Re: Chapter Two

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl looks pale and faint, blood seeps from the corners of his eyes, nose, ears, mouth, and fingernails. Despite a moment of inactivity, he still breathes long, nearly wheezing breaths. He shakes his head to any question about his ability, "I can hardly stand and fire this crossbow, let alone summon the strength to marshal arcane energy. Only minor tricks and subtle manipulations," he coughs quietly several times. "Rest, I need rest in order to do anything effective."

He does his best to stand upright, wincing in obvious pain and exhaustion. "But I know for a fact we can't stay here. I can make a small distraction to buy us some time, but sooner or later we are going to have to rush out of those doors." He looks appraisingly at his comrades, and knows that they are in no position to fight, any more than he is. "I think, for the time being, our role in this battle has come to an end. We should do our best to regroup and recuperate, and continue to mount the defense where and when possible."

He nods to Cuss as he slips out.

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

Shorjahl suggests we make a break for it. He will use prestidigitation to create the sounds of battle cries, swords being drawn, crossbows being nocked, etc to storm up the stairs so that the archers are distracted.

I will roll an Intelligence check, with Advantage due to it being a plausible strategy and the general din of battle that I can use to model my sounds off of.

13 or 11

Once I feel they're distracted, Shorjahl will urge the others to sprint away, and he will follow suit as well.

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Shorjahl' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 8, 6

[Ao]

The din of battle echoes out in the distance, as Erlen peers out into the alleyway.

Adrianna sheathes her sword, looking around the interior of the gatehouse. She watches Shorjahl as he moves to the staircase, and begins conjuring noises.

Suddenly, the sound of battle echoes up the staircase. From the other end, you can hear shouting and orders as the marauders prepare to confront the phantom onslaught.

“Let’s go. Run!” shouts Andrianna, charging out the door.

[…]

The heat of the streets hits you in the face as you charge out into the alleyway, adrenaline pumping through your heart.

Gazing up quickly, you can see the archers have turned their attention to the doorway.

One of them glimpses you, shouting out in anger and pointing in your direction.

Geld calls out “Keep moving!”, as an arrow streaks past your face, skipping across the cobbles with a wicked hop.

[Archers are firing upon your group. Only 1 volley, with disadvantage due to Shorjahl’s distraction.]

1 Dos: 25/25 vs. Shorjahl
HIT: 11 DMG to Shorjahl

2 Rethar:19/19 vs. Kellar
MISS

3 Fular: 22/22 vs. Osvald
MISS

4 Stein: 17/17 vs. Andrianna
MISS

5 Sangras: 15/15 vs. Erlen
HIT: 5 DMG to Erlen

6 Turlew: 18/18 vs. Geld
MISS

The mage feels an arrow rip through his shoulder, a hail of arrows bouncing off the cobbles beside him as he runs.

Osvald, hobbling along, feels one graze his ear.

From behind you, you hear a shout from Erlen. You look back just in time to watch an arrow pierce his throat from behind.

The life leaves his eyes in a flash, as he falls forward into the mud and ash of the city street…

[Erlen Dies]

========================

Ok guys. Some unlucky rolls for some of you…though I was pleased when the archer rolled a “20” and a “4” for Osvald… Narrowly escaped that one.

You’ve sidestepped into an alleyway. We’re going less structured right now -> So, you can still run back out into the alley if you want to do anything with the gatehouse/archers (save erlen’s body/grab his belongings, or take another shot at the archers?) though doing so will open you up to another volley of fire (not at disadvantage, as you’ll be in-range.

Now is an important time to decide where it is you want to be heading. There’s Thickett Manor, of course. Or you can join the militiamen in the market square.

Or you can head toward the city center, which is where the magistrate and the castle fort (the center of the militia’s presence) is, to see if you can assist.

Alternatively, there’s always the port, where undoubtedly there’ll be a handful of boats fleeing the city. As well, that’s where Lincoln Thickett was last known to be headed.

All paths lead through the city, and possibly confrontations.

The thickett manor is accessible, likely without conflict, as you’ll only need to head through the market square.

The rest of the locations, however, take you through major inroads in the city where there may or may not be marauders who have broken through the walls/defenses.

You -can- try to stick to alleyways and minor streets, but that will slow you, and if you do happen upon a skirmish there’ll be less places to flee.

Please provide me with a specific location you want to head to, with some details as to how you want to get there. If I see conflicting destinations, the last person to post will be regarded as speaking for the group.

EXP: +40 to each of you (including shorjahl, because I didn’t post yesterday either)

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss passes Andrianna in stride, turning the corner into the alley ahead of the party.  He stops and takes cover along the edge of the burning building, leaning around just far enough to check on the rest of the party's progress with one eye.  When Erlen falls, Cuss leans back to full cover and turns on the wall so that his back is against it.  His knees buckle, and he slides down the wood, knocking loose several arrows from his quiver as his ass meets the cold ground.  They shower around him, some landing in his lap.  Cuss stares forward, seeing nothing.  Aside from the heaving of his chest, he is still as a statue when the others trot past him.  Treat them well, my love.

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl stumbles as the arrow slams into his shoulder. He cries out in pain and exhaustion, putting his good arm down to steady himself from falling while sprinting forward. "Go, I'm fine, hurry!" He shouts to his comrades ahead of him as he does his best to keep up. He looks in horror as Erlen slams into the ground with a sickening splat, an arrow shaft jutting out from his neck. He didn't know the man long, but he could see Cuss had a lot of respect for him - and he'd fought admirably.

Many admirable men had died today.

The arcanist continues to run forward, blood streaking down his leather robes and staining through to the linens beneath. His arm feels cold and numb, and he holds it by the elbow with his other hand to prevent himself from aggravating the arrowhead any further. As they make their way round the bend and out of line of sight of the archers, he says with wheezing breaths, "We need... to get ... to Thickett Manor..." He takes a deep and steadying breath, the pain of the arrow scraping along his bone in his shoulder. He winces.

"We can better mount a defense... from there, and not let the market... square fall." He looks around for Cuss, expecting a response from the hin.

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

If Shorjahl doesn't see where Cuss is, he will assume he's in some kind of danger, and start shouting out for him to show himself. Shorjahl isn't perceptive enough and Cuss is sneaky enough to not have to roll for this. If he remains gone, Shorjahl will think he has slipped away somehow, but will try to confirm by looking back the way they came and making sure he wasn't taken out by arrow fire from above.

If he's nowhere to be found, he'll be sure he's gone to the Thickett house anyway, and try to remember the way and lead the group.

If Cuss reveals himself, Shorjahl will probably want to have a conversation. But, the gist of it would be "stay with us, we need you, yada yada."

[Osvald Hale]

Osvalds breaths are hoarse and ragged as he careens down the alley with beleaguered, loping strides. Arrows hiss past him, clattering against the cobbles.

"Don't slow, w--" he starts, cut off as a bodkin severs half an ear from his head, carving a wicked red line below his cheekbone.

Cursing he stumbles for a moment, he narrowly catches his balance and continues on just as Erlens falls. Another good man gone. Osvald made a vow someone would pay that debt of blood in full.

As the party clears range of the archers, Osvald slows his pace, clutching his imapled leg with his one good hand. When they have come far enough that the smoke obscures them from the gatehouses sight, he collapses, Sputtering a curse.

"I--I just need a moment. Any one see a piece of timber I can fashion a crutch? This damned leg is dead meat."

====

Sprinting til we're clear, quick rest to try and find something to makeshift a crutch or walking stick then voting we go on to Thickett Manor.

[Kellar]

Kellar follows the group as they make their escape, he feebly raises his shield and looks back over his shoulder.

Arrows sprayed down on the group, one fell, he couldn't see who it was. The loud think of an arrow sticking into his shield broke his concentration and he kept running.

He rounded the corner and saw Little One on the ground, sitting there, staring into the darkness with arrows scattered about.

-have a stick. Dead meat. was all Kellar heard.

Dead.

Here, use this and a chain, he said to Osvald as he handed him a javelin and a chain length to use as a binding agent to brace the leg.

He turned to Custer. Enough, stand up. Those men are gone, we are not. WE, are counting on YOU to get us back to Thickett Manor. Your manor, he said gruffly.

Kellar knelt down and started collecting the loose arrows and putting them back into Custer's quiver.

Orbaugh, soothe the halfling. Okay. I help the small man. He need me!

Orbaugh leapt from Kellar's shoulder onto Custer's lap and nipped at his chin and chittered softly.

Geld, help Lord Hale. Adrianna, check on Shorjahl. I have Custer. Get ready, we need to move, he said.

Actions:

Kellar will organize and command as he recalls from his days as a soldier to steel their resolve just a little bit longer.

OOC: I vote for Thickett Manor as our destination.

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss hears Agata's voice as a faint whisper, I will, but you must carry on.  He looks up and around and around at his battle worn friends, then down at the arrows in his lap and around him on the ground.  It is then that he hears Kellar's voice.  The scolding tone briefly infuriating him.  He looks up at the blue man with narrow, threatening eyes.  The soot that covers his face is only otherwise broken by the trails tears left behind.  When Kellar answers his stare by kneeling and retrieving his arrows while sending Orbaugh to nip at his chin, all emotion drains from inside Custer.  He answers his friend with a flat, monotone statement, "Ya know well where those that count on me end up.  All the same, we must move."  Ignoring Orbaugh, he gets up and steps into the center of the street.  Cuss looks up at Shorjahl, then waves him forward while turning to walk up the alley.  "This way."  

Cuss walks ahead of the group to navigate the streets.  He hugs the corners of buildings not fully ablaze, nearest to the battle.  He leans around them, K'Tesh's crossbow in one hand and the other bracing against the building.  He looks for any signs of enemies, and then either waves the party forward as he crosses, or bids them to take cover with a wave of his empty hand, using it to show the numbers and direction of threats by holding up fingers and then pointing.  

[Rolling stealth +7]
21

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Custer Thickett' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 14

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl is relieved to see Kellar and Cuss again, and helps Osvald limp along while doing his best to remain quiet and out of sight.

-------

Neenja stelf yo!

17

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Shorjahl' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 15

[Osvald Hale]

Grateful for the crutch and Geld to lean on, Osvald hobbles along toward the rear of the party, quietly as he can.

=====

Rolling stealth as well, not so ninja. 8.

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Osvald Hale' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 3

[Kellar]

Double post... y'know... for Stealth.

Stealth Roll= 8+3= 11

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Kellar' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 8

[Ao]

The fellowship hobbles into the market Square from the alleyway, watching the scene unfold.

The militiamen are pressing forward, grinding the assailants against the portcullis, which came crashing down and skewered no less than 30 marauders beneath its iron tines.

The fire burns high and hot, and the remaining forces still fight viciously against the rallying militia.

Before you, a flaming soldier goes screaming off into an alley. You watch as a war-wagon careens across the alley, horses trampling across fallen assailants and grinding them into the cobbles.

The troll's corpse, long cold, is swarmed by swordbearing men and orcs that fight bitterly, cutting throats and denting armor as they press against one another desperately.

The black cloaks are flailing. Their numbers beyond the gate are looking uncertain, firing ineffective shots through slits in the portcullis.

The militiamen stand a chance.

[...]

You turn to move, as fast as possible, in the direction of Thickett Manor. You weave through wreckage and burned wagons, stepping over bodies and staring back urgently at the smouldering scene.

Suddenly, over the northeastern wall, a sight takes your breath away.

Kellar watches, a wave of paralysis spreading to his fingertips at a sight that leaves him cold.

Two great, mighty wings appear, attached to an enormous blue serpent that flaps through the air at great speed. Talons drape down its long, scaled arms. Wicked teeth crown its maw, and its tail whips back and forth menacingly.

Soldiers stop, their mouths agape, staring up at the fearful sight.

An ancient blue dragon.

Suddenly, it's enormous eyes begin to glow, and the sky is lit up as unbridled lightning streams from its mouth, searing the buildings of esmelteran and rending stone and wood to dust.

It swoops low over the battle, casting its tail about and crushing assailant and militiaman alike under its gargantuan weight.

The beast flies directly into a storehouse, crashing the building into the ground and loosing another blinding stream of lightning.

It circles in the sky, and then barrels off toward the city palace....

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

Ok guys, you're on the outskirts of the market square. You can feel free to assume you're at Thickett manor, nothing will stop you from arriving there.

An ancient blue dragon flies towards the heart of esmelteran. What that bodes... You cannot know.

Exp: +20 each

[Custer Thickett]

Custer's spirits begin to rebud as he sees the tide of the battle swaying back in the militia's favor from the corner of a burning building bordering the square.  He waves the company forward, a slight smile cracking his soot crusted face.  "Mayhaps we did the right thing by way of the gatehouse.  Look!"  Cuss slings his arm in a broad arc toward the market square as he turns back to the battle, "If they can settle things here, might be they can route the rest from the walls, yes?"  Cuss's small smile turns upside down.  "Oiy, we can only hope the southern gate fares better."  He turns back to the group, showing his frown.  

His chest heaves a sigh, and then he says, pointing, "Come on!  Caden's wagon is just over there."  Cuss darts forward from the corner of the burning building, the fires singing out with the symphonic clatter of steel and shouting of fighting or dying men.  If there is a hell, I'm sure this is how it smells... But then Cuss's ears pick up another, deeper, beating sound in the melody.  At first faint, but quickly growing louder.  whoosh, Whoosh, WHOOSH...  

He turns his head back towards the battle, and at first notices Kellar turned away from him, unmoving.  Then he sees the giant head and wings soaring through the air and over the walls.  He immediately recognizes the beast he had seen only days ago.  His head turns back toward the wagon, seemingly slower than he wills it, yet at the same time his stride stretches farther than it ever had before.  Cuss had felt a lot of things throughout his life, but unbridled fear was new and foreign.  

As the sounds of battle give way to that of his own beating heart and the crackle of over nine-thousand lightning strikes, Cuss is diving and sliding underneath the wagon.  He grabs a wheel and turns his body so that the can see behind him, observing dust, ash, stone, and splintered wood showering down around the market square.  Somehow, he can still hear himself think a single, reverberating word, Kesian.

[Osvald Hale]

The leathery wings of ancient doom incarnate soar through the swirling smoke and embers above them, and Osvald stands frozen--transfixed for a moment by this new circumstance.

When the gargantuan beast turns toward the city center, the battered woodsman trades a hollow glance with Geld, and the two begin to hobble along even faster.

In between gasps of breath and winces of pain, Osvald speaks hushedly to his friends as they continue on toward the Manor.

"I say, we keep moving, keep our heads down, and quietly regroup and rearm at Thickett Manor... consolidate any city guard and townsfolk in the area--see which way that blue monster is looking--and if the path is clear... we make for a quiet section of wall and rappel out." He coughs out another bloody breath. "I've the feeling many threads of fate are tangled in Amn, and we've found the ends of the knot."

Obviously exhausted and at the end of his rope, Osvald leans heavily on Geld as the group continues down darkened streets, the sounds of a city at war raging on the distance behind them.

=====

Movin' to the Manor.

OOC: we've be in E -Town for what? 14 hours now? Do we bring the party or what, eh fellas?

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl's eyes look blankly at the dragon. He blinks several times, as if to wake himself from a dream. He has no energy left for fear, or despair, or surprise. He simply stares, dumbly.

Once Osvald begins moving, he blinks rapidly several times and realizes that he is indeed in the center of a city besieged by foul orcs and blue winged terrors. He nods to the ranger's sentiment, "We're no use against a dragon alone, and the men are too busy fighting the enemy. I believe that battle can be won, but against a dragon?" He leaves the question hanging in air, his sentiment obvious.

He hobbles along, helping the more wounded such as Osvald, maintain their pace toward the manor.

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss gathers himself from under the wagon as he watches his friends hobble by and start up the hill.  He calls out past Kellar to nearby militia.  "Underground!  Fall back to the catacombs!  Don't let them follow you inside!"  Then he spins on his stomach and crawls out from under the other side of the wagon, bringing himself to his knees, and sprinting forward to catch up with Shorjahl.  

When he makes the mage's robes, he spins around his legs, trotting backwards in front of the tall human as he looks up and shouts at him.  "What did they find in the teeth, Shorjy?  That has to be the beast we saw on the way the way back to Hoat's Pasture.  How could the laughing mask bridal it?"  In that moment, Cuss realized that Waukeen had warned him, showed him what was transpiring, yet he failed his people in his distractions.  With a painful swallow, he shelved the thought for later, thinking only I will do better by you before this is over, my Lady.

[Kellar]

As Kellar is running toward Thickett Manor, he catches the movement over the wall and stops...

"Two great, mighty wings appear, attached to an enormous blue serpent that flaps through the air at great speed. Talons drape down its long, scaled arms. Wicked teeth crown its maw, and its tail whips back and forth menacingly."

Ulhar Darastrix, he whispered.

His head followed the movement of the dragon, his arm, unwilling to move toward his lance. His grip tightens on his Battle Axe.

Orbaugh, don't... be afraid. Kellar felt the pseudodragon scrunch down hard against his shoulder and neck, it's head mimicking his, watching the dragon fly toward the city center.

Kellar moves, as if to go after the blue dragon, but stops after a few steps and looks at the others. Ulhar, I'm coming for you, he muttered to himself, and continued after his group.

I'm with you Lord Hale, we need to rest, get re-armed. If we can find one, I need a horse, he said.

Actions:

Kellar follows the group to Thickett Manor, seething at the blue dragon that came over the wall.
OOC: Ulhar Darastrix is Draconic for Blue Dragon. (The more you know!)

[Ao]

You charge up the hill, adrenaline carrying you through the smoke-hazed roadways and past the exotic manses of Esmeltaran.

More than one roof is aflame, or sizzling with memory of the dragons wrath.

Behind you, the din of battle continues.

[...]

You round a bend on the hill, stopping for a moment with a vantage point of the cityscape.

The central palace of Esmeltaran rises up from the heart of the city, and breathless, you watch its stones break and fall as the dragon climbs its walls.

Even from a mile away, its lightning sparks illuminate the sky, the immolated southern gate a burning backdrop for the ravaging beast.

Andrianna is speechless. Geld speaks softly.

"Gods be kind. That monster will tear this city apart brick by brick..."

[...]

You find yourselves, breathless, in the vestibule of Thickett manor. A brooding painting of Lincoln Thickett stares down at you judgmentally.

The house is quiet, and even the sounds of a city burning do not reach you ears in this place.

Andrianna slumps against a wall, tending her wounded arm.

"The militiamen will hold the northeastern gate, I believe. We did well to drop that portcullis; we've bought enough time for the guard to bolster that flank. The southern gate is aflame, and like as not the marauders have double the numbers there."

She sighs, pulling a shard of shrapnel from her armor.

"The dragon... Impossible to fight that beast, without a wall of bolt throwers. Might be the castle has a few... But I don't like the odds. Aside, there's been far too much fighting and not enough logic on this night."

Geld stiffens, catching his breath. He looks askance at Andrianna, as she continues.

"What is a band of marauders doing flanking a city? Tempus knows, that a marauding band of half-a-thousand can run amok in Amn tells you how insulated and arrogant its nobility are. They care only for what is in their four walls. Fools."

She spits, red flecks cascading down from the split lip that further hardens her comely features.

"They cannot hope to hold the city. Even an army of several thousand more would be usurped in a week, by the remnant militia and a chapter or two from Athkatla...if they care enough to respond. These assailants must mean to strike fear into the heart of Amn. A warlord, perhaps... But, a warlord allied with a venerable dragon? Gods, these are dark times. What do you make of it?"

She turns to you.

========•••••===••====

Ok guys, +20 xP each. Let me know your plans. If you want to use an HD to recover some hp and short rest stuff, you need at least an hour.

[Custer Thickett]

When the group first arrives to the iron gate before Thickett Manor, Cuss turns to the group.  "Saavus had the key.  I threw mine in the lake weeks ago.  Somebody help me over the wall, and I'll open it from the other side."  Once up and over, Cuss unlocks the gate and pushes it open, then latches and locks it behind them.  He draws water up from the deep well, taking the full bucket inside with him, sloshing water on the ground as he struggles with the weight.  He sets it atop the old wood table in the basement section, then turns to the corner to check his gear.  

"There are cups upstairs.  I'll fetch a few, and another vessel we can use to clean up."  He takes the stairs two at a time, heading for the Chifforobe in the dinning hall that the family used for cups, plates, and other such utensils.  He drops eight stacked cups into a large wooden bowl to carry it all.  As he turns to head back out of the room, he notices that the table was still set with cold food that had barely been touched.  A chair was upturned, and two others pushed back from the table.  A rare sight in this house.  Sighing, Cuss heads back downstairs.  He drops the cups on the table and unstacks them for the party to use for water.  He uses his to dip some out of the bucket into the bowl.  Then, he fills his cup to wet his dry throat.  He hums as he empties it in five deep gulps, and exhales relief as he pulls it away from his lips.

Cuss heads back to his gear and fetches what is left of his bar of soap.  Using a dagger, he slices a chunk off and drops it into the bowl.  He then pulls off his leather bracers, and sloshes the soap in the bowl with one hand so that it turns the bowl of water into frothing suds.  He cups his hands in the water, and splashes it on his face, rubbing the soot away and turning the water in the bowl black.  It had been a long while since he had bathed, and he would like nothing more than the time to draw up a warm tub to lay in, but for now, this would have to do.  He continued removing his armor and rubbing the soap about his chest, hissing in pain as the soap followed the path carved by a battle axe an hour ago.  

As he works away the smells and stains, he listens to Andrianna and Geld speak of the army and dragon.  "It is the laughing mask, Kesian, no doubt.  When we were in the teeth looking for the tomb of, what was it, Urukath?  Well, it was said that the clan was looking for something.  When we came upon the Orc Shuul leading his cadre from the Kobold tribe, they carried shovels and claimed to have been digging, but for what, we do not know.  Orbaugh, said... Uh, Hrm, conveyed where they were looking, me thinks, but we never learned what.  Much later, we observed a camp with large numbers accompanying the laughing mask into the teeth.  At the time I thought they were hunting for us, but more like they were looking for the Orc Uru, who had taken Kesian's book and followed us out of Grol's cave.  Mayhaps he came here to get it back, Shorjy?"  Custer did not wait for the human to respond to his question, knowing the potential weight of his words.  "As for the dragon, well.  After we got away and were traveling back to Hoat's, I saw the beast high above, dashing between the clouds heading for the Small Teeth, where we had just lost Anna, our friend and the Orc Chieftain's betrothed.  The Lady save her, for we could not."  

Custer sniffles and wipes his face dry, then tells his company, "There is a way into the catacombs below us from inside the Manor.  Father had it built so that he could use it as a secret path between here and the Palace.  Might be that we take some things down there for the night.  Much as I'd like to sleep in me own bed, I'd rather not burn in it.  When ya head upstairs, try not to track up me family's floors with your filth, ya?  If the gods want to take the house tonight, then I wish that they have it as me father would, so that mayhaps they'll know how a Thickett cares for his property.  There is a meal on the table upstairs, most like not enough to fill all of us and cold to boot, but there is wine in the Chifforobe on the Northern wall in that same room.  If ya going to sit in our chairs, lay a serviette on the cushion first, ya?"

[Osvald Hale]

"Uhh...a serviette?" Osvald cocks a swollen eyebrow, splattered head to toe with grime and gore. A path of sooty boot prints and blood drops drags behind him, his hand leaving an oily smudge where he teeters against the wall.

'Polite company you are, Osvald' he grumbles to himself as he limps to the wine rack, biting the cork out of the nearest bottle and downing a third before even checking the vintage.

"...Kellar, I need ya to get this bodkin out of my leg. Just...just let me finish this bottle first. And fetch me another for afterward will ya? I promise I feel worse than I look."

=====

Osvald is spent. He wants to leave the city but doubts he has the strength to do so right away. if cuss feels the manor is secure he'll want to rest a bit.

Also, Ao what's you ruling in this house having some sort of healing supplies for us to use?

[Ao]

[ I'll rule a small stash of healing poultices in ceramic jars. Treat them as 5 light healing potions, but be warned that they will not travel well in their jars ]

[Kellar]

Kellar sees Osvald struggling with the wine bottle and he looks at his leg.

Sure I can help. Looks like the Bodkin didn't quite make it all the way through. It'll be cleaner to push it through, he said.

Kellar set his lance and other weapons down on the floor nearest the wall. He undid the chain and shield from his left arm. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch, he managed to say as the shield fell and the chain piled in a sickly, bloody mess.

Not so sure a cushion or kerchief will keep our presence clean in the Manor. My apologies, he said to Custer.

Lord Hale downed the wine chug by chug. As he neared the end of the bottle, Kellar knelt by Hale's side.

You're gonna have to lay on your side for this, he said as he repositioned him. Kellar undid the length of chain and removed the blood slicked javelin and set it by his other weapons.

Orbaugh, grab the small shiny tin on the front of my pack. The pseudodragon danced along the floor toward the pack.

Shiny, yes. I bring.

Kellar put the knock of the Bodkin in his palm. Hey Osvald, did you think of a name for your estate, he questioned.

Before Lord Hale could answer, Kellar drove the Bodkin through his leg!

Lord Hale exhaled heavily and groaned as the arrow slid through, making a new wound to his leg.

Orbaugh brought the tin to Kellar as requested. Kellar opened it and drew a few talcum powdered rags and pushed them into the wound.

He drew a length of leather from the kit and bound the rags to his leg. That should do for now. I'll get that extra bottle of wine I could use some myself, he said as he propped Osvald back up.

Kellar tended to his wounds as best he could. Using the basin Custer setup.

[Shorjahl]

The arcanist broods quietly in the corner, collecting himself. He can't help but feel that the army wants what he has, the book that he took from Keisan. The lingering shadows constantly harass his mind.

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

Shorjahl's out of it, he'll go with whatever the group decides. Catacombs sounds good. If we take a short rest I restore some spells and burn an HD.

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Shorjahl' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D6' : 1

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss frowns at the mess that his friends are making, but they were in no shape for him to feel right about harassing them any further.  His father would most like never see the place again anyhow.  When Kellar pushes the arrow out of Osvalds skin and he sees his friend nearly pass out at the pain, Cuss bites into the back of his right hand hard to keep from groaning or throwing up himself.  He was hurting, but Lord Hale looked threads from death.  Kellar and Shorjahl didn't look much better.  

Cuss turns from the room and heads upstairs to his father's room, his sister's room, and his own room in turn.  He took some time going through various drawers and armoires looking for valuables or heirlooms that may be worth saving.  He finds a necklace that belonged to his mother, holding it close to his chest a moment as he looked outside his father's window at the suffering city beyond.  He finds an old discolored coin, his father's first profit.  He also locates Lincoln's spare ring of keys to the offices at the palace, and slips them into his belt pouch.  Seeing his father's old light crossbow mounted on the wall, he tilted his head, wondering if he should take it.  He decided that he would.  He took his shortbow and arrow quiver off his back and left them on his father's bed, and then slung the old worn light crossbow over his shoulder in their place. In his sister's room, he found nothing significant among the various items, suggesting that he didn't know her quite as well as he thought.  He took her pillow case to use as a ruck sack for the items he was gathering, and a drawing from her dresser that appeared to be of her own image.  Who did this? He thought as he moved on to his own room.  There, he grabbed an ivory comb that his mother use to stroke through his hair when he was little long before she passed.  He had hardly ever fixed the matted mess since.  He scooped up a pile of shells that he had collected from the shore of Lake Esmel over the years.  At last, he grabbed his old lumpy pillow, and started back down the stairs.  He rolled up the pillow case of treasures, determined to find a safe place to hid it in the catacombs where he could retrieve it all later.  

[Rolling investigate to see if Cuss finds anything else of significance to the group's current situation +0]
3

Back in the dinning hall, Cuss set the pillow and pillow case in an empty chair, and helped himself to a glass of wine and hunk of the cold meat on the table.  His wine glass shook slightly as he raised it to his lips, but he was careful not to spill the fine liquid.  "Ah, a small taste of the heavens afore we get there, ya?  I'm sure the cold hard ground of the catacombs are going to sleep well tonight.  Heh, me thinks that'll be a taste of hell by morning, no?  Mayhaps by the time we wake, this will all be over."  Cuss takes another sip of wine.

=====

Have to cut it short cause of work.  Cuss will show the crew the way down below and try to find a loose stone to hide his family's belongings behind before curling up with his pillow and passing out.  He is quickly becoming delirious from lack of sleep and abundance of physical activity.  He would be very hard to wake up after just an hour.  Rolling hit die. 1d6+1.  4

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Custer Thickett' has done the following action : Dice Roller

#1 'D20' : 3

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

#2 'D6' : 3

[Ao]

Thickett manor is hauntingly quiet, punctuated only by Osvalds gasps of pain and the odd chime of the grandfather clock.

Andrianna paces the main floor, looking out the windows into the grounds beyond. She moves to the front door, securing the lock. And then, she looks to Custer.

"Quite the armful of mementos." She says, perhaps a brusquely, but not with judgment.

Geld walks over the the cold meal, slicing himself a piece of meat tenderly and plating it with care.

He takes a bite, looking over to the rest of you.

"Well, we're a ragged lot."

Suddenly, a flash of lightning arcs across the sky, followed by a heavy toll of thunder that seems to move the creaking wood floors.

"Best we be getting to these undercrofts, Thickett. Best we be moving on."

[...]

The catacombs under the cellar are frigid and dank. Custer leads you down a creaking set of cellar stairs to a stone door, which opens into a silent passage.

A short walk later, you find yourselves in a small antechamber. Dust and cobwebs choke the air, and small alcoves in the walls that once held candles and incense seem overrun with spiders and their catch.

Geld looks about, holding a lantern in his hand that's nearly larger than he is.

A fat spider, bigger than a fist, skitters by him. His face goes white, as he looks to you.

"Dragons above. Spiders below. I'm sure we'll have a very restful night."

===================

Ok guys, you find yourself if the tunnels of the undercrofts beneath Thickett manor. I believe the intention is to rest for the night, and emerge into the world by morn.

Custer, you called this place 'catacombs'. Does this mean you have a family crypt down here?

Let me know how you intend to sleep, if you decide to post watch for some reason (you're all extremely tired), and what you plan on doing come morning.

Cheers
Exp+20

[Osvald Hale]

Passing the bottle back and forth in weary silence, Kellar and Osvald quickly finish the wine over a cold, small meal.

Cuss had produced five small pots of healing poultice from a cupboard elsewhere in the Manor, of which Osvald accepts two, offering the remainder to Shorjahl and Kellar.

Gritting his teeth, the ranger dutifully unwinds the strip of fabric binding his left arm to his torso. Grunting in pain as Geld helps him remove his armor. Cursing, Osvald cleans the haggard gash and applies the poultice, binding it tightly with a strip torn from one of the Thickett family serviettes.

Muttering something about ruining his best pants, Osvald cuts away the blood soaked fabric around the arrow wound in his leg, cracks open the second small ceramic cask and shreds another serviette.

"Wounds freshly bound, wine in my belly... If it weren't for all the lighting and fire outside I'd almost call tonight a victory." He laughs weakly--but hushes quickly when no one else joins in.

'Almost a victory.' He thought, sending a silent prayer for Erlen, Saavus and countless hundreds of others.

The poultices had staunched the bleeding, and the wine had dulled the pain. Osvald hobbled to Kellar and returned his javelin, before following Cuss down into the catacombs, weary beyond measure and desperate for some safe rest.

=====

Two healing poultices on self, giving other 3 to Shorjahl and Kellar. Osvald is going to find a quiet corner of this catacomb room and sleep with his back against the wall, facing the door. He will not offer to stand watch, nor will he suggest someone else does, he's basically a walking dead person at this point until he gets some rest.

Sleeping. Rolling Hit Die.

light healing potions: 3 + 2 = 5, 3 + 2 = 5
hit die: 7

total hp regained = 17

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Osvald Hale' has done the following action : Dice Roller

#1 'D4' : 3, 3

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

#2 'D10' : 7

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss giggles at Geld's comment on spiders and dragons, "I'll take the spiders, an iffen they eat me by morn, then i'll rest assured they'll put me out here in the Thickett crypts."  Cuss covers his mouth as he yawns, then arranges his gear along a wall.  He lets his voice bounce off the wall in front of him as he continues speaking to Geld, "What do ya think about what I told ya upstairs about Grol and Kesian, eh?"

After Geld returns an answer to the question, Cuss will yawn again, then add, "That Drow that followed the two of ya to Treveign's was said to have forsaken Lloth for Cyric, and Shorjahl overheard him say something about 'it will be over in an hour.'  Me thinks he was an agent in all this.  Andrianna, do you think all your Shadows had something to do with this?"

Cuss listens to Andrianna's retort as he pulls K'Tesh's black cloak from his bag, then replaces other small pieces of gear that tumbled out along with it.  He wraps himself in the cloth that was easily twice his size or more, then turns to face her.  "Be that as it may, I find some small entertainment in that a Harp with a Shadow tattoo is chasing a Shadow with a Harp tattoo."  Custer yawns again, not bothering to cover his mouth.  His eyes water, turning the room to a blur for a moment.  He wipes his tears away, then lays down with his pillow, making himself somewhat comfortable on the cold floor, and trying to hook his arms and feet in the cloth so the spiders couldn't find their way between the folds.  He answer Andrianna with another question, "Did ya know S-So-Sorren (yawning) well?"  He falls asleep before he hears her answer.

====

Carrying on a conversation with the Harpers while falling asleep.  
OOC: We should be able to get to the Palace using a path underground from here.  Cuss will announce this in the morning, if any of you have a hankering to sneak in and see what became of this attack.

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl sits numbly against one of the walls, resting his inner elbows on his bent knees. He uses small arcane magicks to gather bundles of kindling and various flammable artifacts, burning them in a small fire to warm and brighten the undercrofts. He seems somber, drained, the general intensity in his blue eyes darkened, his irises almost gray in color. He seems to have lost weight from his typically lithe frame, and now looks almost gangly or skeletal.

He pushes his lower back firmly against the cold stone, trying to silence the whispers of the book.

When Cuss asks about Andrianna's tattoo, his attention snaps to the Harper woman's face, the flickering shadows of the flame dancing in his eyes and shadowing his angular features.

[...]

After that conversation concludes, he utters quietly, "What will we do if the market falls and the manor is taken? I've regained only a modicum of my arcane focus," he grips at his bracer as if in pain, his bearded jaw clenching. "I can't sleep much now anyway, so I'll take a split watch."

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

Full rest yo. Creepy emo mage stuff. He's very interested in hearing Andrianna's response.
Suggest Kellar takes first watch, then Shor, then Cuss. Let Osvald sleep as he was teh most banged up.

[Kellar]

Kellar takes the last drink from the bottle to wash down the brittle cheese he was enjoying. Orbaugh had some of the jerky, or somewhat similar to jerky, and perched on Kellar's shoulder. The ache of the day, it seemed as if it had lasted longer than it had any right to. Our Forgeless Dwarf is gone. The two guards are dead. We're hiding under a rock until the morning.

Kellar had setup opposite of Osvald to keep an eye on him, the amount of blood loss he endured had him slightly worried. He looked at the others, each in their own little section in this dank underside of Thickett Manor.

He listens to Custer ramble on about a variety of things, mostly tied to the Harpers and K'Tesh. He notes that Custer fell asleep after asking about Sorren.

Adrianna, I could use some company on the first watch, if you don't mind, he said.

He took one of the poultices that Lord Hale gave him, and he gingerly pushed the contents into his wounds, one in his left arm, and one in his chest. Ow. This stuff really hurts. You sure this is medicine, he asked Osvald jokingly.

[...]

Kellar listened to Shorjahl ask about what the group is supposed to do if the city fell to the invaders. He furrowed his brow and asked, What do you think our best course of action is, he asked Andrianna plainly.

Actions:
Kellar will listen to Andrianna and take first watch with her if she's up for it.

After watch rotation, he'll curl up against the wall with Orbaugh and drift off, thinking of slaying a blue dragon.

[Ao]

The dust begins to settle in the crypt, as Andrianna whips her head towards Custer. She looks at him queerly, at a loss for words.

Geld speaks, out of the shadowy corner he's tucked himself into.

"You shouldn't speak of-" he says, but Andrianna interrupts him.

"Well, this is an unexpected end to a taxing day. Yes, Thickett. I once ran with the Shadows. But, that was long ago. And I serve my penance in the light of the Harpers. I spend enough time glaring at my arm, remembering those dark days. I need no assistance." She snaps.

But her anger subsides quickly, as she pries.

"Sorel? Sorel...that louse?"

Geld sits up, looking at the group.

"Sorel? What do you know of him? Is he behind this mess?"

Andrianna continues.

"Sorel is a Harper out of Baldur's Gate. He's been missing for nearly a year. We thought him dead, or deserter, more likely. He commissioned that writ, I'd imagine. For what?"

[you can elect to tell her whatever you like]

The conversation concluded, Geld blows out his lantern and you fall into a deep sleep...

Andrianna nods to Kellar, joining him at first watch.

"I don't know our best course of action, Kellar. But Geld and I will set sail for Baldurs Gate as soon as able. This situation in Amn is troubling, but I must uncover what Sorel is planning. And then, perhaps the High Harper in Baldurs gate can lend some insight to this business of marauders and dragons in Esmeltaran..."

[...]

You awake in the dark. Geld hears you rising, and he lights the lamp in turn.

In the darkness and quiet of the catacombs, it is impossible to tell whether or not dawn has broken. You can only know that the ache has subsided in your bones, and the fog that once clouded your mind has lifted.

The silence is broken as the gnome speaks;

"Right. Where to?"

And then, you stand, and are off.

[...]

The journey through the winding catacombs is a silent as the antechamber. Only the dull thud of your footsteps can be heard.

For a time, you try and make conversation. But in these silent halls, the words feel awkward and out of place. The group quickly falls into a wordless rhythm, moving in the direction of the palace.

Custer is the first to spot the old, wooden ladder that lead up into an office of the palace. Swiftly, he leads you up...

[...]

The sky appears, where it should not be.

As you climb from the passage into the palace, you instead find yourselves standing in the ruins of a fallen castle looking up at the burning blue sky.

Around you, walls have collapsed. Burnmarks from a series of great, scorching blasts punctuate the shattered stone. It looks alien and foreign.

Andrianna gasps, whispering "Tempus, have mercy."

Around you, through the rubble, you can hear voices calling out. Shouts, of urgency. And the clashing of steel.

Scrambling stop the shattered stones, you see Esmeltaran has burned.

Men run about, militiamen scattered errantly. Looters, pilferers, thieves. Wagons are trampling in all directions. Fires still flare out from atop warehouses and homes. Riots run through the streets. Men clash swords with other men.

It is a ghastly panorama of urgency and ruin.

From the central ruins of the palace to the fallen southwest gate, the city has been razed. Only the shells of buildings yet remain, shingles and detritus falling about the ground.

Wagons and people disappear into its midst. A graveyard of what once was western Esmeltaran.

Four men stand aside a carriage, pushing it over. A woman screams from inside, as the carriage comes crashing down. It splinters, luxurious furs and goods spilling out onto the  wreckage-strewn cobbles.

Militiamen scream, charging at the brutes. But the men swiftly slit the throat of the wailing maiden, grabbing a handful of fine goods and sprinting into the smoky chaos of Western Esmeltaran.

Looking to the east, it seems the city still stands. Smoke still hangs over its skyline, but it seems that the portcullis held long enough to halt the onslaught from the northeastern gate.

A patrol of a half-dozen militiamen charge from the wall of the eastern city, shouting at you.

"You there-!" they scream, approaching.

But your attention is caught by sudden, dreadful realization. For in the sky above, as the smoke clears, you can see a black arcane sigil hanging in the sky.

Two runic triangles superimposed, burned into the clouds above. They glare from the backdrop of a cerulean sky.

The shouts of the militiamen bring you back to the present. They approach, climbing the wreckage with swords in hand. But they look at you closely in their approach, and lower their weapons.

The captain looks to Custer.

"Custer Thickett? What are you doing here? It's not safe - all of Esmeltarans underbelly pours over its fallen wreckage. You'll have your throat slit over a hay-copper. You must fall back to the eastern city, we've held the line..!"

Custer recognizes the guard captain as Pelegar, a man in the pocket of his father. But now, bristled in the aftermath of the ruining city, he looks nothing like the crooked  guardsman that looked the other way for Shadow affairs. Now, he stands with the stubborn determination of a man at war.

The militiamen are a rag-tag group. Most wear only half armor, and perhaps a tabard. One man in particular stands towards the back.

He is a tall swordsman, with fair features and a swagger. He looks at you levelly....

===================

Ok guys. Pardon the railroading, I know you'd usually skulk a bit more in the shadows before stepping out into broad daylight but I intend on moving the story into this introduction.

The palace is a fallen mess. A heap of rubble. It has been ripped and torn to the ground.

The western half of Esmeltaran is a smoking graveyard of burned out homes. There is a frenzy of looting, fighting, and chaos all around.

The eastern wall of the palace holds, dotted with militiamen that seem to have reinforced it, and stand as a bulwark in the face of this catastrophe.

There is no sign of the marauders. It seems that the dark side of Esmeltarans citizens has merely emerged in this hour of madness.

The sigil that floats in the sky above the wreckage is an arcane conjuration.

The fair-haired man with the militiamen is Artimus DeLonde.

Now, get role playing gentlemen.

Exp:+20 to all

[Custer Thickett]

Cuss answers Andrianna with a snort, obviously asleep before she finished her question.  

The next morning, however, he makes small talk about it while walking the palace path.  "Ya think can keep us company until Athkatla sends those companies?  We still haven't told ya what Sorren took from the vaults, or where he is going.  Sounded important the way the old man told it.  Besides, Kellar rather enjoys your company.  Don't ya, Kell?"

.....

From atop a large block of stone, Cuss scans the devastation with relative indifference, having already embraced his guilt. He swallows hard, and tries to eye his neighborhood to see if the Manor still stood. He also tries to get an eye on Badger's Borrow, Amstel Avenue where stood Donal's Smithy, and the Thickett warehouses at the docks. Did it all burn?

.....
When his attention is turned, Cuss deftly skips between the rocks to stand before the militiamen, beaming a broad smile.  He pats Pelegar with one hand as he addresses him, "Ya've done well to hold the line, Pelegar.  We lost two of our best house guards, Saavus and Erlen, bringing down the portcullis at the Northern gate.  We would have turned for the Southern attack, but not a one of us escaped the battle in the market square unharmed, and the dragon drove us underground to lick at our wounds."  Cuss sticks out his chest and pulls apart his cloak to show the deep gash cut in his black leather armor.  "An Orc's battle axe nearly cut me in half when I got this one."  Cuss pulls his cloak open on his left side, turning and leaning to show the deep hole punctured through in his flank.  "K'Tesh Hun'Ett got me here.  Said he'd wear me face for the night was over!"  Custer laughs letting the cloak fall back in place, "Don't go worrying about me neck.  What of the army that attacked?  Did ya capture any of the Cyricist alive?"

========

To Pelegar: "What of the army that attacked?  Did ya capture any of the Cyricist alive?"
Can I see if Thickett Manor, Badger's Borrow, Donal's Smithy, and the family warehouses at the docks all burn?

[Kellar]

Kellar looks at Custer with a smirk. Perhaps I might, Little One, perhaps I might, he said to him, and nodding at Andrianna.

Yes, Master Pelegar, we did what we could to drop the portcullis and prevent the enemy from continually overrunning the city, he said in agreement with Custer.

Our spirit is refreshed, our wounds are dressed, and thankfully we received enough rest, he said, as he scanned the militiamen behind Pelegar. This one doesn't appear to be a regular among your ranks, he says to Pelegar as he points in Artimus' direction. (Kellar being all Soldier-y here...)

Kellar extends a salute toward Artimus. What be your name?

Actions:

Kellar notices Artimus and extends a question. If Artimus responds, Kellar will reply, I'm Kellar, the Quick. Dragoon. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.
OOC: Artimus, Kellar stands out from other humans because he has light blue skin, compared to the general pink hue of most humans.

[Osvald Hale]

Coughing in the dust, Osvald curses as he pulls cobwebs from his hair, leering up at the hatch above the catacombs with suspicion while Cuss climbs the ladder.

"You know... this may be a bad idea. This palace might just have recently gotten a new tenant... A  big, blue, scale bastar--" Osvald is cut off when the hatch flings open and a blinding beam of light cuts into the tunnel...

...

The woodsman drags himself up out of the hatch into the opulent rubble of the Palace. Shielding his adjusting eyes against the harsh sunlight, he surveys the ruined city; letting out a long, low whistle.

"...Gods of the earth. Isn't that a sight?"

Osvalds head reels with the scope of destruction. He was a simple man. A man of the mountain, of the wood.

"Such death, and ruin. What prize is so great a heart could be... bent... to do ...this?"He says to no one but the forsaken vista before him. The ranger takes a few long strides higher into the debris toward a better vantage point, when a voice calls out to the party.

...

Looking beyond the city walls while Cuss speaks to the guardsman, Osvalds keen eyes peel the horizon for billows of dust, track, camp, or trail of the invaders, and if the city was still, in fact, currently under siege. Satisfied, he whispers a prayer for the dead, spits into the stone, and slides down the rough hewn face to rejoin the group.

"Aye, and you'd've been cleft in twain--had ye only been a bigger target for our late drow friend, Master Thickett." Osvald says as he approaches, and grins thoughtfully, "Though--if memory serves--t'was I who struck the killing blow against K'tesh." He says in his most grandiose voice, cajoling his halfling friend.

In the sunlight it is clear some strength has returned to Osvalds face, and his mood is evidently greatly improved--but he still wears the myriad of wounds from last night. Deep lacerations criss cross his body, and he is less half an ear and many drams of blood, though much of it is still upon his clothes, which are in fact especially soiled--Even for a ranger of the wilds.

"Pelegar, what of the dragon? What direction was it last seen heading?"

=====

Perception on the lands outside the city for signs of the invading force.

Oops! Forgot to add my roll, 14 + 4 = 18

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Osvald Hale' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 14

[Shorjahl]

Shorjahl lights their way with a floating pebble several paces ahead of them, and is otherwise quiet. He nods and smiles sternly at anyone who pays attention to him, but seems suspicious of Andrianna and Geld, and doesn't share much of his opinion on their journey through the catacombs.

As they emerge, his mouth hangs agape for a moment. It quickly snaps shut in anger, his brows lower darkly, and the prominent muscles in his jaw clench visibly as the bracer begins to chime at his wrist. His eyes flick from one point in the chaos to the next, each a harsh reminder of their failure to protect the city from the incoming danger. He knew that had they mounted a proper defense, had they warned the appropriate people other than chasing down drow and making mistakes, how many thousands would have lived?

A single hot, angry tear trails down his cheek, and is immediately evaporated by some puff of arcane heat. His attention is called into clarity once the militiamen begin speaking to him, and his comrades banter joyously. The overburdening guilt twisted into a knot in his stomach, and he felt in no mood to trade quips with the men.

In the intervening opportunity to observe the city, he quickly climbed to the nearest raised point of rubble, and scanned the horizon for threats, and to deduce the logical conclusion of the city's fate. Perhaps there was work here to be done that could save others. Andrianna and Geld's duty lied elsewhere, but he felt an obligation toward these people due to his failing. As his azure eyes scanned the horizon, he saw the foreboding arcane sigil.

His hands cracked into fists and the bracer's chime rose into a piercing crescendo as he boiled, staring up at it.

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

Couple of rolls:
Perception: 17
Logic: 21
Arcana: 6 (natural 1)

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Shorjahl' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'D20' : 15, 16, 1

[Artimus DeLonde]

Morning
===========

Artimus sailed quietly into Esmelteran amidst the cool dawn of the morning his boot planted firmly on the bow of the “Trois Pistoles”. He relished the soft tint of yellow that the water was imbued with by the rising sun, and the dew of the daybreak floating across the wake.

Almost as much as he relished the coin that waited for him imbued with the mane of a lion on one side, and an absent king on the other.
 
Something was wrong.

It wasn't the melt of night that greeted his nostrils, but a unmistakeably sharp scent of pitch. As Esmelteran came into view the bustling hub of trade and commerce was itself breathing fire and ash.

This would be a problem.

The Mariner was bringing in some “difficult to obtain items” to a certain individual was in the city now ablaze with an undefined chaos.

This might not be a problem in another city or another contact, but it was a problem today, and it was a issue with this contact.

The captain of the guard and was sure to be throwing himself into harm’s way.
Artimus was polarized in the road ahead. Making port was a risk to his ship; he didn't know what up against, what vexed the city and turned it to conflagration. However his relationship with Pelegar was a valuable one, allowing access to move goods about the city unfettered. Besides the temptation of adventure had crept into veins as the din of battle slowly rose out of the city across the harbour.
"It iz dezided, into the zity"
The Mariner whispered.

Then, over city emerged a deep azure terror, a serpent of legendary fear and destruction rose into view. As if to taunt his resolve.

You don’t wrestle a City from the grip of Verdi de Vecci just to let it slip back into his grey fingers…


Now Esmeltaran Palace
========

Artimus scanned the ragtag six as they emerged from a recluse-d door among the rubble, where once a palace wall would been. Pelegar seemed to know them...

A huntsman eyed him levelly through his rough brown hair. Wounded head and leg, he looked rugged, the man has seen some terrain. His gaze betrayed his skills a leader. He knew how to handle that ornate longsword at his side. A lithe Halfling stood just huntsman’s side, he looked comfortable in stance and crafty in portent, a symbol of Waukeen poked out beneath his cloak. To the rear a strong browed man, face crested with a tidy black beard and darkness that poured out of grey eyes, He seemed to carry an invisible weight on his shoulders. At the forefront of the posse stood a blue skinned man with a stance of a soldier, armed with a lance and a confident directness that was affirmed as he spoke.

Artimus spoke through his thick accent.

"Bonjour, Mon amiz, I zee ze fray in ze city haz weighed heavily on you, Non? I'd hate to zee Orcz zat you've left in your wake. ,  J'mecuze, where are my mannerz?! I am Captain Artimuz DeLonde and ...perhapz  ziz chance meeting iz fortunez’ favour.  Pelegar and ze city need ze goodz on my zhip now more zan ever, togezer we may have a chance to make it to ze ‘arbour and unload my zhip. After which I'm headed to Baulderz Gate, you’re fair would be covered zertainly.”
You could ztay but…. You do know who’z zigil that ‘angs in the zky, Oui?”

[Custer Thickett]

Custer, annoyed by the interruptions to his conversation with Pelegar by chiming bracers and chit chat between Kellar and some sea captain, jostled his hair with his empty left hand and shook his head as Pelegar started to answer, then waited for Artimus to finish.  He raised his voice only slightly, trying to remain respectful in his response, "Gentlemen, me thinks this is hardly a time to be discussing unloading merchant wares, recruiting crew for a ship, or, uh,"  He looks over to Shorjahl, then sighs and decides to leave that thought unspoken, and turns back to Pelegar, "So, what of the attack, Pelegar?  The marauders and the dragon are gone, yes?"

[Ao]

Pelegar stares levelly at the fellowship.

“The dragon tore the castle apart, Custer. It ripped brick by brick apart, skewering men and sending them flying over the edge. Lightning called down from the sky, scorching out homes and setting our people ablaze. Only once the castle was devoured, did the beast land.”

The soldiers look uneasy, staring around the ruins. Beyond, some shouting is heard. A man runs over to another, pushing him to the ground and grabbing at a bundle in his arms. The fallen citizen brandishes a knife, cutting the other deeply across the face as he skitters off into the western ruins.

“We had bolt throwers by the dozens. Could barely pierce the beast’s scales. The assailants drove us back to the wall - which we held, but by the grace of Waukeen. Had the other force pierced the northeastern gate, we’d have been flanked. If we have you lot to thank for that…then…Esmeltaran owes you a debt, friends. A debt that you’ll likely not see repaid any time soon. But a debt, nonetheless.”

He clears his throat.

“Western Esmeltaran is a shambles. The whole thing, razed to black. It’s lost. Lost to the rabble. Eastern Esmeltaran suffered casualties by the hundreds, but most of our buildings still stand, and the lootings were not so bad. Gods…how could this have happened?”

[To Custer’s earlier questions: Thickett Manor, and the other venues you inquired about were in Eastern Esmeltaran. So they still stand…]

Pelegar puts a hand on his head.

“The marauders left shortly after the castle fell. A huge, hulking man. Waukeen’s grace, maybe even an ogre. He bridled the dragon and rode it into the sky, casting a wicked sorcery and burning that sigil into the clouds.”

He points above your head, at the transposed triangles.

“Then, they fell back. Fell back, cutting down the merchants and citizens and guardsmen that were fleeing the city. The bastards. They cut a river of blood and sailed down on our dignity.”

[…]

Andrianna listens carefully, looking round at the men. But her eyes land squarely on Artimus.

“What do you mean, do we know the sigil in the sky? Are you saying that you do? Pray tell, sailor. What army marched against Esmeltaran last eve?”

[…]

Pelegar looks grimly at the group, looking past the ruins to the a burned-out inn, where two looters are trying to finagle an oak bed through a second-storey window into a hay-lined wagon.

He casts a glance back at Artimus, as the mariner implores the party to help secure his boat.

Pelegar sighs.

“What my enterprising friend means to say about the city needing his goods now more than ever, is that he is in possession of 39 cases of fine -untaxed- Sembian wine they need to be drinking. Actually, a shipment meant for your father’s stockyards, Custer.”

Pelegar points at the looters in frustration, and two of his militiamen run off in that direction to pull them off the roof of the ashen inn.

“But more seriously, the port is in the south end of the western ruined city. And no sooner had the marauder’s left our city aflame, than an army of militia deserters and shadow thieves cordoned off the docks and began stripping our storehouses into our ships and sailing them out into the sunrise. If they finish off the deed, Esmeltaran won’t just burn - it’ll starve.”

“The militia’s too disorganized to mount an effective attack. Any ideas?"

=======================

Ok guys,

First off, Dwan I’m going to let this post rotation go without you. I will bring you in in tomorrow’s rotation, for sure. Sorry about that sir! Add +20 XP to your character sheet for the trouble.

EXP: +20 to all who posted. Shorj, Cuss, Artimus, Kellar and Osvald

[Custer Thickett]

..."Esmeltaran owes you a debt, friends. A debt that you’ll likely not see repaid any time soon. But a debt, nonetheless.”

Cuss holds up his left hand as he replies, "Nay.  It was me duty as a citizen, and I'll see to it these are settled for theirs.  Do go on."

..."A huge, hulking man. Waukeen’s grace, maybe even an ogre. He bridled the dragon and rode it into the sky, casting a wicked sorcery and burning that sigil into the clouds."

Custer rubbed his chin as he glanced up, Could Kesian turn into an Ogre?  Mayhaps it was Grol?

...“Then, they fell back. Fell back, cutting down the merchants and citizens and guardsmen that were fleeing the city. The bastards. They cut a river of blood and sailed down on our dignity.”

Cuss frowns, then spits, "Oiy, I'll not settle for time to remember it like that.  They will not escape without meeting our vengeance, Pelegar.  Me thinks they will be easy for Lord Hale to find, yes?"

Cuss listens to Andrianna address the trader, and watches him closely as he replies.  Is this human all show, or might he actually know?

...

..."Actually, a shipment meant for your father’s stockyards, Custer.”

Cuss snorts out a laugh with his smile, and says to Artimus, "Oiy, well me hopes me father already settled payment on those wares, Captain DeLonde.  He set sail at the onset of this attack and me thinks his office is somewhere, uh..."  Cuss leans from side to side looking past those nearby to inspect the strewn rubble of the Old Royal Palace, then points at a massive pile, "Inside that one, mayhaps?"  Cuss scratches his head, the turns to look at the horizon over the Lake.  He ask Pelegar, "Any word on me father?  He went out on Trader's Glory."

"But more seriously...
...Any Ideas?"

Cuss locks eyes with Pelegar, and tilts his head towards Kellar, signaling his own deference on tactics.  I'd just get us killed.  Custer pulls his father's old light crossbow over his shoulder, and with one hand in the stirrup, expertly snaps the string into the latch.  When his hand comes away from the pull, a quarrel is left behind sitting in the flight groove, seemingly conjured in place, but in truth dropped from his bracer with a clever flick of the wrist.  Cuss holds the weapon at the ready, letting the others discuss ideas and offer the groups help in taking back the docks.  

Before heading out, Cuss gets Pelegar's attention with a nod, then says, "Once ya able to secure the city from the madness, we'll talk about that vengeance, yes?  Shall we be regrouping here after the docks, or meeting ya out in the city?"

=======

Cuss is very eager to help the militia secure the city and is willing to start with the docks per Pelegar's call for help.
Cuss wants to know if Pelegar has any word on the other Thicketts.  
Cuss wants to know were Pelegar would like them to regroup with him after taking the docks.

[Osvald Hale]

"...You say the dragon arrived with a large man riding him? ...Or did he smash the palace to free someone?"

He lets the question hang in the air.

Osvald notices Shorjahl, standing aloof from the group, fists and jaw clenched staring at the burning sigil emblazoned on the clouds.

'Well. That certainly doesn't bode well for us..." The ranger thought, shielding his eyes against the sun and looking upward grimly to the shimmering mark. Without a sorcerers comprehension, Osvald grasped only the obvious--that it was some sort of a curse, warning, or worse. He feared Esmelteran was a doomed city, despite their best efforts and the lives they'd saved. And this... signature... of the destruction wrought served only to infuriate Osvald. It was salt cast upon the field.

"...Our wizard is worried. And that worries me." Says Osvald, turning back to face Artimus, his beleaguered face stern as stone.

This man, Delonde, smacked of a Brigand. He was likely a sometime Privateer and most certainly a sometime Pirate. Foreign, cock-sure and swaggering, He was as out of place in the smoking ruin of Esmelteran as Osvald was when the streets hummed with the buzz of city life. Osvald had met men like this up and down the sword coast a hundred times over. Only loyal as long as the coin flowed. He wouldn't trust him until fate had proved otherwise.

"You. De... Blonde." He grinned darkly at the man, "You tell us what you know, Now. If we like what you have to say, We help you get back to your ship. A good show of force is needed to break up the rioting and that, we can deliver. Then--only when the city is secure--do we discuss what our destination afterward may be."

=====

Osvald wants to know what Artimus is hinting at regarding the Sigil in the sky. Then, he wants to rally the group to head to the docks and break up the rioting. Open to suggestions on the best way to go about that from Pelegar, Cuss, or Kellar.

[Artimus DeLonde]

Kellar notices Artimus and extends a question. If Artimus responds, Kellar will reply, I'm Kellar, the Quick. Dragoon. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.

to Kellar


"Aye, and it'z my pleazure to meet you mon amie."


Artimus said with a smile, clasping Kellar out stretched hand.


"It zeemz you have done more than your and your cadre'z zhare to aide Ezmeltaran. That iz clear. Perhapz there iz ztill fight in uz. I fear that if the ztorez are not held againzt the theze zhadow thievez, the city will fall into a looting of greed, but one of famine, the city may become a failed ztate."


It zeemz that Verdi De Vicci iz ztriking when the city az weak, az iz hiz way. A coward who'z knife movez zlowly, zlipping between armour and ribz when you ztumble"


Andrianna listens carefully, looking round at the men. But her eyes land squarely on Artimus.


“What do you mean, do we know the sigil in the sky? Are you saying that you do? Pray tell, sailor. What army marched against Esmeltaran last eve?”


Artimus strides manfully toward the unknown woman clad in burnished plate, taking her hand as a pearly smile emerged from his granite jaw hoping to drop her guard as he sized her up.


-Charisma-


"Well ma bichette (My little Doe) I have heard tale of an Orge Magi named Zoziz who bearz zat zigil. A Ruzlezz Killer withz a Luzt for war and blood. Rumour iz zat he waz dead, zlain by tezyrian Green Riderz. It zeemz ze talez of hiz deaz are exaggerated, Non? Or perhapz ze magi haz returned az zomezing darker."

as Artimus replies, he examines Andrianna trying to understand her place in this group. of the others, she and the white bearded man beside her seemed different. the other four, seemed scrappy, like a band survivors. These two had an air of agency about them. What did they want, and who did they work for?


-insight-


Cuss snorts out a laugh with his smile, and says to Artimus, "Oiy, well me hopes me father already settled payment on those wares, Captain DeLonde. He set sail at the onset of this attack and me thinks his office is somewhere, uh..."


"Hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh, I can zee zat would be a problem. foturne zhinez on uz, ziz zhipment requirez no offical zeal. Not to worry az for payment, Mon Ami, Pelegar iz my contact here and zettlez all accountz. In truz I did not know ze wine waz for your fazer, zough I had my zuzpicianz. Zome zingz are better left a myztery, I cannot zpill what I do not know, Non?"


A wry smile crept across the swordsmans mouth...


"Your father zet zail az the town waz attacked. Did he take all the Wine and women too? We may have that in common!"


Artimus quips with a wink.


"More prezzingly it zeemz our intentionz are aligned in ze defenze of ze harbour. Ze azzault zreatenz ze life line of ze city, wizout zoze ztorez or a zecure port, ze city will, how zey zay 'die on ze vine'.


I will continue to offer my blade in aims of clearing ze harbour, if ze city falls I'll have no one to ply my unique trade wiz.


Bezidez, I like ziz place, a man can walk ze ztreetz wizout ze fear of a knife in ze back."


=================


An aside to Pelegar


Artimus Gripped the Captain of the Guards hand, shaking it merrily.


"A pleazure once again Pelegar, It'z alwayz a zrill to zee ze captain out from hiz dezk and in ze ztreetz doling out juztice. It pleazez me to zee you till have zome zkill wiz a blade. Meet me at ze dock wiz ze agreed rate. I'll zrow ze dead roguez in gratiz and perhapz if your open to It I'll take zome of goodz for my hold?"

Ledger reads:


39 Cases of Sembian wine


regular price 360 gp


The Krakens Fist Price 120gp


Cost 4680

[DiceMaster]

The member 'Artimus DeLonde' has done the following action : Dice Roller

#1 'D20' : 17

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#2 'D20' : 1

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