this morning. Last chance? she reads to herself, searching the letter for a signature or an address, without success. Adventurers? Goblins? Despite her lack of adventuring prowess whatsoever, the girl comes to the realization that this can't possibly be the only letter of its kind, if the request is to be fulfilled, and that any company at all is better than the loneliness that has been plaguing her for as long as she can remember. Picking up the parchment and rereading as she walks, one careful foot in front of the other, she searches the city for a gathering of adventuring-type people.

Eventually, she approaches a group of men - humans, a dwarf, and one ferocious chained halfling. The letter rest still in her dainty left hand. In comparison, her body structure simply cannot match these burly men; she knows she must be in the right place. Her touched-up makeup, her gentle face, clean, soft hair is in stark contrast to the men's various battle wounds. Her garb: a pure white dress, short and with light blue trimmings, looks nothing like the rough steel or leather armor the men sport. She observes the crowd for a short moment before quickly capping her flask and sheathing it in her hip-side pocket before, she hopes, anyone had seen it. Her bright blue eyes dart around the circle. The only thing that may connect her with these men is the fact that she, too, is armed. Two shining short swords are sheathed at her hips. "So guys," her words are light and airy, with a mild drawl on the ends, "am I late for the party?"

[GFawkes]

Sventir steps in.

"So what's the plan for these goblins? A basic track-and-slash?" he suggests, sizing up the team. They'd need help and a little more teamwork, but nothing too hard.

[Land Outcast]

Farakas hears master Tosscobble's question to the manacled halfling, he just waits for any kind of answer... For certain he isn't willing to take along a prisioner who he knows nothing about.

------------

The dwarf looks at Sventir and starts proposing some ideas, discussing with Sventir about how this could or couldn't work... "I think... I think we should track them and explore tha area, there's tha arcanist's tower, and we must find tha secondary exits and all, those warrens are oversized antmounds..."
But light steps and an airy voice interrupt him:

"So guys, am I late for the party?"

Farakas was already pretty caught up in the planning and is startled by her sudden appearing, he thought the hunting party was complete. But immediately he makes a more pronounced bow than before, and answers
"The sun hasn't finished his wake and we have barely introduced ourselves, lady. I am Farakas, Axe of the All-Father." while clasping a wooden amulet featuring an anvil and a hammer.

[Wizibirb]

The halfling looks up at the dwarf, he just shrugs. No, no he isn't. Though... Cade turns to Alton and sighs, thinking to himself Really? I'm the one that has to ask this? Please, forgive my directness but...what...what are you doing in those manacles?

Alton smirked, Well, to be honest, I was caught in the wrong house... If you catch my drift. As to why I am chained, two main reasons. One so that all of you can keep your purses. Two so that I don't leg it home like any sane person would. Seriously, you guys know this is a suicide mission right? Why do you think they are sending us instead of oh, lets say the army? He sighed... Not that I have a choice anyways.

[journeyman]

Even his poor vision can scarcely miss the new arrival. Perhaps unfortunately for him, that same lack does make it seem as if the northerner is staring at her. Given her more prominent characteristics, this may be taken either very well or very poorly, depending on the lady's temperament. Still, the befuddled bard manages to return her greeting with a minimum of tripping over his own tongue.

The studious young man finally snaps out of it when he hears a question. He answers reflexively, without even realizing that the query might have been rhetorical "The army is occupied defending the city, a task too large for our small band. Besides, they probably have no experience moving or fighting outside their walls and streets." there is a certain sense of condescension in the clansma's voice for those who spend their entire lives covering behind stone walls. He continues with an enthusiasm that is perhaps a bit naive. A small group with experience in overland travel has the best chance of getting in and out scouting, while a mixed group such as this may have the unique skills to adapt to the situation as we find it. It isn't suicidal at all. If nothing else, goblins are small, weak, and cowardly. No matter their numbers, they will break in the face of superior strength.

It takes a moment for the thought to sink in that his characterization of goblins might just as easily apply to the very person to whom the erudite expositioner was talking. Uh...no offense intended. I'm sure that any hin is more than a match for a goblin. Stephen doesn't actually sound so confident, but he's so earnest about it that calling him a liar would be like kicking a puppy.

[Hefty Lefty]

Her gaze, wandering around the group, had skipped over the dwarf. When she finally fixes her sight upon him, she is not impressed. His unclean hair and frayed, braided beard is disgusting. Not to mention the fact that he's shorter than her. She mutters a quick "Hi" before looking to the next man. He is a human, at least, but not much better. He sports a head of silver, aged hair (at least in the mind of this naive young woman), a peg leg, and a quivering, boyish voice. This group doesn't do much to impress. Again, she gives a half-hearted greeting before locking her gaze on the ranger. She approaches him, letter still in hand. "Hey there stranger," she says, batting her eyelashes, "the name's Riley." Her accent would make one believe her name was pronounced "Raleigh." "You seem ta be in charge around here. Is it you ah can thank for this lettah?" She places one light hand upon his arm before raising the other one to show the tattered parchment.

[GFawkes]

Sventir turns to face Riley.
"I wish. I'm just as confused about this letter as you are. But hey, I'll take any opportunity to get out of this city. I'm Sventir, by the way."

Turning to face the group as a whole, he states loudly "We'd better get moving. The longer we wait, the more prepared the goblins are."

[Land Outcast]

"Doh!..." mutters the armored dwarf as he returns to Silverhair, Cade, and the manacled halfling.

Farakas is unsure wether Stephen is over his head on this... particularly paying attention to his equipment... But liking the young man at a first impression, and seeing him as his best chance for support, he continues:
"Indeed, the son of Garrik speaks true: this hunting party should prove enough ta cleanse a goblin swarm... they are crafty though, and we shan't want ta fall in thar pits and traps."

It seems like he's finished but then adds: "Then there's tha mar goblins, those will prove a challenge... perhaps a danger" saying this, for a moment the hard face twists into a grimace, and he is silent...
"But fer tha anvil of Moradin that we shall prevail!"

As an afterthought, Farakas looks in the manacled halfling in the eyes for the first time and says:
"Halfling, I did not know ye were set on repaying yer debt ta society... I shall make sure ye can do so." (and that's as close as Farakas might come to an apology).

@Dwarven speakers

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"Doh" = Fool
"mar goblins" = "large goblins" (bugbears)

[Land Outcast]

"We'd better get moving. The longer we wait, the more prepared the goblins are."

The human might not have respect for others, just says his name when a possible mate comes by... but he's direct and pragmatic, and looks like he's seen battle before, he'll make a good companion...

"Aye lad, we can start from me house, 'tis in tha outskirts of town and has seen its share of goblin raids" saying this he motions towards a thin column of black smoke rising from a structure about a kilometer away. "shall we?"

[Hefty Lefty]

The stiff ranger barely pays attention to her company; he is completely focused on the task at hand. The young Riley grows increasingly anxious and concerned with the words being tossed around so nonchalantly. Goblin swarms? She shivers at the thought. Through her loose knowledge of the dwarven coarse tongue, she realizes the stout man is worried about a pack of bugbears. She had never actually seen one, only heard about it in stories. Usually stories that did not end well.

The young woman takes another swig from her flask and doesn't care who sees. She winces silently from the burn of the vodka. Alcohol has always comforted her in a way no person has. The intense burn is the closest to a warm hug she has ever known. The intoxicated stupor is the only pep talk she's ever had, and her night-to-night black-outs are her bed time stories.

The walls seem to be crashing down around her as she realizes these men are completely serious about their near-suicidal trip. Riley spies the city gate wide open behind the halfling's back. Had she wanted to return to the city, she easily could have. But what would she flee to? The dirt roads? A drunk pervert and his filthy copper? No. Perhaps that letter flew into her way for a reason. Perhaps this is what the fates had in store for her.

...Or perhaps this is the alcohol talking. She reminds herself that she is still in her "comfort zone." She is still around six lonesome men, men who will be travelling for days upon nights with no company of the fairer sex. These men, judging by their carefully crafted weapons, have coin, and, like all men, temptations. It is only a matter of time until Riley is cash in on this journey, regardless of the matter with the goblins. Yes. She shall leave today.

Her gaze shifts around the area. She is unaware how long she has been inattentive. "So..." she rocks back in an attempt to stabilize herself. Playing it off as coolly as she can, she continues in stride, "we're leaving now, I take it? Which way do we go?"

[Wizibirb]

Alton smiled as the horrible chains were removed from his wrists, however the smile was short lived... it was going to be a suicide mission. He would not back out, now... No he would see this through, it would clear his record. It was worth it. He had essentially ignored everyone while the guards had removed his shackles, he finally chimed in his opinion.

Doesn't matter what we do, however we should get moving. We are wasting daylight.

[Land Outcast]

Ironically for the dwarven warrior, at the halfling voicing his opinion he starts walking towards the thin smoke thread, so as to show the rest of the hunting party whatever tracks might be left of goblin scum.

During the short trip he calls upon Stephen to walk by his side, Farakas doesn't start any conversation, but might start chatting with the skald should he be inclined to do so. The young man seems to be one of will around here if for action, and besides, Farakas remembers the skald tales of his childhood... It might be a foolish hope, and one he'll never admit by himself, but he yearns to hear once again of clans and legends.

The sorrounding countryside is wildly overgrown and hard to navigate, rests of broken wooden structures -barns, houses, fences- lie among the undergrowth.
"Damn beasts an' vermin broke all down, drove all but tha sturdiest into tha city too... killed tha animals... an' wouldn't allow one ta tend tha earth..."

Half an hour later the party arrives to the stone building:

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Doors and fenceposts lie piled beside the house, and all its windows but one have been boarded up.

Farakas then takes them to the place where most raids came from, pointing out multitude of prints in the dried mud...

@Anton

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While Sventir examines the area, Farakas gets near to the previously manacled halfling and warns:
"I'll help ye pay back yer debt ta society, an' keep ye from harm as far as it be within me abilities. But speak like ye did of tha All-Father again and ye'll have no hands to be manacled."
He then smiles, relived that the halfling might have grasped the importance of the infraction.

Checks

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(1d20+3)[22] to aid another (Sventhir) in the survival check. DC 10 means Sventhir gets a +2 bonus to his check.

[GFawkes]

"I'll look for a trail. Farakas, give me a hand. You know the area better than most of us. Everyone else, stay alert." Sventir states. He heads out, keeping a sharp eye on the ground.

(1d20+8)[9](17)

(+6 from ranks in survival, +2 because of Farakas's help)

[CyganAngel]

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Rolling spot and listen checks for everyone:

In order of Spot-Listen:

Steven Silverhair:

(1d20-7)[8]
(1d20-7)[11]

Maxwell Rathlin:

(1d20+1)[20]
(1d20+1)[8]

Riley Valentine:

(1d20+2)[14]
(1d20)[5]

Cade Tosscobbler:

(1d20)[16]
(1d20)[16]

Sventor Eihloh:

(1d20+6)[26]
(1d20+6)[11]

Alton:

(1d20+4)[7]
(1d20+2)[14]

Farakas:

(1d20+2)[20]
(1d20+2)[11]

[CyganAngel]

Maxwell, Seventor and Farakas see a group of Orcs approaching. Alton hears them, and Cade does both.

The orcs snort, and stop, roughly one hundred feet away.

They call out to the adventurers.

[Wizibirb]

Alton was truly relieved to have been freed from his chains and was truly enjoying the free air. Perhaps this was one reason he wasn't as observant as he should have been. That and his eye kept wandering to the one female within the group he wondered what exactly her role was... Either way it was nice to have something to look at.

@ Farakas

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Alton smiled sadistically, he leaned in and dropped his voice so the others would not hear. I will keep that in mind.... However know this, ever insult me again without good reason and you will not wake the next morning... You know nothing of my life. Do not assume again.

[journeyman]

The young warrior's son is more than pleased to walk with the taciturn dwarf. He has some difficulty keeping up with his jagged hobble, but the weeks of road travel to get here have accustomed his muscles to the strain. He's quite excited just to be talking to a dwarf. The stories and legends he's heard describe them as the finest of master crafters and possessed of a wisdom that borders on divination. He's also heard that, like the icemen clans, dwarves have great respect for lineage. So, though storytelling is his passion rather than his strength, Stephen does his best as a true skald to share the legend of how Sven the Fearless, a distant ancestor of his, tried to rescue a beautiful damsel from a terrible dragon. Several feats of legendary strength, prowess, and cunning follow as the damsel turns out to be an evil witch, the dragon falls in love with him, and he kills everything from goblins to giants to free her from her magical servitude. After all of which the silver dragon takes human form, marries him, and gives him many sons good, and brave and strong. Thus was the founding of the Frostreaver Clan (though how they got that name is another legend...) It's a slightly outrageous tale, particularly in the many gruesome and comedic ways Sven dispatches his foes, but Stephen tells it with the confidence of a true believer. He sounds quite wistful when he describes the legendary beauty of the woman who was also a dragon. Curiously, he does not use the past tense when describing her, though he does so for the long dead Sven.

Being of little use in searching, the murky-eyed skald has found himself a shady spot and is catching his breath. He's grateful to any number of gods that the hunting party includes members with a walking pace only slightly faster than his own. Since danger is likely once they get moving again, he's using this time to offer some prayers of thanks and for continued blessings. Specific deities mentioned include Valkar for courage, Kord for strength, Lyris for luck, and Bahamut for protection. Of course, it can be a little difficult to see approaching danger when your eyes are closed...