Metroid33's Ironfang Invasion

[Metroid33]

Phaendar, a small town on the southwest edge of the Fangwood forest. Originally built on the forgotten ruins of a Chelish fort it stands tall compared to the flat lands that surrounds its southern edge. With no apparent strategivc value and no way to sneak up on the town the have not known the toils of war and displacement. The town is currently celebrating it's quarterly market festival. A time when the population swells to about 600 as hunters come in from the hinterlands and merchants travel from nearby cities looking for goods. During this time the town is surrounded by a field of tents to accommodate all the new arrivals.

But the party happens all over, particularly at the Taproot Inn, a relatively small building that is almost filled as everyone exchange there latest stories. Greatest of these story tellers is Aubrin the Green, a once Chernasadro now turned Caydenite cleric. She has the greatest stories around having lived through so much as a member of the rangers. Everyone in the Inn intently listens to the ranger as she recounts her latest tale.

"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 errupts 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 there own boasts and jokes, but eventually someone tops of Aubrins 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 soldiers 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.

Spoiler

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Roll initiative

[Farmerbink]

"Holy!-" Gander rises as Aubrin writhes in pain. "'Twas a damn fine story you just ruined, you sorry bastard! Somebody, see to Aubrin!" Without waiting to see if his words are heeded, the lithe Half-Elf scans the room, looking for more combatants. A burly Half-Orc with more anger than surprise on his features rises near the door, and a sigh of relief issues from his mouth.

"Well hells. Guess everyone dies sometime..." He strides forward, frantically moving to ready a bundle of knotted ropes.

Spoiler: Gander, round 1

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Gander Stennick
M CG Half Elf Bard (Bard), Level 1, Init 2, HP 9/9, Speed 30
AC 16, Touch 12, Flat-footed 14, CMD 13, Fort 1, Ref 4, Will 1, CMB +1, Base Attack Bonus 0
Net +2 (-, -)
Whip +1 (1d3+2, x2)
Longspear +1 (1d8+1, x3)
Dagger +1/+2 (1d4+1, 19-20, x2)
Studded leather, Buckler (+3 Armor, +1 Shield, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 12, Dex 15, Con 12, Int 8, Wis 8, Cha 19
Condition Ironfang Survivor: +2 dodge AC vs Goblinoids,
-Intimidate, Sense Motive, Stealth roll x2: 1/1

I should think my trait is in effect, for an AC of 17 (probably don't have the buckler equipped sitting about in a tavern).
Move closer and draw the net!

[n0ble]

Rask downed his mug of ale and took a sombre look down at the bottom, as though looking for some sort of answer as to why all his ale was gone. The results of a days hunt with the shaman. It hadn't been a hard days work, at least not by his standards, but the coin was comparatively little next to what he was used to. As Aubrin told her story about the bear, Rask grunted for more ale in his cup before hefting it up in salute of the story. His free hand went down to the knife on his belt and grasped at it, just to be safe. By his reckoning everyone seemed in good spirits but it never hurt to be prepared. Well, never hurt him at least. Not by much.

He ordered another after taking down the last brew in a modest pull, listening to everyone else's stories. He'd been in enough military camps to know the hustle and bustle of mirth, but that wasn't what bothered him. Everyone seemed...happy? Which was a right good frame of mind to be in by his standards, yet he couldnt quite bring himself up to it. Who would've thought that biggest hardship of his life would be fitting in with all this mirth. His stomach growled low as the thought took hold shaking Rask from his musings. He ordered a modest plate of meat and bread before turning back to Aubrin as she was shoved back into the role of storyteller. Rask had a fairly blank gaze on his face, one that could be easily juxtaposed with the festivities about him. He relaxed a little as she began again, and took his hand off the knife. Seemed as good a start as any to calling the place home. Then it all went wrong.

Rask's eyes momentarily widened as the door splintered. His hands didn't even bother going to the daggers on his person. Instead they went over his head and found the big slab of metal on his back that passed for a sword. There was hardly anything thinking on his part as he roared forward towards one of the hobgoblins standing at the door. He hardly even noticed the state of the town outside the door, but if he had it would have made him power towards the enemy even faster. Instead it was just the blood in his ears and the sword crashing forward in an arc towards the nearest one.

Spoiler: Round 1

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Rask
Male N Half-orc Slayer (Vanguard), Level 1, Init 5, HP 12/12, Speed 30ft
AC 16, Touch 12, Flat-footed 14, CMD 17, Fort 6, Ref 6, Will 4, CMB +5, Base Attack Bonus +1
Greatsword +5 (2d6+6, 19-20/x2)
Chain Shirt (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 9, Wis 14, Cha 7
Condition None

Full Round Action: CHARRRGGE! (preferably the hobgoblin that Farmer is going to net)
Attack: [roll]1d20+6[roll]
Critical confirmation if needed: (1d20+6)[25]
Damage (power attacking): (2d6+10)[15]
Crit damage if needed: (1d6)[3]

My trait bonus should negate the -2 AC from charging.

[3SecondCultist]

The trip's bounty has proven adequate, and from her corner not too far from the door, Aster quietly enjoys a mug of ale. It's not much - Nirmathi hops tend to make the brew a little more bitter than she's used to - but it's something. With the increased foot traffic throughout Phaendar, she's lucky she even got the spot she has. Like the Fangwood that it neighbours, this town's roots are strong, even if it is sparsely populated for most of the year. If she's being honest though, the woman much prefers this rural to the relative bustle of Tamran. On some level, the sleepy town on the Nesmian Plains reminds her of home. For a moment, the smell of campfires and the sound of songs unsung for years get to Aster. Don't think about it, she tells herself as she takes another swig of the country ale. Funny, how the ale has now lost some of its bitterness.

Still, she's taking the next few days in town to relax, maybe help Vane out when the inevitable drunken squabble sends a few unfortunates into his care. The town doctor has appreciated her help before, even if his ego continually prevents him from recognizing an equal when he sees one. As Aster's eyes scan the Taproot Inn absentmindedly, she locks eyes with Rast, the half-orc across the room. Of everyone she's met in Phaendar over the past year or so, he's proven one of the more reliable, accompanying her on a few outings to make a bit more coin when business was slow. Hopefully, he's enjoying his half of the money they received for their pelts. Then, following the gaze of most everybody in the tavern, Aster listens to Aubrin's story, chuckling when it's appropriate. Only the sound comes out more like a rasp than anything else, which she disguises as a small cough. As a force of habit, the shaman rubs her throat, where the inquisitor's mark persists beneath her scarf.

Absorbed as she is by her own problems, Aster doesn't hear any of the commotion outside until doors smash open and the hobgoblins enter. She spares the wounded Aubrin a concerned glance, but there are more townsfolk in the Taproot common room that could very well be next on the chopping block. One look at the creatures tells her that they're hobgoblins, but that's not the worst of it: the insignia they wear mark these warriors out as members of the Ironfang Legion. If the Legion is here... they could tear this town apart before any of us even get a chance to escape. So before tending to the wounded ranger, the red-headed sage focuses her energy on one of the intruders, silently compelling him to go to sleep. With any luck, it will buy the townsfolk just a little bit more time. They're going to need it.

Spoiler: Round 1 Actions

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Aster is going to use her Slumber Hex against the least wounded hobgoblin (whether shot by Kaitlaea or sliced by Rask). DC 15 Will negates, or he's asleep for 1 round.

Spoiler: Aster, Round 1

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Aster Wintarius
Female Neutral Good Human Shaman (Speaker for the Past), Level 1, Init 6, HP 9/9, DR -, Speed 30 ft
AC 14, Touch 12, Flat-footed 12, CMD 11, Fort 1, Ref 2, Will 6, CMB -1, Base Attack Bonus 0
Light Crossbow +2 (1d8, 19-20x2)
Leather Armor (+2 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 8, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 18, Cha 12
Condition None
Spells 0th level -- create water, detect magic, guidance
1st level -- entangle (1), sleep (1), identify (1)

[Mornings]

'I'm sorry, Kaity. If you're reading this, I guess things didn't work out so well for us... For me. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, and I can't shake this terrible feeling. The feeling that something isn't right. The feeling that we missed something critical. The feeling something is going to go terribly wrong... But, if you're reading this now, I guess I was wrong. Congratulations. The fact that we're both not dead is a miracle in and of itself, but to succeed, well... Honestly, I started to even doubt myself. I wish I could have been there to see it. I wish I could have told you, but I know you Kaity. You're too soft. You don't have the courage to do the hard thing, and see this through to the end; no matter the cost. If I told you, if you knew, I know you would have abandoned the project. I couldn't have been sure of course, but I theorized that something significant, yet insubstantial, consciousness, perhaps a soul was needed as fuel for the transmutation. I wonder what happened to me, I wonder what was left. Please don't be sad, please don't try to undo our work and dishonor this sacrifice. I've never had your visionary mind nor unique intellect. There's so much good we can do for people, there's so much you have left to give back to this world. What we made, what we did, it's not a weapon. It's hope. Boundless and pure. Never let it fall into the hands of those who would abuse it, fight to end the suffering, the anguish; but know well, we are not gods. We will never know the 'right answer', nor be held above our fellow man. We are not judges, we are pioneers and scholars searching to build a better world, to find a better answer. Don't look away. Don't cry. Don't run. This is your fate. This is my fate. Destiny is all.'

With everlasting affection & love,
Griselde Caliphvaso

She dropped her wrench, the ring of the solid-yet carefully worked tool rang as it bounced off the surface of the tavern's table and unto the floor. It had been more than a few hours that she'd been working on assembling the strange contraption her sister had called a 'dampening triangle', some manner of structural support or stand. Griselde had made it a point to drill into her head just how powerful and unwieldy the portable-siege engine she had made was, and it was for that reason that she had yet to actually employ it. Things had gotten so much harder without her by her side, it was moments of silence and recollection that filled her with regret and unshakable remorse. There was no way she could have known that their research would have hurt anyone, that it would have required someone to be hurt... to be killed. It had been nearly nine months since the incident, and she had still believed that those thoughts were true. Now looking upon one of her sister's precious journals, she knew that had not been the case... In fact, that was perhaps furthest from the truth. She had known. She knew that something would happen, that sacrifice would be needed. Her eyes were locked upon those pages, unblinking for a long moment. She didn't know what to feel, what to think. Griselde had believed in what they were doing to the point where she had even given her own life to ensure its completion. Why wouldn't the sadness go away? She was right, if her sister had told her, if she had even suspected it, she would have terminated the project; turning her back on so many years of work. Her head slid down into her hand, taking a moment to contemplate what she had found.

The clamor and chatter raced back into her ears from the excited shouts and tales being shared throughout the establishment. She did honestly enjoy the company, and loved hearing tales of daring-do and haughty bravery, but that aside, an idle mind oft brought her back into unproductive thoughts filled with sorrow and loss. Griselde had been the only family she'd had left, and just as they had deepened their bond, it all came to a sudden and tragic end. It was today, this day, she had promised herself she would carry on with their work; she would confront her past. These books did no good collecting dust in some chest, and now, she was glad she did. There was a weight lifted, a certain measure of closure, or perhaps peace levied in her mind. The note hidden within the assembly instructions for the Reditus's dampening... thing, had opened her eyes to the truth. There was still so much she didn't know, so much she hadn't tested or tried. The magic she once possessed before the completion of the project had atrophied and diminished to virtually nothing. Now something filled its place, a magic of the mind... but she feared what she might find if she removed the blindfold of willful ignorance.

Bending down she picked up the wrench off the floor, in so short a time, it felt like everything had changed. A small smile found her soft features, it felt like she'd reclaimed something. The burden didn't feel so heavy now, the haze in her thoughts clearing away. She was still sad, but she had spent so long trying to run away she couldn't even mourn the loss she had suffered. The pain wouldn't go away, but perhaps now she could rebuild, move forward; She believed that now. Still, the damned instructions were more than a little difficult to read, nevermind trying to understand it. If not for the diagrams drawn in, she would have been left pulling at straws. Slowly she begun to pack up the strange tools scattered on top of the table, placing them back in their tightly sealed steel-box while taking a long pull from the tankard on the table. The ale was stronger than she had expected, but she enjoyed the stout-frothy beverage. She smiled to herself, something brightening inside. It tasted... good.

The mutton on the table had been pushed aside to the corner, like usual. It had been rare when she found an apatite, everything was bland. It didn't matter the seasonings, she might as well have been eating a color, and it was gray. This time, she grabbed the carelessly placed fork and took a bite out of the meat. It had been long since a sense of fullness or content found her, it made her shoulders feel heavy and sluggish; like a feast after a long and arduous exercise. Picking up the separated, but assembled sectional pieces of the unique device, she begun packing them away. It looked like it would eventually come together to create some madly visioned tripod mounted to a sled, or perhaps some manner of wheeled pedestal or wagon. Who could say what that woman had envisioned it as. Grabbing the handkerchief off the table she begun cleaning the grease off her hands from the parts and tools. There had been no word from E'livae or any other of the Foxclaw Scouts, so she could see no reason why not to enjoy herself until it was time to return to her own studies. She grabbed her tankard and moved away from her table as Aubrin begun her tales. A mischievous grin was plastered to her face as she finished the last of the mutton and packed away her things in her various traveling bags. She'd been in town for close to a month, but in her visits here, she never left disappointed when that wily cleric came by. She moved into the throng of people with tankard in hand, joining in the cheers and patting a man on the back as he ensured the priest didn't find the bottom of her mug. She joined in cheers and laughter as Aubrin came back for a second round of tales-

A second round suddenly and explosively interrupted. The fragmented shards and hail of flying-jagged slivers of splintered wood nearly sent her to the ground as the massive ballista's bolt belched thunder into her world, along with the deafening hymn of roaring battle. Panicked and frightened screams of dying men and woman washed over her as suddenly as some conjured wave. In the dizzying haze she scrambled about, managing to reclaim her footing and taking in the terrible sights all about her. Her gaze was locked upon the bloodied crippled form of the cleric, she could feel her features twist up in shocked horror. So much blood... She'd never seen such a wound, not to a person at least. Her adult life had been spent behind a desk, or in a class teaching brilliant young minds - not on a battlefield. What was this madness. "AUBIN!" She couldn't help but scream for the woman she'd known for less than a month. They hadn't exchanged any significant words. Nor really spoken, but that didn't matter right now. Right now, she needed help.

It was like a surge of electricity racing across her consciousness, an explosion as something awoke. The controlled, calculating personality she knew to be herself wasn't here. That woman was... somewhere else. Her body moved of its own accord, leaping into action, pushing aside patrons and racing up to the wounded cleric devoid of fear or the thought of danger. She wrapped both arms under the woman's armpits and locked her fingers over her chest to get a good hold before dragging Aubin away from the door. Her eyes frantically dotted about the tavern to the armed men clutched in the grasp of shock. "What are you doing!? Fight! FIIIGHT!". The woman was so heavy, each step was a struggle, she could feel her knees buckle. It was a mystery how she even managed to get her partly off the ground, she wasn't strong, nor brave; but when faced with such adversity... she found something buried deep.

"Ugh... Aubin, Aubin... You're not dead right?" She shook her a little. "Aren't you a priest, please tell me you can heal yourself... I'm not that kind of doctor."

Spoiler: Combat - Actions

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Kaitlaea Mayvert
AC 20 / Touch 13 / FF 17
HP 10/10
Fort +3
Ref +6
Will +0

֍ Initiative (1d20+6)[23]
֍ Move Action: Move to Aubin
֍ Standard Action: Initiate Drag (1d20-1)[17]
(No map so hard to tell, but initiating a drag provokes. Regardless Kait is doing it anyways. Aubin and Kait move back 5-ft from the door, +5-ft for every increment of 5 I beat her CMD Assuming I beat anything with a -1 lol)
֍ Perception: (1d20+2)[10]
(If there was someone who looked capable of healing, looking through crowd. Otherwise, searching Aubin for wand or other device that might cure her condition.)

[Metroid33]

Kaitlaea runs over to Aubrin and finds her in a state of shock. She stares blankly at the ceiling but is definitely still breathing. As Kait moves here, Aubrin seems to splutter a bit still losing an alarming amount of blood.

With a quick look around the room you see people running off in all directions most of them just trying to get out of the Taproot, but you do manage to see Aster as she is still taking in the scenario.

Aster looks at the hobgoblins, both of which have started shouting at the towns people and show no immediate sign of wanting to cut people down, picking the one on the left closest to her, aster makes a few quick hand gestures and the goblin passes out on the spot slumping to the ground.

The other hobgoblin is so busy yelling at the gathered towns people "All of ya stay were you are! Yur slaves of the legion now ya hear!" he doesn't even notice his friend's sudden nap. Much to his dismay.

Rask, sword in hand charges forward at the one that is still standing. The pasty skinned hobgoblin catches site of Rask at the last moment and tries to duck out of the way, but rask is ready for it, he's fought goblins, he knows how they move, turning the blade you manage to slice a long gash right down the goblins chest, it lets out a scream of pain and fear realizing his buddy is asleep and that two might not have been enough for this building.

Round 2

[3SecondCultist]

Aster watches the events unfold at the door, nodding in satisfaction when her target drops to the tavern floor and wincing slightly as Rask's sword all but cuts the second hobgoblin's chest in two. It's not that the sight of blood - or even the half-orc's strength in particular - surprise her, but that doesn't mean she needs to enjoy the carnage. And yet, looking past the two Ironfang soldiers, she can plainly see that they are a part of a much larger invasion force. The black tower over Phaendar is a new development as well. Did the goblins bring it with them somehow? She can't see the bottom, so it could very well be a siege tower of some kind. But that's impossible; out here on the plain, there's no way an army could have snuck up on an entire town like this. For a moment, she stares out at the spreading flames and the distant soldiers, her mind returning to similar circumstances. The camp. The inquisitor, his burning metal symbol on her flesh, the smell of her own skin boiling under the contact. The muscles in her throat tighten involuntarily, but she shakes her head almost as a reflex. Focus on the present, Aster. The hobgoblin she put to sleep isn't going to stay that way for long, and Aubrin looks like she desperately needs some medical care.

"You might want to wrap up the sleeping one," the shaman says to the unknown half-elf over the sounds of the crowd, ignoring the futile words of the second intruder. Her voice has a ragged edge to it, but it carries across the common room nonetheless. "The enchantment I wove on him will only last for a few seconds longer, so he'll be awake soon. These guys aren't just hobgoblins: they're Ironfang. Let Rask take care of the second one; I don't think he'll have any trouble with the task." She doesn't offer any more advice beyond that. Not now, not while Aubrin still needs her attention.

Then she is moving, hurrying over to the former Chernasardo's side. There's another woman there, the one who first screamed when the door burst open, trying desperately to move Aubrin away from the door and further harm. She has long pale hair, wears what looks like good quality armor, and carries an assortment of strange and utterly mismatched looking tools. An adventurer, then. She's seen her around the town before, but doesn't know her name. Aster kneels beside both of them, taking in Aubrin's condition. Thankfully, the woman is still alive, but it looks like the wound caused by the ballista won't leave her that way for very long. She starts speaking to the stranger in a low tone, although at least half of it is rambling. "Thanks for your help. I'm Aster, I should be able patch her back up. She's already lost a lot of blood. Unfortunately I didn't ask for any healing magic today, so it looks like we're going to have to do this manually. Here, I need you to hold her in place while I do my best to suture the wound. She might struggle, but too much movement will botch everything and I'll need to start over. Unless you have a magical potion or elixir on you? Damn, I didn't think so. Okay, you ready? Here we go..."

Spoiler: Round 2 Actions

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Aster is going to take her move action to move over to where Aubrin and Kait are on the ground, then use a standard action to use Heal to apply first aid. It should be a DC 15 Heal check to stop the bleeding, and then add +1 hp to Aubrin's total from the Frontier Healer campaign trait.

Heal (vs. DC 15): (1d20+9)[10]

Edit: oh for f*ck's sake.

Spoiler: Aster, Round 2

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Aster Wintarius
Female Neutral Good Human Shaman (Speaker for the Past), Level 1, Init 6, HP 9/9, DR -, Speed 30 ft
AC 14, Touch 12, Flat-footed 12, CMD 11, Fort 1, Ref 2, Will 6, CMB -1, Base Attack Bonus 0
Light Crossbow +2 (1d8, 19-20x2)
Leather Armor (+2 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 8, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 18, Cha 12
Condition None
Spells 0th level -- create water, detect magic, guidance
1st level -- entangle (1), sleep (1), identify (1)

[n0ble]

Rask bellowed at the squealing creature as he cut downward across its chest. Warmth spattered down across his shoulder and arms as he did, but Rask didn't pay it any mind. The big half-orc pivoted on his heel, using the force of the previous swing to spin out away from the hobgoblin before riding out the momentum to bring a blow into the creatures midsection. He gave a wordless roar even as the big slab of metal slammed into hobgoblin's waist. Rask locked his pair of wide eyes onto the hobgoblin's own.

The only thing they'd secured by coming here was their deaths.

Spoiler: Round 2

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Rask
Male N Half-orc Slayer (Vanguard), Level 1, Init 5, HP 12/12, Speed 30ft
AC 16, Touch 12, Flat-footed 14, CMD 17, Fort 6, Ref 6, Will 4, CMB +5, Base Attack Bonus +1
Greatsword +5 (2d6+6, 19-20/x2)
Chain Shirt (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 9, Wis 14, Cha 7
Condition None

Move action: Studied Strike for +1 to attack and damage rolls
Standard action attack to hit (power attacking): (1d20+5)[25]
damage: (2d6+10)[16]
critical hit confirmation[roll]1d20+5[/rol]
critical hit damage: (1d6)[6]

[Farmerbink]

Gander nods with... satisfaction?- No, more like approval- as he notes the woman charging after Aubrin. "Slaves, my @ss, you summb**ch! I didn' escape once just to sign back up!" The lean man approaches, letting his hands work on their own. Mid-stride, a dagger seems to appear in his right hand, as he shifts the bundle of ropes into his left. For just half a heartbeat, he starts in surprise, as half of the immediately relevant horde drops to the floor in obviously magically-induced sleep.

Another woman hurries past, towards Aubrin, and he responds to her. "If by 'wrapping up the sleeping one'," he starts, speaking around the bit of his pipe- still dangling from clenched teeth. "You mean 'deal with it,' I completely agree." Without preamble, he drops to a knee, plunging his dagger into the monster's chest.

Spoiler: Gander, round 2

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Gander Stennick
M CG Half Elf Bard (Bard), Level 1, Init 2, HP 9/9, Speed 30
AC 16, Touch 12, Flat-footed 14, CMD 13, Fort 1, Ref 4, Will 1, CMB +1, Base Attack Bonus 0
Net +2 (-, -)
Whip +1 (1d3+2, x2)
Longspear +1 (1d8+1, x3)
Dagger +1/+2 (1d4+1, 19-20, x2)
Studded leather, Buckler (+3 Armor, +1 Shield, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 12, Dex 15, Con 12, Int 8, Wis 8, Cha 19
Condition Ironfang Survivor: +2 dodge AC vs Goblinoids,
-Intimidate, Sense Motive, Stealth roll x2: 1/1

Assuming we're close enough to melee, coup de grace the Hobgoblin!
(2d4+2)[6] automatic crit damage (add 10 for a fort DC else deaded)

[Mornings]

Everything seemed to run together, the sounds and frantic movements as her mind struggled to process it all. After a moment it all started to clear, like a lens coming into focus. The blurred vision beginning to part and reveal those about her. The knot in her throat and pounding of her heart didn't detract from her hurried glances all about, she could feel her strength waning as she dragged the woman's body back away from the door leaving a trail of smeared blood across the floor. It looked bad. It was bad... But she was alive, and as long as that remained true she felt like she had the strength of a thousand.

The sight of the large orcish warrior hacking apart the beastly looking creature was almost like looking through a painting of war. The powerful blows delivered behind the swordsmen's arms wove a brutal story painted with fine technique. His strikes took apart the goblinoid-creature's defense, piece-by-piece with measured strikes. These were trained fighters, soldiers, scouts, rangers. They weren't like her, she wasn't like them; a thought made all the more whole as the grim looking mistral who almost stood at her own height produced a dagger and drove the forged steel into the enchanted creature's body. She'd been so distracted, she hadn't even noticed the strange patrons who gathered here, peoples steeled by the fires of conflict and battle. The words were slow to reach her. Ironfang.

Her strength begun to finally diminish as sight of the red haired woman filled her vision. She couldn't remember her name, but she was glad to see her approach with what seemed a mind to give aid. Her legs finally gave out, finding a knee on the ground while trying to support the priestly woman; blood was everywhere. She could only find a meek smile at the woman's words. "Thank you, I'm.... Professor Mayvert..." Her voice trailed off. It was a trick of the light, maybe the stress or the adrenaline. She closed her eyes, shaking her head, trying to banish the sight of the woman lingering in the corner of the room. She'd been haunted by such regret, sometimes she saw things. Often it had been the darkened shadow of her sister's figure lingering at the edge of her vision, ruining her concentration. That was not this. This was something else entirely.

It was all she could do to watch Aster's hands move, trying to staunch the bleeding as she tried to hold the woman still. The image of the ghostly specter didn't go away. Though darkened, as if looking at some insubstantial and faded photograph at the bottom of a shallow lake, this was the clearest it had ever been. Everything came back into question. She had spent years developing the theory and proposed pseudo-science behind the conceptual structure of their so called 'Legacy Weapon', and at the heart of it was the functions of a Panoptic Implement. A theorized Panoply Bond created through the consciousness of the host. There still existed a great deal of gray-areas as to just what qualified as a host, or if the host was the soul bound to the Implement, or the wielder bounded to it... or even both. Griselde believed it was the soul which had to be bound that would fill that role; but she never believed that. Now, the evidence seemed to be looking her in the face. Griselde was wrong. None of the answers were entirely correct. If only she hadn't wasted so much time idling away in her grief; there was so many answers she could have uncovered. 'She's dying...'

It wasn't a voice, no, it was something far more sophisticated. Some manner of sympathetic expression received and translated in her mind as words; almost like reading text. It was internal, almost akin to some similar cognitive disorder, but she could feel the subtle underlying arcane pulse behind it. She groaned in dismay, if only she hadn't ceased running tests, she wouldn't have to struggle at unraveling this mystery while under attack. She could feel the quiet, yet undeniable sensation that all spellcasters knew; something that might only be able to be summarized as an awareness that there existed magic within her word, within her mind. Not just the bland texts and scribbled markings, but the true tangling fount of unadulterated arcane energy. It was not a feeling she'd felt for what seemed like an eternity. It wasn't in abundance, but she could feel a measure of it swarm back into her breast. That reassurance slowly begun to die away, as the realization begun to dawn that Aubin's condition wasn't improving.

Her hand came over the spurting wound, trying to apply pressure and stop the blood-flow. She desperately looked at Aubin, "W-Why won't the hemorrhaging stop!? I'm not a physician, is this arterial?" A mocking quiet chuckle invaded her mind, as if driving home the futility of it all. Her gaze sharply snapped a glare at the ghastly figure, "Shut up, you think this is funny?" She glanced back at Aster realizing other people likely couldn't see a soulbound spirit ensnared within a glorified cannon, and she was talking out loud. "Not you, my... Nevermind. Will we be able to mend a wound like this?"

Spoiler: Combat - Actions

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Kaitlaea Mayvert
AC 20 / Touch 13 / FF 17
HP 10/10
Fort +3
Ref +6
Will +0

֍ Initiative (1d20+6)[23]
֍ Move Action: Move with Aubin, 5-ft
֍ Standard Action: Heal Check (First Aid) - (1d20-2)[6]

[Metroid33]

Kaitlaea frantically tries to stop the bleeding but in the heat of the moment is unable to do so, however in her attempts to help Aubrin she notices a small vial of white liquid just in side aubrins bag, no slightly open due to being dragged.

Aubrin coughs and splutters as more blood seems to be flowing out of her. Still awake but barely.

Aster's attempts to heal the cleric are also in vain, as she can't quite relax enough to go through what she needs to do here.

Gander moves over to the now sleeping bard, he drives the knife into the goblins chest but in his haste he seems to have missed everything important as the goblin wakes right up.

The Standing goblin seems to be on it's last legs, but appears ready to go down fighting goes to take a swing at Rask. It's longsword comes down on Rask but slams into his chain shirt doing nothing. The formerly sleeping goblin sees gander now kneeling beside him and the dagger in his chest, he grasps out for his sword.

Spoiler

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So the standing goblin tried to swing at Rask failing. The hobgoblin on the ground though needs to pick up his sword which provokes AOOs which I am going to assume in this instance that bother Rask and Gander are going to take advantage as they are all in a mess at the door. I'm going to roll both here see what happens and then finish writing the post.

Rask AOO
(1d20+4)[22]
(1d20+4)[12]
(2d6+9)[16]
(2d6+9)[14]

Gander AOO
(1d20+1)[19]
(1d20+1)[7]
(1d4+1)[5]
(1d4+1)[2]

Seeing the goblin reach for his sword Rask and gander react instinctively, Gander plunging his dagger into the goblinoid once more making it grunt, the serious blow comes down from on high as rasks sword takes off the prone hobgoblins head, sending it rolling.

Rask then turns ever so slightly and brings the sword back up into the final hobgoblin cutting it from hip to shoulder. Both goblins now lie dead in the doorway.

Spoiler

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Combat is Over

[n0ble]

Rask pulled his sword out of the first hobgoblin's guts before exhaling in a rattle of breath. The half-orc looked down on both corpses with a modicum of disdain. He grabbed both halves of the the first hobgoblin and causally tossed them to the right of the door frame, away from any windows, before doing the same with the now headless one as well. Rask took a knee, first relieving the now dead hobs of their weapons by way of planting them in the floor of the inn. Next he began to wordlessly sift through anything of import they might have on their person. He heard what was going on outside, and it was terrible to his ears, just as the panic of the inn seemed to be. The slayer wasn't exactly a stranger to what came with the sacking of a town. But there were other things he needed to focus on right now. People that were in need of aid. Perhaps there was something that could help the druid that appeared to be choking on her own blood.They wouldn't have enough time to strip them of their armour, but some tavern goers could use the longswords maybe.

Aster had mentioned the Ironfang Legion and that brought some anger into Rask's mind that lent him a bit more focus as he sifted through the dead troopers belongings. It made Rask screw his face up into a look of solemn concentration.

Spoiler: OOC

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Searching the corpses for things that can be of use.

[3SecondCultist]

Aster curses under her breath as her attempt to close Aubrin's wounds seem to have had the opposite effect, all but ignoring the situation at the door after hearing the half-elf's reply and the sounds of more blood being shed immediately after. Her attention is needed here, which is why she's all the more thrown off balance at the Professor's vehemence to a figure that Aster cannot see. "Um... who are you talking to? Actually forget that, would you mind checking her pockets? She might have something to help us out, in case this doesn't go well. I think she's going to pass out in a few seconds unless we do something. I'm going to try taking the splinters out before stitching it back up, see if that will help."

Seeing Rask comb through the belongings of the now dead Ironfang soldiers is confirmation of what she figured might happen, but it's a cold comfort with Phaendar still being put to the sword. They need to get Aubrin back on their feet, and fast. Every moment that passes is more townspeople being butchered, more livelihoods destroyed. Hopefully the Chernasardo will be of use to them, but Aster is already doing the math in her head, trying to process the number of civilians they're going to need to get to safety, and how many provisions they will need to survive if - no, when - they all escape Phaendar. Even a cursory glimpse outside is enough to tell that they're not going to hold this town against the Legion, not today. But that's a matter for when Aubrin is ambulatory. For now, she is just going to have to trust in her own skill, as well as those of the unlikely allies that she's found by her side.

"Come on, Aubrin," Aster tries to say encouragingly to the woman bleeding on the floor. "You're not going to die on us today. Not while we still have a town full of people to save."

Spoiler: OOC

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Once more, with a Heal check to the rescue! If it works, that's stopping the bleed and +1 hp to Aubrin.

Heal (vs DC 15): (1d20+9)[11]

Edit: wow. Just wow, dice.

[Mornings]

It was a little more than she could handle; the sight of the grievous spurting wound and the demoralizing raucous cries surrounding her. It was like a buzzing storm of confusion. Disorder. Nothing was right, everything was wrong. It felt like the entire world had suddenly been sent cascading across the room by that sole ballista's bolt to spiral out of control. Her hands begun to shake uncontrollably as a sense of powerlessness seemed to veil her once rational mind. She didn't want to die, not like this, not in this place. What had she done to deserve this? Was this some kind of punishment? Some abstract face of violent karmic-justice? This couldn't be happening. She was just a displaced teacher caught in someone else's fight, she hadn't hurt anyone... recently. It was hard to determine if she could consider her sister a victim or a martyr, but caught within the throes of denial, her mind could only dismiss it as the later. It felt like the walls of her world were crumbling, the will to resist diminishing. Maybe... maybe... If she surrendered, they'd let her go. Her gaze begun to slowly lower to the floor. She could feel something ominous looming above. 'Coward... Where is that fearlessness now?' She raised her head, nearly jumping back in startled shock. The phantasmal figure's face pressed in upon her own with mere inches separating the insubstantial specter and herself. A dreadful and terrible fear begun to saturate her consciousness, crawling up her spine and making her hair stand on end. Her gaze was held, as if magically compelled, staring at the woman's face in wide-eyed terror. The dark and depthless wells of miasmic night which laid where eyes might have once been seized her very soul with dread; an inhuman countenance and unearthly grace. She had only heard of such strange eyes being possessed by otherworldly creatures from beyond the grave, like bodaks... and worse. 'Don't look away. Don't cry. Don't run. This is your fate.'

Her head gave repetitive quick nods, her eyes still wide as the spectral vision faded away like parting mist. The cognitive functions paralyzed by fear finally begun to thaw; accompanied by the delayed recognition of the tears running down the sides of her face. The panic and anxiety which had remained as the adrenaline wanned had been all but banished. Her mind had been viciously ripped back to reality. She wiped her face with her sleeve, sparing herself bloody smudges across her cheeks from her soiled hands. War was nothing like the stories... The old Sable Marines would smile quietly to themselves when she would recount past battles and lecture them in strategy. She understood now, being in this place. Even with all the planning and strategy in the world, it could not prepare a novice for the macabre rigors and horror of combat. Pausing for a moment, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. They were going to get out of here. It was going to be okay. She dug into Aubin's pockets, producing the small vial of white liquid. Her hands were steady.

The small bottle nearly slipped out of her blood-slick hands and shattered on the floor, so she held it firmly and carefully using both hands. Stirring the contents by swirling the bottle from its top, she looked at its volume and opacity before biting off the waxed corked top and spitting it on the floor. "...If this is holy-weapon balm. Ugh." Dabbing her finger in the contents, she tasted the extract in hope of getting an idea if the concoction was toxic or otherwise harmful.

Spoiler: Checks to Identify

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Rolling whatever might be applicable:
֍ Appraise: (1d20+7)[21]
֍ Knowledge (Arcana): (1d20+7)[16]
֍ Spellcraft: (1d20+3)[15]

Spoiler: Action

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Regardless of success identifying - If it is not harmful, or if it is restorative. Kait will pour the contents in Aubin's mouth and hope it's something that helps.

[Farmerbink]

Gander starts, immediately both aware and disappointed as his obvious failure to put the Hobgoblin down for good. Despite his shock, and the creature's sudden resulting consciousness, the second stab proves more effective than the first. Still, when a 5-foot long slab of steel removes the foe's head, he can't help but fall onto his haunches, pressing away from the deceased in surprise. He looks up to follow the blade's haft and wielder's arm to Rask. Noting the Half-Orc's ferocity directed elsewhere, Gander takes in a breath, unaware he'd been holding it. "Hellfire, man. Warn a guy or something, eh?" He rises to his feet, clearly beleaguered by the events of the past few moments.

"By the stars," he curses. His eyes peer over the crouching slayer, taking in the ruddy glow of fire and immediately recognizing the almost surety that death accompanies it. An oddly excited expression settles on his face, as his eyes start to twinkle as if they, too, possess some inner spark- waiting only for the opportunity to flare into life.

He nods in approval at Rask's no-nonsense approach, though he spares a concerned glance for the duo still struggling to stabilize the downed ranger. Turning back towards the crowded inn, he raises his voice, easily heard over the quiet whimpers and other fearful groans. "ALRIGHT, PEOPLE," he begins, letting his voice lower as what meager din exists is silenced. "Anyone can see that we've got problems. If I may make a suggestion, I think we can all get through this." He looks around the cramped common room, almost silent now, but for the sounds of Aster and Kaitlaea trying to revive Aubrin.

"Step one: attract as little attention as possible. Step two: get the hells out of dodge!" Sparing only an appraising glance at Rask, his hands begin to move. The short blade disappears as easily as it appeared, and he readies the bundle of ropes once more. "Hell, it might actually be best to stay here. If the Legion has split up thoroughly enough, we might be able to sow enough discord to make do..." Another glance out the window dispels him of any such disillusionment. He shakes his head, angrily. "Naw, that's crazy. Head for the outskirts. It's always doubtful that the Fangwood is safe, but it'll keep you from prying eyes."

With an expression that screams disgust, he taps out his pipe, placing it securely in a small pouch at his waist. Turning to Rask, he sighs. "Think you can repeat that little performance out there?"

[3SecondCultist]

As Gander addresses the occupants of the inn, Aster looks up for just a moment to meet his eyes. She wipes a bit of Aubrin's blood from her left cheek, staring at the twin silhouettes of him and Rask set against the backdrop of the burning town. The half-elf's counsel echoes what she was already thinking... but escape right now, with just what they've got on their backs, won't be a pretty thing. But a moment's consideration is all she can afford. Aubrin's definitely not getting any better, and her own talents don't seem to be doing any good. Out of the corner of her eye, Aster sees the white-haired woman produce an unknown vial and examine it.

"Looks like it might be useful," she says as she looks at the potion. There's not much she can do for the woman with her own two hands. Still, she can hope that it's something that will patch her up. As she looks at the vial, her eyes gloss over momentarily with a green aura.

"Listen to the fellow at the door," Aster says to anyone left in earshot, her eyes never leaving her patient, even as she goes through the important town figures in her head. They might need to prioritize some of them over others, a fact that she isn't comfortable voicing out loud yet. "Once Aubrin is on her feet, we need to be ready to get out of here. Grab whatever you can and whoever you can, and be prepared to move out. We should try to consolidate our numbers and gather supplies and weapons before we try for the Fangwood. I don't know if the Legion's already got troops on Phaendar Bridge, but it's a good bet we'll need all the help we can get to push through and to safety. Besides, if we're all going to survive in the wild, we'll need provisions. Anything on the troopers, Rask?"

[Metroid33]

Rask, while searching through the Hobgoblins remains you find their two long swords, two long bows with 20 arrows each, their studded leather armors, a particularly good back pack filled with items. The back pack is master work and upon opening it Rask learns that there is the following; heavy crossbow (with 20 bolts and 10 masterwork bolts); eight clearly labeled potions of guidance; a narrow wooden stick; three coiled pieces of parchment with magical writing on them; and dried goat meat, sheep’s cheese, and a jug of sheep’s milk.

As the battle ended a large number of people poured out of the inn off to find family or try and secure there possessions. By the time Gander gets up in front of every one there is only a relatively small group of people left to hear him. Jet, the owner of the inn, and 4 others are all still unsure of what to do. Then Gander pierces their uncertainty as they start moving around the room grabbing what supplies they can.

Mornings you are able to determine that the potion is restorative in nature.

[n0ble]

Despite hearing Gander's first statement Rask didn't give it any mind or response, utterly focused on sifting through the dead's things as he was. Rask methodically draped the two bows and quivers over the longswords he planted in the flooring, looking at the the five civilians until they were paying attention before nodding at the weapons. Couldnt hurt their chances of getting out alive, even if there wasn't time for taking the armour off the hobs. As for the potions, Rask set them out on the floor and took two, leaving the other six for the more capable people in the room. He also took the heavy crossbow, the ammunition for it and backpack onto his shoulder before bundling up the wooden stick and parchments with words he couldnt read, handing them to Gander.

Rask stood up from the knee and picked up his great sword, gazing outside and then back to Gander and everyone else. A cold fury set in his bones, the kind that comes from expectations being cast down in the face of the past. It could have been right, but now it wasn't. The simplicity of the thought made Rask let out a great heave of a sigh as he looked through the remains of the door. Turning back to the others, Rask gave a steady nod at Gander's last question. There'd certainly be more killing tonight. Of that he was sure.

Spoiler: OOC

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If anyone has any problems with Rask taking the crossbow and two potions I'm happy to share them out. Especially if you think Kaitlyn could make better use of the heavy crossbow Mornings

[Farmerbink]

Gander's thin eyebrows furrow as he reaches out to receive whatever Task is thrusting towards him. Almost before he's ready for it, he's got a few scribbled parchments in his hands. "Eh? What's this?" With a second's focus, and a simple incantation, his green eyes take on a sort of filmy look, as his gaze focuses on the bundle.

Spoiler: OOC

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Detect magic time!
Also, as necessary:
Up to three spell crafts to ID scrolls: (1d20+5)[22]
(1d20+5)[12]
(1d20+5)[18]
and the wand:
(1d20+5)[18]

[3SecondCultist]

Seeing that Aubrin's condition is worsening by the second, Aster does not hesitate. From the back of her mind, the truth comes to her, as she identifies at least a few of the properties of the potion that Kaitlaea is holding onto. The ranger turned cleric isn't getting any better, despite her repeated attempts to heal her, so the shaman grabs the vial right out of the woman's hands, tilts Aubrin's head back, and pours the liquid down her patient's throat. Please let this work. Her magic has never failed her before, but now would not be a good time to start.

While she watches the progress of the draught on Aubrin's wounds, Aster notices the Taproot's proprietor gathering the supplies according to her and Gander's instructions. Jet, that's the woman's name. She nods approvingly even as she observes Aubrin's condition to see if it improves. All the while, her hands are ready to try one last-ditch effort to clean up and dress the wounds. For the first time, she notices a a few broken off shards of the bolt still stuck inside the woman, and very carefully tries to remove them before closing up the wound. For the first time, the bleeding looks like it's slowing down, before stopping entirely.

Aster breathes a small sigh of relief, patting her new ally on the back. "Thanks for the help. Let's just pray the potion does a bit more than I could. You said you were a Professor? Have you got a first name, by any chance?"

Spoiler: OOC

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A short post, but if Mornings is okay with it, then I'd like to use the potion to try and cure Aubrin, as well as making a third Heal check just to speed things along. I'll let Metroid roll for the actual healing amount, but I'll roll the check here. Oh and I'm calling dibs on any scrolls that are on Aster's spell list, since she can use them without having to roll UMD for them.

Heal (vs DC 15): (1d20+9)[26]

Edit: hooray, it actually worked! So Aubrin should be stable now at least, and at +1 hp from where she was at the round before Aster successfully administered first aid.

[Mornings]

It was bitter, and a little sweet, she couldn't help but mumble to herself as she analyzed the tonic's taste. "Anointed cloves.... or pesh..." The vial was snatched out of hand as Aster seemed to finally find her senses and set about to cleaning and mending the wound with an expert touch. "Whatever it is, it's at least restorative in one way or another. I leave the rest to you." Not bothering to wait and see how the potion interacted with the fallen cleric, she stood up and moved away with a grim look upon her face.

She moved with purpose, and a sense of determination. First, one of her bags came off her shoulder, unhitching a long wooden box from the side. A dozen clasps and a small lock were unfastened revealing a strange array of wooden and metal pieces of all shapes and sizes with no easily identifiable purpose. Strange tools were pressed into recesses in the box's interior. After the incident, she had felt a great deal of things, very few of which had been positive; but the greatest of which had been the anger. She had blamed herself, blamed her foolish ideas, her ideals, her vision. All things she now knew were faultless, her sister had chosen this. Looking at the divided parts she could only feel a sense of shame. She had tried to destroy it. In some part of her mind, she hoped beyond hope that if the object of her hubris was destroyed, she'd get her sister back; but as fate would have it, it wasn't that easy. No matter what she did, no matter what magic or fire she unleashed - it could not be unmade. It was a weapon every bit as impressive as she'd imagined, an unbreakable indestructible testament to how far they'd come. With that revelation, it was all she could do to dissemble and dismantle the thing in as small pieces as possible; a feat not easily accomplished. At the time, she had planned to never open this box again, but when she opened her sister's journals she knew it was an inevitability. She'd run in circles, now, here they were once again. Within this, thing, beneath the wooden limbs and metal throat there was a truth - a secret she dreaded to know. She couldn't deny the fear that lingered in her heart, but now, she felt strong enough to face it.

Three sectional pieces of wood came into hand first, one loosely shaped like some archaic lower receiver. The sections didn't have any discernible bolts, joints or places by which they could be joined to the other parts, only a smooth face. Carefully, she placed each section on the table, and like some pseudo-magnet the sections slammed together to form one massive stock. There were no seams or hint that the pieces had ever been divided, like some arcane puzzle box. Her hands went to work as she pulled out two long rods of eight-inch cylindrical tubes divided by small steel plates barely wider than their circumference. With a violent whip-like motion, she waved the sectional rod, the plates fell out to clatter on the ground allowing the sections to form a single solid tube - she repeated the process with the other rod before joining them both together to form a single long smooth bore barrel. The barrel likewise fused with the long stock, forming the rough shape of a firearm, but it was far too massive. With great care, she unlatched a small iron box bolted into the case, releasing crude cubes of smelted wrought iron. The cubes sprung to life, changing shape and merging with the now completed weapon. Mechanical fixtures, trigger, internal components, they all seemed to remember what they had been and returned to that form once again. She couldn't help but smirk to herself, they called her mad. They said it was impossible. They may have been right, because this wasn't within the realm of the magic they knew, it was beyond them.

The strain in her arm as she hefted the colossal seven-foot weapon off the table reminded her of the burden she now carried. It seemed a fitting device, a physical burden to match the one she wrestled within in her heart. Digging in the box, she removed a long telescopic tube, fitting it across the barrel and tightening the circular criming vices which held it firmly in place; though she doubted it would move even without the fastening. From the box, she threw a strange looking pouchless bandoleer across her shoulder. Only a single small box sat affixed to the intricately embossed leather. Flowery tooling ran along its length along with a single pair of initials reading 'G.C.' Packing up the box and refitting it to her bag, she pulled a powder horn and another small box. She stuffed the contents into the fixed box on her bandoleer and looked back at Aster as she spoke. "Yes... I am, but we can leave the formal introductions for a better time." She pulled out off the cork sealing the horn with her mouth and begun loading powder into the smaller tube hanging from the horn. Griselde had lectured her endlessly on the merits of using a charge-loader, never feeding a charge directly from the horn. She'd never loaded a cannon or similar weapon before, but the concept was fairly simple to grasp. Excess embers or heated debris after firing could be left on the barrel and ignite the contents of a horn. The same could happen with a charge-loader, but a single change wouldn't kill you if it suddenly flashed off the end of the weapon. After the charge was loaded, she poured down into the barrel, followed by a swath of cotton and a bullet from the ammunition box hanging from the bandoleer. With care, she brought the weapon to halfcock and pulled back the frizzen. Her eyes didn't leave her work as she spoke, "Professor Mayvert will do for now, or Miss Mayvert perhaps." She briefly cast a glance at the healer, "You look as old as one of my students, I must be near twice your age. So, that will have to do. Anything else would feel..." The pan was primed, and she brought the frizzen back front once again. CHINK, she brought the weapon to fullcock; ready for combat. "...Inappropriate."

Her mind was running cold, the confusion, the worry, the dread was gone. It was all gone, replaced with sense of renewed purpose. She couldn't afford to stumble and fall, there was people that needed her help, that needed this power right now. If she couldn't take responsibility now, she never would. Inside, she could feel her nerves steel for what was to come. This time she wouldn't fail.

[Farmerbink]

Gander's curious eye wanders over the room, only briefly interrupting his work of identifying the findings. His lips churn over the simple phrases, though his mind wanders elsewhere. Everyone's moving. Good, good. he ponders, as Aubrin at least seems to stop bleeding. With an air of urgency, his focus snaps back to the scrolls and what he suspects is a wand, despite the incessant clicking coming from the woman's work.

Professor something, she said?

[n0ble]

Rask tried to commit the white-haired woman's name to memory even as he took in the contraption she'd built. It looked big and unwieldy, but then again so was Rask and he was plenty dangerous to hobgoblins. Might be that whatever she'd built could help. Besides there was a grit to what she'd last said that Rask could appreciate, even if she seemed a little out of her depth despite the presence of the contraption. Only thing that seemed to need worrying about now was Aubrin and between Mayvert and Aster she seemed to be coming around as best she could. They needed to get moving soon. The gaping hole that had once been the front door made it clear to Rask that this wasn't a defensible location.

[Metroid33]

Gander is able to determine that the wand is a wand of magic missile with 11 charges, and 2 of the scrolls that are Calm animals, and magic stone.

The potion touches Aubrin's lips and immediately takes effect. The blood seems to stop flowing and the wound seems to heal just a little bit. She takes in a gasp of air eyes opening wide as she comes to. She takes a moment to listen to the surroundings. She then starts talking rappid fire trying to get all the info out as quickly as possible. "It... it sounds like there’s an army outside the door. How did they fall on us without being seen? These damn plains are so flat you can see an elk from two days off, let alone an army!” She winces and presses her hands against the bloody hole in her chest. “They sound large. Too large to fight on the ground like honest fools. We need to gather what we can, cross the bridge, and hide out in the Fangwood. I—I know a few secrets that may keep us safe. Should probably figure out how to take down the bridge while we’re at it, else they’ll just march themselves across before we have the chance to hide." Sitting up she continues "Search this place for anything useful, Jet it won't matter, hobgoblins will destroy this place. Afterwards we should hit up Oreld's, the trading company, and the temple. I'll keep you guys going as long as I can but we do need to move." She gets to her feet clearly still in pain but able to move, albeit slowly.

[3SecondCultist]

Aster stops monitoring Aubrin only as the Professor builds what looks inexplicably like a huge siege weapon in the middle of the room. Was she carrying that on her person? She's certainly not looking forward to seeing the weapon be discharged up close, but given the rapidly deteriorating state of the town outside, it's not looking like she'll have much of a choice in the matter. Momentarily distracted as she is by the various parts of Mayvert's contraption, the apprentice healer almost doesn't notice when Aubrin regains ambulatory function, but when the ranger speaks, the shaman's head whips down in her direction, a light of newfound hope in her eyes. "Thank Erastil, you pulled through! To be honest, I wasn't sure you would. Here, let me help you up." She proceeds to do just so, supporting Aubrin when necessary.

"I second your strategy, Aubrin. I was just suggesting something similar myself, in fact. I know my way around Oreld's, and it's just across the Market Green from here. We can go there first, see if he has anything in his store that might be useful for taking out the bridge. If there are any kinds of alchemical mixtures or explosives left in Phaendar that haven't yet been ignited, chances are that they're there." Aster looks around at the common room, down at the bodies of the two dead hobgoblin soldiers and then at both the half-elf and Rask, who are currently dividing up the gear that the two intruders were carrying on them when they arrived. For a moment, she feels the weight of guilt at the realization that there are probably townsfolk who these items probably belonged two before the goblinoids foolishly decided to attack the Taproot Inn. She brushes it off, telling herself that whoever was the original owner of this trove is likely already dead. For the second time that day, Aster remembers her mother's face, dead, pale, and cold, in the ashes of the camp that was her home. This time, she recognizes the memory for what it really is.

An opportunity to do better.

"Anything you know you can use, you should take. If you don't mind, I'd like a look at some of those scrolls - I think I might have experience with the kind of magic they call for. Jet, do you know if there are any patrons or belongings left upstairs? Either might prove useful, and once we leave here I wouldn't advise returning for them." She nods at the half-elf, before remembering that she doesn't know his name. "Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Aster Wintarius, I'm a healer and a mage of sorts. Who, pray tell, are you?"

Spoiler: OOC

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I'm going to go ahead and update the sheet to account for our new loot, including the Provision points and number of followers we have from the Taproot Inn as listed under the 'Starting' bracket in the Phaendar locations. Metroid, I hope it's alright that I follow along with the adventure book and do my bookkeeping as we run through this adventure. The link to the sheet is here, as well as on the first page of the OOC thread. I promise I will not use this for metagaming knowledge, I am simply interested in keeping track of everything.

Also, I'm going to have Aster take the three divine scrolls of cure light wounds, calm animals, and magic stone, since she's the only one in the party (other than Aubrin, I suppose) who can effectively use them. Hopefully that's alright with everyone.

[Farmerbink]

Gander smiles, nodding to himself as he tucks the wand into his belt. "This'll come in handy, I wager...." Turning from Rask and the door, he approaches the young oracle with his trio of scrolls nestled under his arm.

"You wound me, fair maid! How can it be, you've never heard tales of the daring adventures of old Gander?!" False self-deprecations aside, he offers her a short bow, almost losing one of the scrolls in the process. Turning his gaze down to Aubrin, he nods to indicate the woman's receding wound.

"Old Deadeye's not gonna let her go that easy- certainly not when he's still got use for her! Anyhow, if you've need to calm any animals, or kill someone with a couple roc-" his eyes widen in realization, and he begins rolling up the second scroll to tuck away alongside the wand "On second thought, I think I'll keep that one," he elucidates with a grin. "As I was saying, if you have need of befriending an animal, or... can figure out what's on this one," he raises the first and third scrolls, "they're all yours. You seem like the kind of person who might make use of it, anyway! Yeah?"

He turns to take in the last of Aubrin's frantic ramblings. "Couldn't agree more, my dear. It's somewhat past time to get a move-on!" Turning towards the door, he offers Aster a nod and a smile. "Pleased ta meet ya, lass. Shame it's like this..." With a sigh that belies his concern for Phaendar and its people, he heads towards the door. "Rask, how bad is it!?" Almost under his breath, he wonders, "The hells kinda name is that?"

[n0ble]

Rask helped ransack the place for anything of value, pitching as much as was possible into the pack slung over one shoulder. Aubrin and Aster's plan made sense to him. Protracted fighting wouldn't do. Better to run to a more favourable location to continue fighting from, if any fighting was to be had. After piling as much as he could into the backpack Rask stalked towards to the door and stooped under it's frame, greatsword draw.

He looked about the town, taking in the chaos of the sack.¹ It'd be a stupid way to die, getting a bolt in the stomach or thigh out of nowhere. Maybe he'd get lucky and a bolt would find his head. Rask had always been oddly lucky like that. Just as easily could be a villager deciding to take a swing at him, one who mistook the big half-orc for a hobgoblin. That would also be a stupid way to die, but no less than he deserved for all the years of bloodshed. Probably.

Rask shook his head of any introspection as Gander asked him how bad it looked outside the shop. He turned back from door to look at everyone before a scream rose up from somewhere in the village. Sounded like someone was being lit on fire from the way their breath caught and choked. Sounded fitful and panicked to the slayer. Seemed as good an answer as any to Rask, who gave a small, very weary shrug once the wail died out. He turned back to the doorway and began to walk out once everyone was ready, taking a hand off his sword to wave everyone into falling in behind him.

Spoiler: OOC

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¹ Perception check to see whats going on outside the shop: (1d20+6)[19]

[3SecondCultist]

"Well," Aster mutters with a half-smile at Gander's charming introduction, "if the circumstances were different, I'd say I was pleased to meet you. As it is, you'll just have to do. You're certainly capable of killing goblins, at least; we'll all be the measure of whether you're as worthy of other 'tales of adventure." As the group prepares to leave, Aster makes sure Aubrin can stand on her own, still giving Professor Mayvert and her odd construction something of a wide berth. She peers out at the devastation beyond, noticing the half-orc.

"Don't worry," the shaman says quietly to Gander on the subject of her sometimes-traveling companion, "he doesn't talk all that much to anybody. I spent perhaps three days in the wood with him, we had at most one proper conversation."

Spoiler: OOC

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Going to cast guidance and make a Perception check as well, to see if Aster catches anything else.

Perception: (1d20+9)[28]

[Mornings]

Watching them each spring into motion, she couldn't help but feel they had all seen more than simple winding roads in their adventures. There had been bloodshed and death, not like this of course. There was still confusion and worry, but the screams of dying women as they burned didn't even make them flinch. Their casual words weren't devoid of mirth as well. Aubin had nearly been slain under siege-fire and still had enough reservation to keep her wits about her the moment she regained her sense. These were, without a doubt... interesting people.

Though she hoped she wouldn't have to use it, she fit the old sword loosely slung on her pack across her belt next to a well worn fruit knife. The sword was dented and old, far larger than the short scabbard of crudely stitched leather which covered its blade. It had been a longsword... once. Griselde had used it as a demonstration of the power of her explosive weapons, shattering the thing into bits. She'd hammered the ends back into shape, and it became something of a shortsword. It hadn't meant much while her sister was alive, but after it had become another memory she just couldn't quite part with. Seeing those about her, she couldn't but feel a certain assurance; confidence in the face of such adversity. She nodded at Aubin, her words made sense, though she had a contingency in place if destroying the bridge became a factor. Patting the young man on the shoulder she couldn't help but chime in, "Well, I for one am exultant to see 'the legend' in action - burning town or no!"

Moving towards the door, she briefly slung the weapon barrel-up across a shoulder and placed her back firmly against the wall adjacent the door. Looking at the half-orc stick his head out of the door, she couldn't stop the grin from finding its way to her face as she dug through her various belt pouches. Strange iron tubes came out and she begun fixing the strange small bits together, turning a small hexagonal bolt by hand and fitting a final piece over the end which secured by a crimping vice which she tightened. Strangely shaped reflective pieces of smooth-faced glass came out into hand following the contraption. Unlike typical blown glass, there was no distortions or ripples upon their surface, and the reflection in the small mirrors was as clear and crisp as finely polished steel. "...Now, now, no need to be so hasty and risk injury just for a peek." Sliding the plates in, she adjusted a series of larger knobs while looking down the device to correct the deflection of the light. Bending the device she poked it slightly outside, looking around the corners before collapsing the periscope. She briefly held up the device for the half-orc to see before putting it away. "Quite the neat device no? It's called a periscopic lense, it allows for sight around corners without risk of injury. Allow me to assist you in the future. I might not be as familiar with combat as some, but I am very well traveled." Taking down the massive weapon from her back, she gestured to the others. "If this depot of alchemic wares turns out to have no yield, I have other solutions for the bridge. I left my horse and provisions not far from there, and I've enough oil and alchemic regents to reign fire on a bridge... or three... Though, i'd prefer not to expend my own resources towards that end. If you're all ready, we should move while we still can."

Spoiler: Action

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Kait is peaking out with her scope briefly - Take 10 [12] Perception

[Metroid33]

As everyone fans out to search the building for anything important Jet moves into the back room, remembering some supplies that may come in hand. A she opens the door she lets out gasp which is echoed by the grunts of goblin.