3SC's Ironfang Invasion IC

[3SecondCultist]

"Ironfang Invasion"

"We have suffered through a long, dark night these past years. Daily our enemies rode against us. Daily they marched through our streets and burned our homes, all in the name of their empire. But we did not surrender. They could sear our flesh, but they could never extinguish our souls. Always we fought, and like the trees around us, we took root and refused to be moved. We held fast through every storm. We met our oppressors blade for blade, axe for axe, and drove them back. We answered every arrow they fired with a hundred of our own. The price has been high, it's true. We have lost many along the way. Their bodies lie beneath us now, nourishing the very forest that has protected us all this time. We mourn their passing even as we celebrate our triumph. For today, we no longer face oppression. Today, we no longer bend beneath a chain. Today, we are free."

- Irgal Nirmath on Nirmathi Confederation, 4655 AR

---

The golden light from the half dozen fireplaces illuminate the great hall in which you now sit. Grand pillars match the contours of the sculpted walls around, forming a sort of elongated ovoid shape over two hundred feet from end to end to end. Beyond the pillars and the hearths, there don't seem to be any permanent features of this room, save for a series of great and elaborate carvings that would take years to enumerate. Instead, a series of tables and high backed chairs have been placed around the chamber's periphery. There, your audience sits: a panoply of guards dressed in hauberks and plates of brightly gleaming mail, polished shields and sharp weapons sitting in their sheaths. There are others, too – tradesmen and nobles, a few that you know. Their expressions vary from curiosity, to skepticism, to open distrust. It seems your arrival here has prompted some mixed feelings among its populace.

And in front of you, the council has already been convened. The four figures have arrayed themselves along the central table across from where you all sit, in various displays of opulence. Of the group, one of them leans forward. His dark skin and beard are a stark contrast to the brilliant gold and sapphire inlaid circlet that rests upon his brow. He has been watching you with a neutral, almost guarded expression since he entered, and has introduced the council in a polite but cool tone. Only now does he deign to address you directly.

"It seems you have quite a tale to tell us of your arrival here at our home, and I, for one, am eager to hear it. Will you not tell us of how you came here? Why not start at the beginning…"

---

Six Months Earlier

---

Phaendar's Market Festival draws a crowd from all over Nirmathas, as farmers, ranchers, and prospectors from the Nesmian Plains and the Hollow Hills gather to swap produce, ore, lumber, and livestock and to stock up on worked goods from the community's many artisans this time of year. Although, there are many who come solely to hear Aubrin the Green – the retired Chernasardo Ranger-turned-Caydenite cleric – recount bawdy tales of adventure from her youth. The Festival's main events are long since over, but the last of the sun's light bathes the town in a golden glow that speaks of the end of spring. Outside, the celebration continues, as raucous shouts carry on the twilight air. Warmed by the fires of the Taproot Inn after a long day, any levity comes as a welcome reward to the rough, earthy souls of this riverside trading town.

"So there I am, thinking, when will I ever be able to talk to a bear again? So before the grizzly can stand back up, I turn to it and say, 'All I need is the honey. You can keep the bees!'" The room erupts into laughter as Aubrin finishes her winding story and takes another long draught from her tankard, letting out a small belch that she tries to pass off as a cough. "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." Following Aubrin's tale, a few crowd members share their own boasts and jokes, most of them having already indulged in some of the Taproot's finer local ales – one of the better crops grown from last season's harvest – as Jet, the raven haired barkeep, pours another round for everyone to enjoy. Nobody has gotten too rowdy yet; for the moment the atmosphere is still a pleasant one.

"Does anyone else have any tales to share?" Aubrin starts again, looking around the room for volunteers after a short lull. "Tales of adventure, recountings of leisure… gods, anything will do!"

[Farmerbink]

An Elf near the door rises to an impressive height- easily a full head taller than most of his brethren. Nodding to the storytelling cleric, he smiles easily, drawing a series of strained mirror-images from the townspeople surrounding him. "Ah, Aubrin, I have a tale-" a quiet groan nearby draws the Elf's attention to a decidedly unpleasant face. With a chagrined expression, he shakes his head and begins lowering himself back into his seat.

"Perhaps later..." Still smiling, the Elf scans the room, leaving the floor for more-desirable candidates.

[n0ble]

The big half-orc silently raised his mug by way of acknowledging the conclusion of Aubrin's story. As he set it down on the table, the old warrior gave the bottom of the tankard a glum look before hailing a server for more. He wasn't going to tell a story, that was for sure. All the stories he had were the same and much too bloody by his reckoning. No real way to spin a tale about robbing the life from someone, even if they were a Molthuni. No way to make those kinds of stories nice or worth celebrating. Besides, even if he was a bit simple by his own estimation, the half orc knew enough to know that tales about the war would be unwelcomed at such a celebration. Doubly so coming from an outlander with the look of a mercenary about him. As a servant approached the slayer held up three fingers and gave her a smile that could curdle milk, though not by his own choice. The smile made the trio of scars under his eye bulge a bit and drew attention to the broken tusk, given his face a lopsided, squashed appearance like someone had beaten it about with a flanged mace. It wasn't all that far from the truth.

As he payed for the refill and two extra flagons, one rum and one wine, Rask arranged them in a neat triangle at his table. His hand fell down to a dagger that rested on his belt, one of the five on his person. The old man's grip lingered on it for perhaps a second too long before he casually drew it and set it in the centre of the triangle, pointed at the rum flagon that made the triangle's apex. He gave the dagger lazy spin to the right, following it with his eyes as the blade's spinning stopped after a few circles with the tip pointed at the rum. The old half orc took the beverage and downed it in a single pull, swallowing again afterwards to get rid of the burning sensation in his throat. He then repeated the action, spinning the dagger between the two remaining drinks that were arranged in a line.

As the blade lazily spun Rask looked up at the others all celebrating. Being happy. The warm feeling that filled him was a different one from the rum he'd just had. What's more it wasn't fleeting like the booze. Maybe a bit more steady, this warmness. Seemed as good a place as any for someone to retire to a quiet living. Taverns always needed bouncers, towns always needed hunters. It'd be good, if solitary. By Nulgreth he'd have to learn how to appreciate that last part, despite it having been rather constant through his life. Rask forced a smile to himself before his gaze soured as he looked down at the dagger on the table. It'd ended it's circular journey pointed directly at his wide chest. The big man sighed and spun it again, as though a great mountain was making it's presence known on his shoulders.

[PersonMan]

Eyena sits quietly - silently, really - as usual. Her eyes are firmly on Aubrin as she tells her story, though she doesn't seem to respond to the humor, apart from a brief smile, or a nod without much feeling behind it. It's only as the woman pauses, or drinks, that her gaze flickers over the rest of the room, a few quick glances going towards any entrance or window not in her immediate view. It's during these moments that she is on edge, stiffening somewhat, the hand on her weapon growing restless, before she turns back to the story's teller, slowly relaxing again until the next pause. As always, she's refused to drink anything stronger than water, an earlier episode memorable enough for Jet to not pour her something else out of habit - the last time that had happened, Eyena had spent a full hour of the evening doing little other than staring, glaring, really, at the mug until someone eventually realized, and took it as their own to let her request her preferred drink.

Now, Eyena simply takes a small drink from her mug of still-cool water, saying nothing, making eye contact with few, offering little more than a glance, small smile and slight nod to Jet as she passes by. She has stories she could tell. But doing it right would be far too difficult for her; really, it's a bit of an ordeal simply to stay around, with so many people crammed into the building, a few of which are particularly unnerving...Eyena's grip, both on the hilt of Blütenstaub and on her mug, tightens briefly as the elf steps forwards, and she turns away from him as he seems to step back again, instead looking over some of the others present. There's the smelly one, who she'd never spoken to (which, to be fair, was a category almost everyone in Phaender fit into), the ugly one drinking, the odd-looking old man...

Were it a month or two ago, Eyena would probably not even be here, having never come in or having just left almost as soon as she saw who was present. But...she is, now.

[Starbin]

Narek Skyskin

The lean blue-skinned mage sat at a table in the middle of the room, quiet as he listened to the humorous tales of Aubrin the Green. He chuckled a few times, but at odd times, such as between the punchlines. He sipped on his mug of water, leaning back in his chair.

---

He glanced across the table at Shara and Thel, smiling as he watched her feed the toddler. "This has been wonderful... hey, maybe you should tell a story! You're so good at it!" He blushed slightly, waving away her compliments. "Well, perhaps one quick tale."

---

Before Aubrin could finish asking if anyone else wanted to tell a story, Narek stood up. "And the beast slipped past the guard and found the princess. The transformation was complete and they lived happily ever after." . He looked around at the crowd, then back to the table, frowning slightly. Shaking his head, he slowly sat down, sipping his glass. He tried to ignore the looks of sympathy and odd glances from other patrons. Closing his eyes for a moment, he concentrated on the performers voice ... a voice that sounded like someone he knew long ago. Or perhaps someone he would know ...

[Lord Of Mantas]

Mort & Armina

"You're not just going to sit back and let her call go unanswered, are you?"

Near the southeast corner of the inn, a rather tall young woman dressed in ranger's clothing stood over an equally tall young man who was nursing a flagon with a rather nervous look on his face. The young woman was the picture of a storybook hero, while the man was anything but. Matted black hair and an equally tangled beard concealed a rather gaunt face, with small blue eyes peeking out from behind the locks. Over comparatively well-maintained armor, he wore a rather ragged and motheaten set of wolf furs, and he had the unmistakable odor of a peat bog about him. The young woman, on the other hand, was dressed in a ranger's clothes, with bear furs over rugged chainmail, her long hair flowing down behind a surprisingly soft face.

In fact, she would have been the perfect picture of a consummate professional, were it not for the fact that she was also a ghost, her pale blue body just ever-so-slightly translucent in her current form. Naturally, this resulted in the pair of them getting several odd looks, particularly from those who had just come into town for the festival.

Looking up at the ghostly woman, the man trembled slightly as he replied with a slight stutter in his voice, one that I will not be reproducing for the purposes of legibility.

"I can't speak in front of everyone, Armina! I'm not good with crowds or situations like this, you know that."

"Haven't we been working on this? You can't just let others take the lead forever. You need to gain some confidence if you ever want to get ahead, little brother."

Armina floated down gently, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. Contrary to what most would expect from a ghost, her hand gently rested on it, rather than going through, and he did not shy away from her touch.

"I know, I know, it's just, every single time I try to get along in situations like this, I always find a way to screw up. There's a reason I work with Aubrin, remember - in our line of work I don't have to talk so much as I just have to be handy with my scythe."

The man's hand traced a long staff that, unlike most, was oddly knobbed at the end.

Spoiler: Bluff 15 or Knowledge (Local) 10

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You recognize that the staff Mort is carrying is not, in fact, a staff, but is actually a weapon called a switchscythe, a long rod with a hidden retractable scythe blade in the end.

"Relax, Mortimer. You have me here with you. That's my entire reason for being here, yes?"

Armina gently patted Mort, a reassuring look on her face.

"You've been getting better. Last time you tried telling a tale you only screwed up twice, and even then only near the end."

Mort fixed his deceased sister with a flat glare. "How very reassuring."

"Look, my point is this. Remember what I've told you. Deep breaths, don't keep going when you're out of breath, think of what you say before you say it, and just imagine that you're telling it to me. Now choose a story, and go out there and tell them."

Despite himself, Mortimer looked encouraged. "Hrm... Well, what about-"

"And the time you saw a horse kick a woodchuck over a fence doesn't count, no."

Spoiler: OOC

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This is one of the many things that happens when your ghostly sister has a higher charisma score than you.

Taking a few deep breaths, Mortimer closed his eyes, as if deep in thought. Then, standing up, he coughed loudly. "U-um, Aubrin, if no-one else will, I'll give it a go."

"R-right. So, today's the Market Festival, you all know that, of course, and I was basically in charge of making sure of keeping the peace, helping stand owners with any troubles, that sort of thing. So I'm patrolling, minding my own business, when I hear the all-too-familiar call of 'Stop! Thief!' and I see this young'un streaking away like a bat out of the nine hells with a growler of ale under his arm. Naturally, I give chase, but, well, it's not so easy to keep up with a young man like that in heavy metal armor -"

Mort paused for a second and shrugged his shoulders, letting his chainmail let out a soft 'chink' sound.

"-and I start to lose him. Which wasn't helped when he tipped over a box of watermelons and I tripped on them and went splat. Anyway, somehow despite that I managed to keep a tail on him until we hit the town's edge and we hit a pasture. I'm losing my breath, he's far ahead, and as I'm about to collapse he hurdles the fence and calls out, 'So long, sucker!'"

Mortimer paused for a breath. This is the good part. Stay on target.

"But then, 10 seconds later, get this. I hear this great big bellow, a squeal of utter fear, and then the boy comes charging back screaming 'Help me, sucker!' And right behind him, mad as a nest of hornets, is Old Man Henderson's prize bull. The boy's real afraid, and he is booking it, fast as he can. He got to the fence, was almost clear - when the bull reaches him and, well, I didn't get a good look, but from the splintering of wood and the squeal that came out of his mouth I'm pretty sure the bull got him right in the tenders. Anyway, he goes tumbling, the growler goes flying through the air, and I leap for it... and I miss and fall right into the muck."

"Despite that, by some miracle, the growler landed on my back, and it turns out my cloak was enough to keep it from busting open. So I grabbed the boy, hauled him and the growler back, and his folks made him pay for it and the watermelons before hauling him off and tanning his hide. Now that's what I call a happy ending."

Mort then glanced briefly back at Armina, who winked at him.

Good job.

Spoiler: OOC

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For the record, in case the situational clues I left weren't enough, Armina is currently manifested in ectoplasmic form.

[3SecondCultist]

The Fangs Are Bared

At first, the small group of people in the Taproot - there can't be more than fifteen of you in all - seems to consist of wary gazes and little whisperings as Mortimer's ghostly sister appears and seems to host a conversation with her still living relative. But most of them quiet when the man starts to speak. As the story continues, there are a few in the Inn who seem skeptical of its events, perhaps reading into Mort's uncertainty at the start of his tale. Jet and Aubrin both listen intently, however, the green-cloaked ranger letting out a little guffaw and the barmaid smiling ruefully as the man with the switchscythe relays the story of falling into the mud. One of the fellows sitting at a stool starts to interrupt with "Hey, I know that young'un! Saw 'im -" but Jet cuts him off with a sharp elbow over the bar to let Mortimer continue. By the time he's finished, he gets a ragged round of applause.

When Mortimer is done, there's a bit of a lull for a few moments, during which you hear what sounds like a loud wind outside. It seems nothing of import, and so it's largely ignored in favor of a few bawdy tavern songs. One of the men sitting at a nearby table, a well-to do trader no doubt from Tamran, pulls out a little flute and starts a jaunty melody, which most if not all Nirmathi recognize as 'The Lay of Summer', a famous peacetime composition. After a while, someone tops off Aubrin's tankard and pushes her back into the center of the room. A few more of the locals have gone home, but there are still a few other patrons around besides yourselves. "All right, all right! No need to shove," the cleric slurs a bit. "Okay, Cayden strike me down if this isn't true -"

With no warning, 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 gaping wound in her chest. She does not rise, and yet still breathes. A ballista bolt still quivers in the wall behind her. A trio hobgoblins in military dress stand beyond the shattered door, blades drawn and thirsty for blood. They cut down a woman standing near the door as they step over the threshold and into the room. The hobgoblin in front, who has a few more piercings on his face than the others, growls at the room's current occupants:

"Everyone listen up! As of right now, you're all our property. The time of the wolf has come – submit or die!"

Behind the group of invaders, lit by the glow of burning homes, dozens – perhaps hundreds – of hobgoblin soldiers march through the still populated streets. The gray and green skin of the invaders looks pale in the light of the new fires. Phaendar burns, shouts of celebration now replaced by the panicked screams of the frightened, wounded, and dying. The hobgoblins are everywhere. And behind the hordes, above the flames and humble rooftops, rises a solitary tower of black stone.

Spoiler: OOC - Start of Combat

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Roll20 Map

Okay, so it's combat time! This AP doesn't mess around with throwing you all into the deep end. I've rolled for Initiative in the OOC thread. Given my results, Rask, Narek, and Mortimer can all go now in whatever order you want, then I'll have the remaining hobs act for Round 1, and then you can all post again (with the first three posting their Round 2 actions, and Eyena and Gilraen posting theirs for the bottom of Round 1). Please keep track of what round you're acting in on your own. This is what I usually like to do to keep combat going smoothly.

Alright, let 'em have it!

Spoiler: Knowledge (History) or (Local) DC 16

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The three hobgoblins all wear a red insignia with a dagger and white stars on the shoulder of their uniforms. The insignia is that of the Ironfang Legion, a mercenary army that was in part responsible for the Ramgate Massacre two years ago, but has been absent from the battlefield ever since.

[Lord Of Mantas]

Mort & Armina

As the ballista bolt struck Aubrin in the chest, Mort stared in horror.

"Armina! NO!"

Then, as the hobgoblins burst through the door, Mort's attention was drawn to their crest.

The Ironfang Legion.

Grabbing his scythe, Mort depressed the button to release the blade and let out an unearthly snarl.

"The only ones dying today are YOU!"

And he charged at the one in front, Armina close beside him, a spectral fist hurtling toward the goblin's face.

Spoiler: Actions

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Mort's Attack: (1d20+3)[6]
Damage: (2d4+4)[9]

Armina's Attack: (1d20+2)[5]
Damage: (1d6+1)[2]

Unfortunately, both Mort and Armina's attacks went wide, Mort's eyes widening a little.

"Well, this is going to be a fine mess."

[n0ble]

Rask had sat up and tucked the dagger back into it's sheath, trying to decide whether to leave the two remaining drinks unfinished. Then the door exploded and the whole scene changed before his eyes. He barely registered the wet sucking sounds that passed for Aubrin's breathing. Nor did he particularly note the details outside the building. What the old orc did see was red seeping from the murdered woman on the ground and on the swords that brought her down. He gave a wordless roar, powering forward towards the closest hob while unsheathing that massive slab of metal on his back that passed for a sword. It was a familiar strike, bringing the momentum of the blade down at the place where the Ironfang's shoulder and neck met. One way or another he'd spill red again before the night was over.

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: The angriest charge attack ever
Move 10ft and draw the great sword as part of the charge
Attack
To hit (power attacking): (1d20+6)[25]
Damage: (2d6+9)[12]
Extra Crit damage if needed: (1d6)[3]

[Starbin]

Narek Skyskin

Narek opened his eyes as someone new spoke. He recognized the boy with the ghost, Mortimer and ArMina, wasn't it? He remembered them because the girl was a facinating conversationalist; the lad not so much. As the story unfolded, he leaned back in his chair, focused.

"...'Stop! Thief!' and I see this young'un streaking away like a bat out of the nine hells with a growler of ale under his arm. Naturally, I give chase, but, well, it's not so easy to keep up with a young man like that in heavy metal armor ..."

Thel ...

"So I grabbed the boy, hauled him and the growler back, and his folks made him pay for it and the watermelons before hauling him off and tanning his hide. Now that's what I call a happy ending."

Narek shook his head images of a young man, defiant in his actions, eyes blazing as he looked at his father ... Son? Brother? Me?

He took a sip of water when a slight chirp caught his attention. Behind him, a small swoop lizard raised its head from the nest it had made of Narek's cloak, its master's agitation obviously waking it. He reached down to scratch its chin, murmuring, "Ssssh, Visk... it's all right. Just some memories..." The winged lizard stared for a momen, then chirped quietly and lay back down.

As he reached for his drink, Narek felt an odd sensation ...

---

The door burst in as three huge creatures made their way into the room. They shouted out in an unintelligible language, then proceeded to slaughter everyone in reach, He leapt to his feet, words of righteous anger rolling from his tongue as more dark figures rushed in ...

---

The man across from Narek stared at him in nervous surprise, wondering why the odd mage had stood suddenly with his glass raised to the door. "What ha-" Suddenly the door burst open and Aubrine dropped to the ground screaming. Hobgoblins rushed in behind, shouting for their surrender. Narek's eyes narrowed at the sight of their insignias - the Ironfang Legion...

---

He rushed towards the house, the once cute garden trampled and crushed. The door was barely hanging on by the hinge. He rushed in to see two hobgoblins watching as another held a woman - Shala - by her hair, screaming. One of the hobs held the boy - Thal - as they laughed evilly. Silently, he rushed forward, his hand glowing. The screams of hobgoblins joined those of the woman ...

---

Blinking away the vision, Narek watched as the boy and his ghostly sister rushed into combat. He saw Aubrin laying in a pool of growing blood, but leaving the hobgoblins free to attack wouldn't help. The normally even-tempered Samsaran grew angry, enraged on several levels. He shouted, "You'll regret attacking this town, Ironfang murderers! Mark my words you bastich scum you'll pay with your lives!" Reaching into his pouch, Narek pulled forth a bit of pale butter and tossed it towards two of the Legion as he cast a spell. The floor underneath them took on an oily sheen, becoming as slick as ice. Then he slipped forward to help the druid, reaching down to try and stop her bleeding.

Spoiler: Rnd 1

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Cast grease in the square conveniently marked on Roll20 (DC 15), then move action to be next to Aubrin. Will try an untrained Heal check next round (with prescience)

Status
AC: 12 HP: 7 Init +9 Move 30'
F +0 R +2 W +4
Spells: prestidigitation, detect magic, message; grease, mage armor, heightened awareness
Prescience: 7/7
Effect: grease 10 rnds

[3SecondCultist]

The tavern seems to erupt into frantic movement as the first of you react to the hobgoblins' arrival. Mortimer is first to enter the melee, staff turned into scythe as he takes a swing. Next to him, his ectoplasmic companion does her best as well. It seems the Ironfang troops were prepared for a direct assault from the front, however, and manage to parry or dodge the spiritualist and the phantom's attacks. The hobgoblin in front snarls at Mort in preparation for a counterattack. But none of them seemed to pay Rask any attention, a fault that costs one of them their lives. With a mighty yell, the half-orc closes the distance, his greatsword biting down between its target's shoulder and neck. By the time the weapon has completed its downward arc, the hobgoblin falls away into several fleshy pieces, dark arterial blood pumping out and staining the floorboards of the Taproot Inn. Your enemy doesn't even have time to scream.

The other patrons of the tavern, however, are making quite a bit of noise. The trader formerly playing the flute quickly runs towards the bar, and the surviving woman near the doors scurries to crouch behind the nearest table. Jet tries calling them all to take cover with her, but most of them stay closer to where they were, lest they get caught in some sort of crossfire. And not a moment too soon, as Narek stands in order to fling his magic towards the hobgoblin soldiers. As the wizard completes his spell, the blood-slicked wood near the door becomes extra viscous, gleaming in the torchlight. While one of the assailants manages to keep his footing, his squad-mate is not so lucky, and tumbles to the ground with a great crash. The two members of the Ironfang Legion try their best to recover. The first slides nimbly over the ground around the fallen body of his comrade to lash out at Rask with his own sword in retaliation, while the second hauls himself back up to his feet and moves to engage Mortimer. Both creatures miss their targets - it would seem that the spell and the early death of one of the three troopers has put a damper on their assault.

As Narek approaches the center of the room, he sees that Aubrin's condition does not improve. Still coughing up blood, the ranger looks like she's on the verge of unconsciousness. Who knows how long she will last after she passes through that door?

Spoiler: Round 1 OOC

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Updated Map

Well, at least some of you have made an impression! Rask's confirmed critical hit did more than enough damage to straight up kill the hobgoblin he targeted. Unfortunately Mort missed, but one of the hobgoblins failed the save against Narek's grease spell. While they were able to recover by using up their move actions and made their Acrobatics checks, both of their attacks failed this turn. You guys are still coming out of this one pretty well ahead, so far. Everyone should be able to take their actions now, whether for Round 1 or Round 2 (please indicate which one, since I might forget and we'll lose track of the combat).

Oh, and Aubrin took 3 bleed damage for Round 1. Any of you can heal her with a DC 15 Heal check or any amount of magical healing.

[Starbin]

Narek Skyskin

Narek pushed aside the distractions of the chaos swirling around him - for now, his focus was on the woman dying in his arms. He couldn't afford to lose sight of what was important ...

---

He stared down at Shana, eyes bright with tears. She was breathing so slowly, her chest shuddering with effort. He glanced down at the growing red splotch on her stomach, trying to ignore what he knew to be the truth.

She was dying ...

---

Glancing over at the man who had been at his table, he whispered urgently, "Get over here and help!" Then, without waiting to see if the man responded, he ripped off his sleeve from his tunic and looked for the best place to staunch the flow of blood. His eyes narrowed, glazing slightly, as the wound began to waver between tightly bandaged, freely flowing, and rotting with gangrene. With a deep breath he leaned forward.

Spoiler: Rnd 2

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Alright, using a prescience. (1d20)[13]. Then trying an untrained first aid check Heal vs DC15 - (1d20+2)[20]. I'll use the extra roll if necessary. If he's successful, he'll try to move Aubrin back out of harm's way.

I'm hoping my call for help can come at the end of round 1 to get one of those chumps to aid another maybe.

Status
AC: 12 HP: 7 Init +9 Move 30'
F +0 R +2 W +4
Spells: prestidigitation, detect magic, message; grease, mage armor, heightened awareness
Prescience: 6/7
Effect: grease 9 rnds; Roll of 13 available until the end of the round.

EDIT: looks like I didn't need the extra roll, so it's available until the end of the round.

[Lord Of Mantas]

Mort & Armina

As the fight truly began to pick up, Mort internally pumped his fist in victory as a rather rugged and scarred-over half-orc - Rask, I believe - cut one of the hobgoblins in half with one clean stroke. A bolt of magic then came from behind, and while the grease that subsequently enveloped the floor was not enough to keep the hobgoblins down, it afforded enough of a delay the Mort was able to dodge the follow-up swing. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder, and saw the blue-skinned wizard - Narek Skyskin? - kneel beside Aubrin and begin to apply first aid.

She will be alright. For now... focus on the task at hand.

"Armina! With me!"

"My pleasure!"

Scythe and ghostly fist flashed downward...

Spoiler: Actions

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Mort's Attack: (1d20+3)[15]
Damage: (2d4+4)[10]

Armina's Attack: (1d20+2)[13]
Damage: (1d6+1)[6]

[n0ble]

The big man rode out the momentum from the swing, spinning around in a manner that caused his backside to catch the gore from his strike. As he turned, time seemed to slow as it so often did when Rask found him amidst those that would hurt him. He took in Aubrin and the man tending to her, making sure she wouldn't choke out her last on the floor. A man with a scythe and possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen beating on a hob together. Aint as though he ever had a chance at such a beauty. Nor that he stood a chance in regards to courting it. Especially not now. To stand for much of anything was a mighty task indeed, especially the love of another. But he had a blade in his hand and that meant he could at least stand for being alive. The big man swung his iron around in an upward blow, ignoring the blade that dragged across his shoulder while he cut up past what he jugged to be the new Hob's guard. From groin to head.

Spoiler: Round 2

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Rask
Male N Half-orc Slayer (Vanguard), Level 1, Init 5, HP 13/13, 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)
Dagger +3 (1d4+4, x3)
Chain Shirt (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 9, Wis 14, Cha 7
Condition None


Actions
Movement: Studied Strike for +1 to hit and damage against the hobgoblin in front of Rask
Standard Action: Single Attack. To hit (power attacking): (1d20+5)[12]
Damage: (2d5+10)[16]
Critical confirmation: (1d20+5)[19]
Critical hit damage (we gone do it right this time ): (2d6+10)[15]

[PersonMan]

The moment of stillness that began as the door exploded ends, Eyena rising with a few whispered words of Elven under her breath, drawing her weapon and approaching the combat, standing taller than normal, moving with a determined purpose that most in the room likely haven't seen her with before. Not that there's time to wonder about that, given the circumstances. Advancing, she takes a few quicker steps, until she comes to the table, jumping onto its surface; with a practiced sweep of her leg she hooks her foot around the mugs still atop it, clearing the table with a few clattering noises that would seem loud, were it not for the screaming and dying going on at the same time.

Stepping towards the center of the table, to avoid it beginning to tip due to her weight, Eyena looks down at the closer hobgoblin with a cool gaze, weapon ready.

Spoiler: Round 3,182

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Moving and drawing weapon.

It will be sad if this hobgoblin dies before Eyena can move, here she has the high ground and that awesome +1 attack bonus if he doesn't.

[Farmerbink]

Gilraen rises slowly, taken by surprise by the invasive Hobgoblins. With a silent curse for ale dulling his senses, he draws his bow, only to look up and realize that the scene is decidedly worse than he first thought. Aubrin lies bleeding, and a mass of flesh stands about near the entrance- effectively protecting his quarry from his arrows. Groaning under his breath, Gilraen takes a moment to consider the melee, and narrows his eyes in focus.

A few breaths later, his bow rises...

Spoiler: Gilraen, round 1

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Gilraen Súrion
M CG Elf Oracle (warsighted), Level 1, Init 5, HP 10/10, Speed 30
AC 13, Touch 13, Flat-footed 10, CMD 15, Fort 2, Ref 3, Will 1, CMB +2, Base Attack Bonus 0
PBS short bow (40 arrows) +3 (1d6, x3 )
quarterstaff +2 (1d6+2, x2)
(+3 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 13
Condition Spells, 1st level: 4/4 remaining
Martial Flexibility: 3/4
Precise shot: 10 rounds

Move action: draw bow
Move action: Martial Flexibility for precise shot

[3SecondCultist]

What promised with Rask's first stoke to be a bloody battle has yet to shed any more, as the hobgoblins close in to engage. In front, both Mortimer and Armina fail to connect with their opponent, the hobgoblin taking them on his armor. Not a few paces away, the second remaining attacker dodges a clumsy follow up swing from the half orc. And while Eyena clambers up to gain the high ground, she doesn't have time to try and attack the monstrous soldier beneath her feet. Thankfully for you, the civilians seem well out of the way now - whether you wanted them to help you or not is another matter. Narek finds himself alone, patching up Aubrin to the best of his ability and finding himself succeeding, despite the odds. The woman on the floor gasps a little bit more as the wound is closed. "Tha...thank you," she whispers to the mage.

The hobgoblins, not eager to see these upstart humans and others live, launch into a ferocious counter. Or at least, it would be, if both of the creatures didn't all but trip and fall on their swords in an attempt to get at any of you. At least their discipline holds, as neither of them seem willing to break rank in the face of their early failures. Instead, the one fighting Rask slips further away to the south, so as to engage the big warrior alone, while his partner tries to maneuver himself out of the supernaturally greased area. Unfortunately for him, his movement proves to be a further blunder, as he promptly slips and falls once again. He looks up with a fearful snarl, matching eyes with Gilraen as the elf lines up his next shot, and anticipating the worst.

Spoiler: Round 2 OOC

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Updated Map

A pretty uneventful round, a bunch of misses all around (got three nat 1s from the hobgoblins). Just keep swimming swinging! Aubrin is not about to bleed out anymore, so nice work on that front.

Also, I'm going to offer some unsolicited advice: this whole first part is a marathon, not a race. I won't say exactly how many encounters you'll have before being able to rest, but I can say that's it's going to be higher than average. As such, you guys should try to conserve your resources.

[PersonMan]

Eyena's perception changes, as the fight begins. While she's certainly aware of the retreat of the unarmed to the back of the room, to the violent exchange off to the side, to Aubrin being tended to, it doesn't enter the focus of her mind, which is occupied solely by the opponent before her. It's an unusual situation, to be certain. In her hours of practice, she had never found herself on a table, looking down on an opponent lying on a floor slick with a a slippery covering. But the fundamentals are the same. An opportunity is presented, and she strikes. No hesitation, no thought. Just action.

Spoiler: Round 2

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Eyena activates Sword Attack, bringing her daily uses from 14,400 to 14,399.

Swinging at +1 due to high ground, at a target with Prone AC penalties...don't think anything flashy is needed here.
A: (1d20+4)[8]
D: (1d10+3)[13]

[n0ble]

Rask let the upward slash take the sword back over his head before he threw a gaze at the Hob's torso. He then swung the blade back down on a diagonal, aimed at the enemy's shoulder. As he brought the iron down, Rask stepped forward in an effort to add more weight to the weapons impact. There wasn't anything to his mind except the blood pounding through his ears, the weapon in his hands and the man in front of him.

Spoiler: Round 3

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Rask
Male N Half-orc Slayer (Vanguard), Level 1, Init 5, HP 13/13, 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)
Dagger +3 (1d4+4, x3)
Chain Shirt (+4 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 9, Wis 14, Cha 7
Condition None

Standard Action: Attack (power attacking, studied target still in effect)

To hit: (1d20+5)[17]
Damage: (2d6+10)[16]
Critical Hit confirmation: (1d20+5)[13]
Critical hit damage: (2d6+10)[15]

[Farmerbink]

His eyes scanning perpetually, Gilraen notices a brief pattern in the frenzied dance of death. Eyes widen in realization as his arms move of their own accord. The quiet thrum of plucked string accompanies his arrow's flight.

Spoiler: Gilraen, round 2

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Gilraen Súrion
M CG Elf Oracle (warsighted), Level 1, Init 5, HP 10/10, Speed 30
AC 13, Touch 13, Flat-footed 10, CMD 15, Fort 2, Ref 3, Will 1, CMB +2, Base Attack Bonus 0
PBS short bow (40 arrows) +3 (1d6, x3 )
quarterstaff +2 (1d6+2, x2)
(+3 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 13
Condition Spells, 1st level: 4/4 remaining
Martial Flexibility: 3/4
Precise shot: 10 rounds

pew pew?
(1d20+3)[9] short bow (precise shot, not improved)
(1d20+3)[15] CC (23, x3)
(1d6)[3] dmg
(2d6)[7] crit bonus

[Lord Of Mantas]

Mort & Armina

Mort gritted his teeth as his scythe blade deflected off the Hobgoblin's armor.

I have to get through. Swinging on our own, Armina and my attacks won't get through. But if we team up...

"Armina! Pressure him!"

"On it!"

As Armina got up into the hobgoblin's face, forcing him on the defensive, Mort struck again...

"The Ironfang Legion goes no further!"

Spoiler: Actions

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Coming at this from a different angle.

Armina will first roll to Aid Another on Mort's next attack vs the Hob.

Aid Another (vs DC 10): (1d20+2)[14]. If this meets the DC, Mort gets +2 to his next attack.

Mort's Attack: (1d20+3)[7]
Damage: (2d4+4)[8]

Despite Mort's best efforts, however, the Hobgoblin remained able to sidestep the attack.

[3SecondCultist]

The battle for the Taproot Inn does not seem to be quite as decisive as it appeared at first. Despite your early victories, two of the three hobgoblins remain standing. The leader, whose piercings are now covered in blood due to Rask's sword cuts, staggers and nearly collapses under the weight of his own injuries. And yet he does not fall. The rest of your attacks are of little to no effect, whether that take the form of Gilraen's arrow missing its mark or Eyena's bastard sword going wide. The leader grimaces at Rask through the red haze that covers his eyes. "Cut me down, will you?" he cries, "I'll make sure to bring you with me!" Suddenly, his long sword flicks out and catches the half-orc in the abdomen, opening a deep cut that would have felled a lesser man. That Rask is still conscious is more of a testament to his fortitude than anything else.

As Narek starts to drag Aubrin away, she groans faintly. "Fine... I'm fine. Help me up, will you?" She extends her hand for him to haul her up to her feet.

The second Ironfang soldier lies in the middle of the floor, amazed that he has not yet been killed by the two adventurers and the ghost before him. Laboriously he gets back up to his feet, managing to dodge both Mortimer and Armina's reactive attacks. However, the magus' sword is another story entirely. As he rises, the hobgoblin leaves one last critical opening for Eyena to take advantage of, and Blütenstaub all but cuts off his arm. He screams out in evident pain, his blood spattering around the inn and joining that of his dead partner. It's not enough to kill him though, and as he recovers his own sword leaps up to bury itself deep in Eyena's midsection.

Spoiler: Round 3 OOC

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Updated Map

Woo, this round was a doozy. Rask almost killed the one hobgoblin, but the enemy survived in order to deal 9 damage right back to him. Meanwhile, literally the entire rest of the party missed their targets this round. Not your fault, the dice are fickle. Case in point, the hobgoblin getting up dodged 2/3 of the AoOs and survived a third, in order to deal 10 damage to Eyena. She is now disabled at 0 hp.

You know, the last time I participated in this fight, we wiped out the hobgoblins in less than 2 full turns. There was only a pair of them that time, but still, damn.

[Starbin]

Narek Skyskin

Narek helped Aubrin to her feet. He tried to focus on the woman, ignoring the shouts and cries of pain around him. Head down, he kept his gaze at the ranger's legs ...

---

... watching the blood trail behind her as he pulled her away from combat. To the side, a huge beast of a man roars in pain as a staggering hobgoblin cuts him deep. Another cry cuts through the combat, a woman on the table drops to one knee, nearly eviscerated by a savage slash from another hob. The woman he is pulling carefully stirs, murmurs faintly, "Fine... I'm fine. Help me up, will you?" He struggles to pull her to her feet, looking at her closely before nodding and stepping forward towards the battle.

As he calls upon his power, creating an invisible suit of armor around his skin, the fight shifts quickly ... for the worse. The man in front of him dies swiftly as the Legionnaire in front of him slashes right through his neck, sending his head flying through the ghostly woman to his right, her anguished wail chilling all to the bone. The other hobgoblin manages to step inside the big man's attack and bury his blade to the hilt in his chest.

Even as he tried to stagger back, the hobgoblins rushed forward, blades descending upon his head...

---

Gasping, Narek blinked, his skin crawling with goosebumps as if someone had just spat on his grave. He glanced down at Aubrin who was struggling to rise. "Fine... I'm fine. Help me up, will you?" Frowning, he helped her to her feet, then looked across the battle. To one side, Rask grunted in pain as a staggering hobgoblin cut him deep. On the table in front of him, Eyena almost dropped to her knees, nearly eviscerated by a savage slash from another hob.

Shaking his head, Narek stepped forward and called upon his powers, flicking his hands toward the hobgoblin standing in the grease. A sheet of impossibly smooth metal formed under the creature's feet. "See if you can stand on that, Legion dog!"

Spoiler: Rnd 4

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Move to stand behind Mort, cast prestidigitation and create a thin metal sheet under the hobgoblin's feet.

Status
AC: 12 HP: 7 Init +9 Move 30'
F +0 R +2 W +4
Spells: prestidigitation, detect magic, message; grease, mage armor, heightened awareness
Prescience: 6/7
Effect: grease 7 rnds; prestidigitation (1hr)

[n0ble]

The big man grunted as the blade made contact with his body and the bottom part of his ribcage. Rask tottered back from the blow and grunted again, more in recognition of the blow and blood that flowed from it than the pain that followed. As he swayed away, the big half-orc swung his sword wide at the Hob's midsection even as he all but fell back from his opponent. There was little thought given to his own death, for the others in the room seemed as though they could heal him. Maybe he could get his guts stitched up if he made it through. Or maybe not.

Spoiler: Round 4

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Standard Action Attack, not power attacking but including the hit and damage bonuses from studied target.

Attack Roll (1d20+6)[24]
Damage: (2d6+6)[14]
Critical confirmation: (1d20+7)[27]
Critical Hit Damage: (2d6+7)[11]

[Lord Of Mantas]

Mort & Armina

Mort's eyes widened as the hobgoblin struck Eyena with his own sword, staggering the woman, and Rask received his own wound. The relief he felt when the half-orc executed the other enemy was palpable, but he remained anxious.

We cannot let him strike again. One more good hit on Eyena and she's finished.

Ashava, if you can hear me, guide my scythe!

"RAAAAAGGH!"

Armina once more pressured the Hobgoblin as Mortimer struck a fourth time...

Spoiler: Actions

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Armina's Aid Another: (1d20+2)[8]

Mort's Attack: (1d20+3)[5]
Damage: (2d4+4)[7]

Sadly, Mort's Attack was in vain, the hobgoblin easily sidestepping the attack.

[PersonMan]

Eyena stays surprisingly quiet despite the massive wound inflicted on her, pausing for just a moment as Mortimer attacks, her plan coming together a moment before she performs it, swinging again before pulling away under the cover of a pair of wide swings that keep the hobgoblin from exploiting the potential opening.

Spoiler: OOC

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Well, Staggered says Free/Swift/Immediate actions are good, and 5' Step doesn't have a listed action type, so I'm thinking Attack -> 5' Step is a legal move.

A: (1d20+4)[13]
D: (1d10+3)[6]

[Farmerbink]

Giraen's eyes widen as the townspeople are all-but cut down around him. Shocked by the sudden brutality of their foe's assault, for a moment the Elf wonders what exactly made him think he was every cut out to be one of the Rangers. Didn't even know they were here! He silently chastises himself as another arrow streaks into the fray.

Spoiler: Gilraen, round 3

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Gilraen Súrion
M CG Elf Oracle (warsighted), Level 1, Init 5, HP 10/10, Speed 30
AC 13, Touch 13, Flat-footed 10, CMD 15, Fort 2, Ref 3, Will 1, CMB +2, Base Attack Bonus 0
PBS short bow (40 arrows) +3 (1d6, x3 )
quarterstaff +2 (1d6+2, x2)
(+3 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 13
Condition Spells, 1st level: 4/4 remaining
Martial Flexibility: 3/4
Precise shot: 8 rounds

pew pew?
(1d20+3)[6] short bow (precise shot, not improved)
(1d20+3)[22] CC (23, x3)
(1d6)[1] dmg
(2d6)[6] crit bonus

[3SecondCultist]

Mortimer's luck seems heavily against him, as his switchscythe misses his target for the fourth time, despite Armina's assistance. The Ironfang soldier grins as Eyena is forced to retreat, not seeming to care about his own wound, and advances on the spiritualist, preparing to launch his next attack. Out of the corner of his eyes, Mort sees the various inn-goers gathered together near Jet and the bar. He knows what will very likely happen to them should the defensive line fall. Meanwhile, the heavily wounded hobgoblin to the west roars in triumph as he scores a major blow against Rask, only to to be cut down in a single blow by his opponent. His body tumbles to the floor, never to rise again.

With Narek's help, Aubrin finally rises to her feet, her clothes still covered in blood. Reaching into her pocket, she produces a scroll to give to the wizard. "Use this if you want to increase the strength of your friends," she says, following Narek's gaze at the battle, although the cleric focuses on a different facet of the fight. As Eyena stumbles backwards off of the table, on the verge of collapse, Aubrin steps forward, her hand supporting the other woman. Healing energies close the worst of the magus' wounds, restoring some of the colour to her face. The mage's own efforts to create a distraction and capitalize on the spell he's already cast seem like they're working, but the goblinoid sidesteps it and finds his footing. As he moves, he dodges Gilraen's shot, which goes wide. He barely even registers the attempts to trip him up, his sword raised high for a deadly stroke. Thankfully, his wounded arm slows his swing enough for Mortimer to emerge unscathed.

Spoiler: Round 4 OOC

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Updated Map

That's two dead hobs for Rask! This last one has rolled fairly well, however, and beat the DC for Narek's distraction with prestidigitation. He missed against Mortimer this round though. Eyena would have dropped into the negatives, but Aubrin came to her rescue, healing her for 6 hp. Gilraen missed too. Apparently, Rask is some sort of luck vampire for this group. Hopefully you guys can end this quickly!

Edit: I forgot that Aubrin gave a scroll of bull's strength to Narek this round as her move action.

[Farmerbink]

Gilraen groans as he retrieves another arrow. Without a word, he lets fly.

Spoiler: Gilraen, round 3

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Gilraen Súrion
M CG Elf Oracle (warsighted), Level 1, Init 5, HP 10/10, Speed 30
AC 13, Touch 13, Flat-footed 10, CMD 15, Fort 2, Ref 3, Will 1, CMB +2, Base Attack Bonus 0
PBS short bow (40 arrows) +3 (1d6, x3 )
quarterstaff +2 (1d6+2, x2)
(+3 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 13
Condition Spells, 1st level: 4/4 remaining
Martial Flexibility: 3/4
Precise shot: 8 rounds

pew pew? Come ON!
(1d20+3)[22] short bow (precise shot, not improved)
(1d20+3)[17] CC (23, x3)
(1d6)[1] dmg
(2d6)[2] crit bonus

[PersonMan]

Eyena stares at Aubrin, for a moment, before nodding, turning back to the fight without actually saying a word; her normal reaction to an unexpected touch seemingly one of the things subsumed by her focus on the battle, as she steps forwards on the table again, readying her weapon and attacking once more.

Spoiler: Actions, End of Round 4

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Just stepping up and swinging.

A: (1d20+4)[22]
D: (1d10+3)[5]