OrkJager
- Thread starter Mr. Prez
- Start date
Lindal - Half Orc Ranger
Lindal's eyes were full of an anger that none of his companions from last night would have recognised as he swung the quarterstaff back at his opponent, wielding it gripped like a two handed sword.
With a sickening crunch, the blow connected with the orcs head...
OOC:
To-hit: Natural 20! Woohoo! Roll 11 + 4 = 15 to confirm.
Damage is either: roll 1 + 4 (STR) + 2 (Racial Enemy)=7 for a normal blow, going up to 7+5+4+2=18 for a crit.
Lindal's eyes were full of an anger that none of his companions from last night would have recognised as he swung the quarterstaff back at his opponent, wielding it gripped like a two handed sword.
With a sickening crunch, the blow connected with the orcs head...
OOC:
To-hit: Natural 20! Woohoo! Roll 11 + 4 = 15 to confirm.
Damage is either: roll 1 + 4 (STR) + 2 (Racial Enemy)=7 for a normal blow, going up to 7+5+4+2=18 for a crit.
Mr. Prez
First Post
The orc that Felicity hits turns toward her and its eyes flare in a savage rage. It's sizzling shoulder is lowered as it rushes at her. (He won't reach her untill next round)
Dagmar's axe makes a sweeping arc, and the orc's face is stuck in an expression tht is half snarl and half confusion as its head is partially disconnected from his body.
Lindal's quarterstaff whistles throught the air and lands upon the orc with a devestating crunch. The sturdy wood doesn't stop untill it reaches it's collar bone. (That's a crit!)
The members of the party have each just now attracted the attention of raiders away from their raiding, Felicity will be confronted by the one she has injured and the others with fresh opponents. They will attack next round. The other orcs will continue to pillage.
Franky, Koric, Percy, orc (Percy), Lindal, orc (Koric), Dagmar, orc (Franky), orc (Dagmar), orc (Lindal), Felicity, orc (Felicity) (Yes, I did give her the slow one intentionally.)
Dagmar's axe makes a sweeping arc, and the orc's face is stuck in an expression tht is half snarl and half confusion as its head is partially disconnected from his body.
Lindal's quarterstaff whistles throught the air and lands upon the orc with a devestating crunch. The sturdy wood doesn't stop untill it reaches it's collar bone. (That's a crit!)
The members of the party have each just now attracted the attention of raiders away from their raiding, Felicity will be confronted by the one she has injured and the others with fresh opponents. They will attack next round. The other orcs will continue to pillage.
Franky, Koric, Percy, orc (Percy), Lindal, orc (Koric), Dagmar, orc (Franky), orc (Dagmar), orc (Lindal), Felicity, orc (Felicity) (Yes, I did give her the slow one intentionally.)
FreeXenon
American Male (he/him); INTP ADHD Introverted Geek
Franky:Rnd 3 Init:18 Chant (+1 to Hit, Damage, Save) T-5
Init: 18 (15 +3) AC: 16 HP: 8
Light X-bow +5, d6, 19-20 x2
Franky stops chanting after seeing the aggressive response from the ork wounded by Felicity's spell. Fearing for her well being, his aim moves to this oppenent and he fires his crossbow. Attack Action - Roll 12 (7 + 5) most likely missing : 3 (2 +1)damage
Seeing it miss, concern furls his worried brow even more. Franky yellls "Dagmar!!" and points to the charging ork.
"Felicity, take cover, get out of its sight." he says as he moves to intercept the soon to be charging ork. (move action)
"Percy and Koric are at the front and Lindal is at the back of the caravan!! I can't message for them! Too dark..."
Franky more quickly begins to reload his crossbow.
Felicity +1 Morale bonus to Hit and Damage, and to Fear and Charm saves
Dagmar +1 Morale bonus to Hit and Damage, and to Fear and Charm saves
Narrative: Introduction
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Morgan found the cool spring air refreshing as he stepped out of his house in the port city of Vormarsch. A breeze gently rustles his short, straight brown hair and cools an always cleanly shaven face that is commanding and strikingly handsome. Deep brown eyes take in everything and a keen mind that is not easily fooled keeps him safe and out of trouble. His strong and lithe body belies a surprising strength which is something that he has always used to his advantage. Morgan carries himself with a sure grace and presence that few common men will start a problem with. From his time growing up on the streets and his time in the militia he has seen a lot and not much surprises him. Today, however, he had a feeling that this all will change.
The sun has been out for almost a ten-day melting the snow that has accumulated on rooftops from a rather harsh and deep winter. The temperature has been wavering around the ice point keeping the snow around for longer than he wished. Morgan found the sun comforting and breeze gentle. The streets are wet and muddied from the melting rooftop snow. Ships bound from all over the known world have been bringing cargo sporadically for a little more than four ten-days in preparation for a new season of trade. The birds were singing and it was almost warm enough to wear a short sleeved-shirt. Morgan took a deep breath and slowly exhaled enjoying the scent of spring in the air. Life is picking up here in the capital city.
The town criers and the Fleeters were out and about doing their work. A dark blue tunic with the livery of a golden winged boot hails the coming and goings of the Fleeters and one just happened to be passing by. Morgan waved and said “Good morning, Faranis!”
“Hi Morgan! Happy sunshine!” the Fleeter responded and never lost stride to continue on about his delivery. Morgan smiled at this. A sense of familiarity and loss crept into his thoughts.
It is often said that Fleeters are the true harbinger of spring and trade and not the birds. The migrating birds have been early and late, or decide to settle elsewhere, but the Fleeters always seem to know when it is safe to start business for the season. They deliver packages and messages all around the city, or even to other cites if the price is right.
Morgan is one of the best Fleeters around. He knows how to handle himself and can swing a sword pretty well. Morgan carries and equips himself well enough that he does not have many problems, and if he does, he can take care of it. As the most senior member he is hailed by most Fleeters as almost a legend.
Endar hired him 4 years ago, during the first 2 months of Fleeter operation, after he saved one of his couriers from doom at the hand of one of Praga’s thugs. He is sad to see his prize Fleeter go, but the thought of expanding his business to other regions made him giddy and annoyed at the same time. In their time working together they have become friends of sorts, not close friends, but friends nonetheless. Endar respects Morgan’s common sense and clarity, while Morgan respects Endar’s business sense and influence. They have worked well together to build the Fleeters to what it has become today, and Morgan leaving is a great loss to Endar personally and professionally.
Saerra, Morgan’s wife, had just given birth to their baby boy, Shraen, a ten-day ago at the season’s first sunshine. He has talked it over with her and they have decided to make for Faule when the roads open for trade again. In preparation for this journey Morgan has saved some money and has purchased a wagon, begrudgingly, from Saerra’s parents. When the time comes they will pack up all of their belongings and head off for Faule to start a new life. He has made an arrangement with Endar to start a group of Fleeters in Faule, and then try to open a semi-safe route to Vormarsch. Besides, no matter what happens there it will be more than worth the trouble to get away from his in-laws.
Saerra’s parents do not approve of his occupation because he does not manufacture anything. Her father is a carpenter and carpentry has been in their family for generations. He can go around the city and show where his family has had a hand at helping to build the city. He says that “You will never be able to do that. You will not have anything to pass on to your children. No legacy! You will never have anything to show for your work At the end of a day you have nothing. Nothing.” her father says. “ I have a well provided for family, what more do I need to show for my work?” is what I say. Whenever I see them, which is not very often, they always look at me with eyes that are searching for news of a job change. They also worry because I take some of the more dangerous jobs. “Why not? Better pay and I am damn good at it!” Our home is in a better part of Griffon Ward than theirs and I think that contributes to their disapproval as well.
“Ack!!” A startled Morgan shouts, as he is yanked from his thoughts, as a smiling Fleeter appears in front of him. “Moooorgan!” croons the long haired blonde half-elven beauty that he has had not so innocent thoughts about. “Luria! It is good to see you!!” They both smile wide, obviously enjoying the untold knowledge of their mutual feelings. Her face shifts to a pout. “Endar told me to tell you that Vormarsch will announce that the roads will soon open for trade to Faule.”
“Great news! Thank you, Luria.” Morgan smiles warmly to her.
“You are crazy for leaving us... To Faule?.” Her pout grows deeper hoping that her concern will convince him to stay, but fully knowing otherwise.
“I know, but my family’s future is in Faule.” He smiles with a hint of playful regret.
Luria defiantly sticks her tongue out at him so hard that her eyes close in a wrinkled mass and then she gallops off out of sight. Morgan smiles, sighs, and then heads off to see Endar to prepare for his journey to Faule.
The streets of the Griffon Ward where Morgan lives are fairly clean, free of undesirables, and is lightly bustling with activity. People shopping for various supplies and seeking various services re scattered about the streets. The seasonal shops and businesses are gearing up for traders and travelers that frequent this city in transit to other destinations. His destination, the Fleeter Center, was on the other side of the Griffon Ward. The Fleeter Center was located at a very convenient spot - at the intersection of the Scepter, Griffon, and Candle Wards which are the areas from which most business is garnered. These three wards have modest prices for delivery and the prices to the other wards are a little higher, as is the risk.
The Fleeter Center is a busy building of people coming in and Fleeters running out. It is made of a dark unfinished drab wood and two double doors; one is used for entering and one is used for exiting. There is a double side-door for employees and cargo to be brought in. The double doors are rough and unfinished like the exterior, yet functional. The walls are thick and reinforced to prevent ‘trans-loctation’ magics from working. There are two magically reinforced windows in the building. A Fleeter talks behind one pane in the lobby and there is another pain in a client waiting room.
There are Fleeter guards milling about appearing to be not so vigilant, but their eyes and ears are always seeking for trouble. There is a single sign adorning the side of the Fleeter Center. It is of a modest size bearing a dark blue field with a golden winged boot in the center - the coat of arms for prompt and safe delivery. We Fleeters pride ourselves on the prompt secure delivery of our charge and proudly bear this as our coat-of-arms.
Morgan enters the building from the side door. The guards nod to him and clap him on the back welcoming him. He passes by several Fleeters which greet him and shake his hand. He sees that Endar is waiting for him as his corpulent midsection is the first thing Morgan sees as he rounds the corner to Endar's office. Endar's clothes are drab and functional just like his building. Made to not stand out and to just do its job. His short, straight black hair appears almost greasy and possibly combed. His face is chubby and wide, his fingers short and stubby, bearing but one gold band on his left pinkie.
Endar’s office is the size of a very large closet. Shelves line the walls are cluttered with papers and ledgers. An overflowing garbage is to the side of his desk and smells faintly of rotting food. Sitting not so comfortably in the chair next to his desk is an attractive female with long fine golden waves of well groomed hair. She wear is wearing a long, form fitting, red dress that compliments her voluptuous physique and she smells faintly of perfume. Definitely not Griffon Warder, most likely she is from the Scepter Ward. Morgan smiles and nods to the lady whose return smile is of a pleading polite nature, and then he nods to Endar.
“Morgan, welcome!” Endar smiles broadly and affectionately! Not wasting any time he motions to the lady. “This is Lady Phaelis.” and then he motions to Morgan. “Lady Phaelis, this is Morgan.” ‘This’ caught Morgan’s attention. He looks at Endar with confused and concerned eyes.
“As...we have agreed, Endar, at the first moment that roads become open to Faule I will be free to prepare for my journey.”
“Ye..Yes. Yes, of course my friend. My prize Fleeter.”
“He is perhaps the best Fleeter I have.” Smiling again hoping to appease Morgan’s fears. Endar clears his throat and a look of caution and hope cover his face.
“Morgan, we have an offer for you. One last job and you will not regret it!” Endar smiles broadly hoping that Morgan will play along and not make a scene.
“Oh, no! I will be transporting my family! I am not going to agree to anything that could endanger them! The last time you looked like this I was creeping around the Carrion Ward delivering a small unmarked package to an undisclosed location. I had to take a month off to recuperate from dispatching some of Praga’s thugs.” Morgan’s sarcastic smile made Endar scowl. Phaelis’ smile turned to surprised approval.
Praga is an infamous mafia boss trafficking in black-market goods and general thuggery. His code is brutal and so are his thugs. He is not a man to be trifled with unless you enjoy pain, suffering, and death. Fortunately, Endar smoothed that whole situation over so as to not start a war between the two organizations. Endar has tried hard to maintain his business as a solid neutral party so that everyone will feel safe using his service. Having Praga’s thugs following or accosting your delivery members or clients would not be good for business. “Taking care of it is just good business sense.” Endar said, and for that I am thankful.
Phaelis caught the moment of uncomfortable silence and began to speak to Morgan. “Mr. Ashfall. All I need is to be escorted to Faule. I do not, in any way, expect problems. I have lead a modest and quiet life as have my family. There should be nothing that you should have to worry about. I will ride on a horse separate from your family’s wagon if you are concerned. I will just feel... better... if someone is watching over me. A woman of my station does not travel alone, and it is hard to put a price on peace of mind, don’t you think?” Definitely a Scepter Warder, her tongue silvered probably from practice at court. Morgan scrutinized her looking for any form of deception..... None to be found.
“Why, in the name of all that is holy, are you going there? I could not imagine a reason that a ‘woman of your station’ could find anything in that frontier town.” Morgan’s look of distrust and scrutiny did not phase the woman in the slightest. Her face remained calm and unmoving. It then melted into sadness and despair, her eyes begin to tear up. Phaelis is quiet for a moment and then slowly her face begins to return to a practiced calm. The tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes are the only thing that betray her now serene face.
Phaelis’ voice cracks a bit as she starts to speak “My little brother has run away to relatives in Faule. I seek to bring him back where it is safe. We have family there that will escort us back. Please Mr. Ashfall!! Please!!” Seeing such a beautiful woman in such pain caused Morgan’s stalwart walls to break down. Even through the suspicion his mind caved in and that very moment irritated him This feeling was plainly shown his face. Phaelis smiles pleadingly and thankfully with a look of hope in her eyes.
“Promise me that he was not kidnapped. Promise me!!” His eyes were stern and seeking any untruth in her following words. A wide and very relieved smile washes over her and she says “I promise you! You have my word.” She sighs and takes a few breaths. “Thank you!! I will give you the full two thousand gold pieces now, Mr. Ashfall!! I know that I can trust you.” She hands Morgan a dark velvet jingling pouch. He looks into it and sees 3 smaller pouches containing gems, platinum, and gold and silver respectively.
She lightly courtsies and then quietly begins to leave, a trail of delicately sweet perfume dances in her wake. She stops at the door and then turns to Morgan “I have made the arrangements for us to join a caravan leaving to Faule in a fortnight. We will be leaving with the Markin Company’s caravan. I will seek you out the night before.” She smiles again, nods good-bye, and then leaves.
Morgan looks to Endar. “If anything happens to my family. I will hunt you down and......” He let that thought trail off. Shaking his head, he turns and leaves. “What have I done?” He asks himself quietly... Saerra is not going to be happy.”
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The night sky is clear and full of stars. All is quiet in Griffon Ward except for the lone sound of a horse cantering on the cobblestone street. A brisk breeze pulls at the rider’s hooded cloak which is pulled tightly about its body and face keeping the cold night air at bay. The rider goes on for quite a while and stops at a tavern, tethers the horse, goes inside and melts into the boisterous crowd. After a while it melts back into the street seeming not quite the same as it did before it entered the tavern, somehow smaller and its clothes have changed colors and style. The figure walks down the street into the night leaving the sounds of talking, drinking, and the clanging of glasses in the distance. The path it follows weaves and wanders in a seemingly random path throughout the Griffon Ward sometimes crossing back on itself. The meandering trip finds its end at a familiar home, the home of Morgan and Saerra Ashfall. The figure cautiously looks around and knocks on the door.
As the door opens the figure’s form, melts into something more familiar, to that of a taller, well-dressed, blonde haired, perfumed, noble woman named Phaelis. Morgan opens the door to see the familiar sight of Phaelis and in a nonchalant manner says “Come in.” There is a tension visible in the air as she slowly enters. Phaelis smiles, nods and then brightly says “Greetings Saerra!” who looks up from tending to the baby. She looks at the baby laying quietly in its crib and says “How beautiful!! Congratulations.” Saerra smiles proudly and affectionately says “Yes. Yes, he is.” Out of the corner of her eye, Saerra spots Morgan cautiously looking out of the window. After a few moments of that he seems to be satisfied that there is no trouble following and returns to stand before Phaelis.
“Have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink? We have water, a little bit of honey ale, or Black River Tea?”
Phaelis’ friendly smile turns to something more sinister and arrogant. Saerra and Morgan let out a muffled yelp as short blades quietly sheathe themselves into the flesh of their backs. A look of shock and utter horror fills their faces as they look to each other and then to their new born son, their life slowly fading from them. The bodies of Saerra an Morgan slump quietly to the floor to reveal two figures enshrouded in shadows behind them with bloodied blades in hand. They soundlessly sheathe the blades and their forms shift to that of Morgan and Saerra. They pickup the two bodies and lay them in bed covering them in blankets. Their movements making not a sound. When they finish with that they return to the main room and all three surround the baby, Shraen, laying wide-eyed in his crib. Soundless moments pass as the three do not move, their eyes fixed on Shraen. Phaelis passes a hand over the quietly cooing child and it falls asleep.
********
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Narrative: A New Beginning
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The 9th of Sutar is a day like any other spring day in Vormarsch. The sun rises early, as it always does in the spring, and the sky is moderately clouded. The birds are singing and flying about on the cool breeze that carries the smell of spring tainted by dried fish, leather, horses and freshly cut wood. The sounds of creaking wagons, whinnying horses and the chattering voices of many people can be heard outside of the South Gate. The Markin Company’s caravan gathers outside and eager voices full of anticipation and a tense excitement fills the air. Small pavilions are setup for the caravan masters to answers questions and to decide on the logistics of their forthcoming journey.
A voice that reminds you of circus ringleader carries over the dim roar of talking and movement to announce “The time to start life in a new place is what living is all about, ladies and gentleman. Change!! Here is you once in a life time chance to start over...and the Markin Company’s caravan is your answer!! You...” The rest of what he says is drowned out as the crowd starts to clap and begins to talks amongst themselves.
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Morgan’s form gracefully weaves his way through the crowd to a particular pavilion to register his family and wagon. He finishes this then quickly and quietly finds his way back to the wagon with his wife, son, and Phaelis. They appear somewhat distracted and nervous and try to use some small talk to break the tension. Phaelis is dressed very conservatively, not at all in the luxurious formfitting manner that she wore before. She now wears clothes that you would expect Endar to wear - muted, dull and not at all memorable. Her hair is pulled up and hidden in hood of her cloak, and not a trace of perfume to be found. This is an entirely different look for her, very different.
************
As the train starts out people are excited and talk about how starting life in Faule will change their lives and how it will make it better. Children playing in the wagons are soon chastised by their parents for fear of them breaking something. Lone travelers that happen to be within a conversation's distance of someone offer a few moments of small talk and then gravitate into familiar groups. Settlers that see people they know arrange to change positions in the wagon train to maintain some sense of familiarity. As the day goes on the duration of the trip settles on everyone and a tense quiet hangs about the caravan. All that can be heard is the squeaking of wagon axles or the occasional whinnying and snorting of horses.
As you move farther and farther from Vormarsch the lands become rougher and more wild. The scenery moves from small rolling fields and small copses of bare trees to broad expanses of hilly plains and small forests full of bare trees. The roads become progressively worse as the distance increases from the capital city. A smooth hard-packed road becomes a rocky, muddy, jutted wagon path that has barely seen use. Your smooth ride becomes a bumpy and noisy and your butt becomes numb as you fidget to try to keep some feeling. Naked forests, devoid of leaves, seem to be alive and watch you curiously as you pass by hoping that you might bravely venture into their midst to an unknown fate.
The caravan stops several times to take care of problems that pop-up - a stuck wheel, a pet that becomes restless. In these moments caravaners take the time to adjust the order of wagons as some have requested and to give a small speech to pick up everyone's spirits. The caravan guards help to quickly resolve problems and they watch everyone carefully looking for signs of trouble. Their wary eyes keep a careful watch on the surrounding lands for problems like the ever growing wolf population and ork raiders.
The sun wanders in and out of the clouds all day long giving you warmer and cooler moments.
It seems to take an eternity for it to travel across the sky to the western horizon. It feels as if it is intently watching the caravan, not wanting to miss anything that happens, trying delay the inevitable sunset. The sun finally relents as white clouds thicken above before it starts to dip below the horizon. When the sun starts to set the temperature drops sharply reminding you that winter has recently ended. A chill runs down your back making you desire to pull out warmer clothes to stave off this nights coming chill.
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Narrative of the first 2 rounds
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After a long hard day with the trudging caravan train, your mind feels the tiredness of watching the same thing all day - morning, afternoon, and into the night. You have seen the same on all sides of you trees to the left, trees to the right, wagon in front of you and wagon in back of you. You hear the rhymic squeaking of not so well fitted axles of wagons, the clomping of hooves of horses pulling wagons or carying a sagging rider, and a short conversation that rarely pops up. Most have succumbed to the mind numbing pall of monotony to not speak and just trudge on hoping to soon see the end of their journey the frontier city Faule.
Towards early morning ominous dark gray clouds quickly take their place over the caravan and seem to follow a cruel script to ensure a miserable journey. In a way you welcome the clouds as they bring a change, a little something to break the sameness of seeming to march on for the sake of marching on. The temperature drops noticeably and it cools down quite a bit; enough to make you want to reach for some warmer clothes, and clothes possibly better suited for the coming rain.
Black clouds have shrouded your day in darkness so now everything is even more the same than it was before. There is darkness and everything is darker. There is less to see now and that which you do see is covered in the shadows of the foreboded rain. Sunlight occasionally peaks through the black clouds in an almost divine moment. As if Pelor himself is granting relief from the darkness, coldness, and storm to come. That is but a brief moment as the sun loses its epic battle with the storm clouds and shadows once again cover the land.
The rain starts to pour down as if the world is trying to purge itself of the putrescent will of settlers looking for a new start, the desire and hope of something new. It seems as if the very world is against you trying to keep you from change; wanting to drown you in a sea of water, cold and a nothingness. The temperature drops even more; a cool breeze starts as the rain falls. A cold wetness permeates your very being and the sound of rain drones out all else and it is hard to see anything more than a few feet in front of you. The oppressive darkness, rain and cold turning the world into more of the same. You close your eyes and attune yourself to the will of the march, the rhythm of the caravan and you march on. Drear and gloom are your companions; isolation and nothingness are the gifts they bear.
It rains and rains for most of the day, from mid morning and on into the early night. You thought that it might never end just as Pelor himself wins a great battle seeming to banish the clouds; the temperature rises and the rain is reduced to a fine mist. The temperature rises quite a bit, enough for you to want to shed you warmer clothes and take in the warming rays of the sun. A warm mist replaces the rain and a fog seems to roll from the ground as the sun begins to warm the ground. It seems like a strange combination to you, the warm cloudless mist and rolling fog. The sun cuts through the fog and mist like a beacon of joy and warmth. Your bones seem to drink it up and you can almost feel the bitter cold and wetness start to recede. The sun reflects off the fog creating a wall of fluffy whiteness making hard to see more than a few feet ahead of you. You rely mostly on feeling the rhythm of the caravan to guide you forward. You find the ground muddy and wet as those wagons, horses and people that have come before you tear up the ground and let the water create a long trail of mud two or three inch deep for you to muck through.
A cooler light rain starts again and seems to dampen the fog a little bit as night seems to slowly creep upon you. Darkness firmly set itself upon the caravan and you find yourself cold, tired, and your body aches from walking or riding and you wish a reprieve from the endless march to the glory of Faule. A whistle pierces the silence and echoes from group of guards to group of guards. Like a wave of sound starting from the front of the caravan and rolling all of the way to the back bringing the promise of rest and an end to the march. The Caravan Master's call for a halt and rest for the night was welcomed by everyone and you could feel a large weight being lifted, and the air seems to clear as sprits are lifted with thoughts of rest and sleep.
When the whistling resides people start to move about, welcoming the change in movement. Instead of a forward walk permeated by an unending cool dampness we get to stop and mill about, pick things up and talk. The settlers stretch, yawn, sigh, and slowly break out the gear for night time; fires are started, bedrolls and rolled out, and tents are set up. Guards work on setting a perimeter and assisting people in setting up camp. Some settlers go out to search for more food and wood to be dried for the next time the caravan stops.
The poised relaxation and contentness is broken by primal cries and screams as new creatures charge in to fill the empty spaces. Large brutal creatures wielding huge axes with doom on their breath and in their eyes. Axes fall and horses whinny and rear up as an orkish horde charges into the midst of the caravan in a howling frenzy of violence. You hear women screaming, children crying, and the dying screams of men cleaved asunder. The orks attack the nearest person they see and try to carry off women and take horses. The moment of such a severe change from a bland nothingness to pure chaos catches everyone by surprise. Your senses having been dulled by the march and you find it hard to process what exactly is happening. Through the mist and darkness you can see less than a handful of raiders doing their business and seem to be unconcerned that there might be someone here that could pose a threat to their orkish invasion.
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A slight smile crosses Franky's face as the realization that boredom has just been banished. He looks to the wet and dour Dagmar whose face instantly changes from a wet tactiturness to an almost maniacal glee as the realization that Orks had come for their death. Franky's smile grows even larger and he says "Here we go..." while looking to Felicity and Dagmar, and he is curious to see what his new found companions can do. Franky's hands, slick from rain, wanders to his saddle bags and pulls out his crossbow and readies it to be loaded. He begins and old chant about a dwarven warlord hoping to see the glory of the axe wielding dwarven heroes in Dagmar's arm.
With great enthusiasm Dagmar pulls about his Dwarven waraxe and charges the nearest ork and completely over shoots the creature, his zeal getting the best of him. The ork passing by him seems to take no notice of the dwarven fury that could have just ended its existence. The dwarve's axe bites into the ground and its cold-iron blade sparks as it catches a rock.
In an excited and worried rush Felicity pulls out her crossbow and fires at the nearest ork she can see, missing completely seeming to underestimate the speed of the orkish attackers. A concerned frustration sets upon her face as she drops the crossbow to the wagon seat. Her practiced fingers seek something more comfortable and familiar - her pouch of spell components...
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At the head of the caravan the simultaneous reaction of Koric and Percy is uncanny and empowering. They react to the orkish invaders in very similar ways, knowing that there is strength in numbers, they seek to strenghten the many to ensure they can last the fight.
Koric's powerful voice booms "Lo, I hear the roars of the orken hoards! Steady yourself, Percy, for this day many orcs will rue the day they face us!" Koric brandishes the symbol of Pelor as if it was reason enough for the orks retreat; a fierce resolve that all salvation lies in the glory and light of Pelor. Koric roars "Pelor, heed my call! Grant us a swift and rightous victory in your name!" and the very air seems to be filled with energy and people in the area seem to feel as if the very will of Pelor guides them and gives them strength.
Percy says more to himself than to anyone in particular "So much for this being a safe area; and for our flankers." He pulls his mind from focusing on the world at large and concentrates in the way that he has been taught. He draws confidence and an air of command seemingly from nowhere and shouts "Strike hard lads and take your openings". His command of the field battle and the shout of a commanding prescence on the field pushes the guards and settlers on. He yells "Come on, give 'em some back." not wanting to speak with too much military jargon as few here would understand. Percy's tactical minds seeks a common ground from which the orks attack hoping to find a weakness in their plan. He pulls his bow about and fires towards the charging wave of orks. The arrow loses itself in the night and seems to give the viewing settlers more confidence and pushes them to hit harder.
The effect of a the commanding prescence of Percy and the blessing of Pelor fills the battlefield and the settlers fight on knowing that there are competent adventurers about.
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A slience falls over Lindal as he quickly and carefully weaves his way through the scattering settlers like a hungry cat hunting his prey. Determination fills his eyes as he deftly slips his quarterstaff from its back holster and attempts to crush the ork's skull in one smooth movement. His staff slams into the ground and dirt shoots up all around as it misses its target, his eyes never leaving his prey as the hunt has not ended. The speed of this ork is deceiving and it is not a mistake he shall make again.
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After seeing Dagmar of the Clanging Armor swing and completely miss the ork Franky thinks to himself "...born to such weapons...?"
Dagmar swirls his dwarven forged death-dealer menacingly through the air as he snarls at the ork and then shouts "That's your last warning ork, release the woman or the next one takes your head off.".
Worry continues to distort Franky's cherubic face as he fumbles around to load his crossbow and continues the Dwarven Chant of the Valar Dwarves. His keen eyes searching for the biggest threat to the struggling threesome and levels the crossbow marking his prey.
Not taking kindly to being ignored by the ork, Dagmar follows through on his threat taking a big two-handed swing partially severing the orks neck. Its body slumps to the ground with the face stuck in an expression that is half snarl and half confusion. Blood splatters on the ground and on dwarven armor; it spills onto the ground forming a crimson pool of the orks life essence.
"I warned ye!" Dagmar said confidently with a smile.
"Come on ye cowardly sows! Leave off the wimmen an bairns an face a real dwarf!"
Dagmar says to himself "I'll need to 'ave the lad, Lindal, teach me orkish. It's not worth taunting opponents in combat who cannot understand ye."
Felicity's hands weave through the air, as if she is gathering floating pollen. Swirling motes of light begin to coalesce in front of her as she concentrates on the weave and the spell pattern she instinctively understands. The motes of light concentrate into a single bright point and she lets out a wild shout, "Bite of the Rat!" The light seems to scurry through the air like a thousand tiny ravenous rats rushing to eat the only slice of cheese left in existence. You could swear you heard the scurrying and gnawing of rats as the light impacted the ork's shoulder causing it to visibly give under the force of the spell. The ork grunts loundly and turns toward the source of its pain eyes flaring with savage rage. The ork, seeming not to care, lowers its wounded shoulder and rushes towards her.
Felecity looks at the frenetic melee surrounding her and begins to worry. Her left hand grips the handle of her scimitar so tightly her knuckles turn white. "Franky! Where are the others? Can you see them? Should we run?" With the satisfaction of the success of Rats Bite her right hands goes back into her component pouches, preparing to unleash more of the wrath of the Green Path.
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"Fear not, Percy, for my arm shall aide yours!" Koric roars as he raises his heavy mace in the air and swings it in a deceptive and seemingly wide path from the upper right. The ork does comprehend the what is about to befall and dodges to the left just a little thinking itself safe. Koric's mace smashes against the ork's ribs in a crushing horizontal slant. The ork folds over the force of the blow and slumps hard to the ground. Koric's eyes light up as he quells his foe.
"Friend Dagmar!" he yells hoping that his dwarf friend can hear him. "Everyone! Protect the women and children!" He looks around for the next target who wishes to experience Pelor's wrath. Koric raises his mace to the sky and shouts "Praise Pelor! First blood!"
"They bleed like anything else!" Percy states in a matter-of-fact yet jubillant manner as he sees Koric's ork fold to the ground. The cleric's display of martial prowess is enough to distract him from his own oppenent and his arrow goes wide. "Focus, focus." He says quietly to himself.
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Lindal's eyes were full of an anger that none of his companions from last night would have recognised. His quiet demeaner belies a silent rage within. The hunter spun around swinging the quarterstaff over his head like a two handed sword, never missing a beat. The resounding sound of a sickening crunch announced the staff as it connected with the orks head crushing it, not stopping untill it reached the collar bone. The ork's corpse slid silently down the length of the staff leaving a bloody trail and silently lay to rest on the ground.
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Init: 18 (15 +3) AC: 16 HP: 8
Light X-bow +5, d6, 19-20 x2
Franky stops chanting after seeing the aggressive response from the ork wounded by Felicity's spell. Fearing for her well being, his aim moves to this oppenent and he fires his crossbow. Attack Action - Roll 12 (7 + 5) most likely missing : 3 (2 +1)damage
Seeing it miss, concern furls his worried brow even more. Franky yellls "Dagmar!!" and points to the charging ork.
"Felicity, take cover, get out of its sight." he says as he moves to intercept the soon to be charging ork. (move action)
"Percy and Koric are at the front and Lindal is at the back of the caravan!! I can't message for them! Too dark..."
Franky more quickly begins to reload his crossbow.
Felicity +1 Morale bonus to Hit and Damage, and to Fear and Charm saves
Dagmar +1 Morale bonus to Hit and Damage, and to Fear and Charm saves
Narrative: Introduction
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Morgan found the cool spring air refreshing as he stepped out of his house in the port city of Vormarsch. A breeze gently rustles his short, straight brown hair and cools an always cleanly shaven face that is commanding and strikingly handsome. Deep brown eyes take in everything and a keen mind that is not easily fooled keeps him safe and out of trouble. His strong and lithe body belies a surprising strength which is something that he has always used to his advantage. Morgan carries himself with a sure grace and presence that few common men will start a problem with. From his time growing up on the streets and his time in the militia he has seen a lot and not much surprises him. Today, however, he had a feeling that this all will change.
The sun has been out for almost a ten-day melting the snow that has accumulated on rooftops from a rather harsh and deep winter. The temperature has been wavering around the ice point keeping the snow around for longer than he wished. Morgan found the sun comforting and breeze gentle. The streets are wet and muddied from the melting rooftop snow. Ships bound from all over the known world have been bringing cargo sporadically for a little more than four ten-days in preparation for a new season of trade. The birds were singing and it was almost warm enough to wear a short sleeved-shirt. Morgan took a deep breath and slowly exhaled enjoying the scent of spring in the air. Life is picking up here in the capital city.
The town criers and the Fleeters were out and about doing their work. A dark blue tunic with the livery of a golden winged boot hails the coming and goings of the Fleeters and one just happened to be passing by. Morgan waved and said “Good morning, Faranis!”
“Hi Morgan! Happy sunshine!” the Fleeter responded and never lost stride to continue on about his delivery. Morgan smiled at this. A sense of familiarity and loss crept into his thoughts.
It is often said that Fleeters are the true harbinger of spring and trade and not the birds. The migrating birds have been early and late, or decide to settle elsewhere, but the Fleeters always seem to know when it is safe to start business for the season. They deliver packages and messages all around the city, or even to other cites if the price is right.
Morgan is one of the best Fleeters around. He knows how to handle himself and can swing a sword pretty well. Morgan carries and equips himself well enough that he does not have many problems, and if he does, he can take care of it. As the most senior member he is hailed by most Fleeters as almost a legend.
Endar hired him 4 years ago, during the first 2 months of Fleeter operation, after he saved one of his couriers from doom at the hand of one of Praga’s thugs. He is sad to see his prize Fleeter go, but the thought of expanding his business to other regions made him giddy and annoyed at the same time. In their time working together they have become friends of sorts, not close friends, but friends nonetheless. Endar respects Morgan’s common sense and clarity, while Morgan respects Endar’s business sense and influence. They have worked well together to build the Fleeters to what it has become today, and Morgan leaving is a great loss to Endar personally and professionally.
Saerra, Morgan’s wife, had just given birth to their baby boy, Shraen, a ten-day ago at the season’s first sunshine. He has talked it over with her and they have decided to make for Faule when the roads open for trade again. In preparation for this journey Morgan has saved some money and has purchased a wagon, begrudgingly, from Saerra’s parents. When the time comes they will pack up all of their belongings and head off for Faule to start a new life. He has made an arrangement with Endar to start a group of Fleeters in Faule, and then try to open a semi-safe route to Vormarsch. Besides, no matter what happens there it will be more than worth the trouble to get away from his in-laws.
Saerra’s parents do not approve of his occupation because he does not manufacture anything. Her father is a carpenter and carpentry has been in their family for generations. He can go around the city and show where his family has had a hand at helping to build the city. He says that “You will never be able to do that. You will not have anything to pass on to your children. No legacy! You will never have anything to show for your work At the end of a day you have nothing. Nothing.” her father says. “ I have a well provided for family, what more do I need to show for my work?” is what I say. Whenever I see them, which is not very often, they always look at me with eyes that are searching for news of a job change. They also worry because I take some of the more dangerous jobs. “Why not? Better pay and I am damn good at it!” Our home is in a better part of Griffon Ward than theirs and I think that contributes to their disapproval as well.
“Ack!!” A startled Morgan shouts, as he is yanked from his thoughts, as a smiling Fleeter appears in front of him. “Moooorgan!” croons the long haired blonde half-elven beauty that he has had not so innocent thoughts about. “Luria! It is good to see you!!” They both smile wide, obviously enjoying the untold knowledge of their mutual feelings. Her face shifts to a pout. “Endar told me to tell you that Vormarsch will announce that the roads will soon open for trade to Faule.”
“Great news! Thank you, Luria.” Morgan smiles warmly to her.
“You are crazy for leaving us... To Faule?.” Her pout grows deeper hoping that her concern will convince him to stay, but fully knowing otherwise.
“I know, but my family’s future is in Faule.” He smiles with a hint of playful regret.
Luria defiantly sticks her tongue out at him so hard that her eyes close in a wrinkled mass and then she gallops off out of sight. Morgan smiles, sighs, and then heads off to see Endar to prepare for his journey to Faule.
The streets of the Griffon Ward where Morgan lives are fairly clean, free of undesirables, and is lightly bustling with activity. People shopping for various supplies and seeking various services re scattered about the streets. The seasonal shops and businesses are gearing up for traders and travelers that frequent this city in transit to other destinations. His destination, the Fleeter Center, was on the other side of the Griffon Ward. The Fleeter Center was located at a very convenient spot - at the intersection of the Scepter, Griffon, and Candle Wards which are the areas from which most business is garnered. These three wards have modest prices for delivery and the prices to the other wards are a little higher, as is the risk.
The Fleeter Center is a busy building of people coming in and Fleeters running out. It is made of a dark unfinished drab wood and two double doors; one is used for entering and one is used for exiting. There is a double side-door for employees and cargo to be brought in. The double doors are rough and unfinished like the exterior, yet functional. The walls are thick and reinforced to prevent ‘trans-loctation’ magics from working. There are two magically reinforced windows in the building. A Fleeter talks behind one pane in the lobby and there is another pain in a client waiting room.
There are Fleeter guards milling about appearing to be not so vigilant, but their eyes and ears are always seeking for trouble. There is a single sign adorning the side of the Fleeter Center. It is of a modest size bearing a dark blue field with a golden winged boot in the center - the coat of arms for prompt and safe delivery. We Fleeters pride ourselves on the prompt secure delivery of our charge and proudly bear this as our coat-of-arms.
Morgan enters the building from the side door. The guards nod to him and clap him on the back welcoming him. He passes by several Fleeters which greet him and shake his hand. He sees that Endar is waiting for him as his corpulent midsection is the first thing Morgan sees as he rounds the corner to Endar's office. Endar's clothes are drab and functional just like his building. Made to not stand out and to just do its job. His short, straight black hair appears almost greasy and possibly combed. His face is chubby and wide, his fingers short and stubby, bearing but one gold band on his left pinkie.
Endar’s office is the size of a very large closet. Shelves line the walls are cluttered with papers and ledgers. An overflowing garbage is to the side of his desk and smells faintly of rotting food. Sitting not so comfortably in the chair next to his desk is an attractive female with long fine golden waves of well groomed hair. She wear is wearing a long, form fitting, red dress that compliments her voluptuous physique and she smells faintly of perfume. Definitely not Griffon Warder, most likely she is from the Scepter Ward. Morgan smiles and nods to the lady whose return smile is of a pleading polite nature, and then he nods to Endar.
“Morgan, welcome!” Endar smiles broadly and affectionately! Not wasting any time he motions to the lady. “This is Lady Phaelis.” and then he motions to Morgan. “Lady Phaelis, this is Morgan.” ‘This’ caught Morgan’s attention. He looks at Endar with confused and concerned eyes.
“As...we have agreed, Endar, at the first moment that roads become open to Faule I will be free to prepare for my journey.”
“Ye..Yes. Yes, of course my friend. My prize Fleeter.”
“He is perhaps the best Fleeter I have.” Smiling again hoping to appease Morgan’s fears. Endar clears his throat and a look of caution and hope cover his face.
“Morgan, we have an offer for you. One last job and you will not regret it!” Endar smiles broadly hoping that Morgan will play along and not make a scene.
“Oh, no! I will be transporting my family! I am not going to agree to anything that could endanger them! The last time you looked like this I was creeping around the Carrion Ward delivering a small unmarked package to an undisclosed location. I had to take a month off to recuperate from dispatching some of Praga’s thugs.” Morgan’s sarcastic smile made Endar scowl. Phaelis’ smile turned to surprised approval.
Praga is an infamous mafia boss trafficking in black-market goods and general thuggery. His code is brutal and so are his thugs. He is not a man to be trifled with unless you enjoy pain, suffering, and death. Fortunately, Endar smoothed that whole situation over so as to not start a war between the two organizations. Endar has tried hard to maintain his business as a solid neutral party so that everyone will feel safe using his service. Having Praga’s thugs following or accosting your delivery members or clients would not be good for business. “Taking care of it is just good business sense.” Endar said, and for that I am thankful.
Phaelis caught the moment of uncomfortable silence and began to speak to Morgan. “Mr. Ashfall. All I need is to be escorted to Faule. I do not, in any way, expect problems. I have lead a modest and quiet life as have my family. There should be nothing that you should have to worry about. I will ride on a horse separate from your family’s wagon if you are concerned. I will just feel... better... if someone is watching over me. A woman of my station does not travel alone, and it is hard to put a price on peace of mind, don’t you think?” Definitely a Scepter Warder, her tongue silvered probably from practice at court. Morgan scrutinized her looking for any form of deception..... None to be found.
“Why, in the name of all that is holy, are you going there? I could not imagine a reason that a ‘woman of your station’ could find anything in that frontier town.” Morgan’s look of distrust and scrutiny did not phase the woman in the slightest. Her face remained calm and unmoving. It then melted into sadness and despair, her eyes begin to tear up. Phaelis is quiet for a moment and then slowly her face begins to return to a practiced calm. The tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes are the only thing that betray her now serene face.
Phaelis’ voice cracks a bit as she starts to speak “My little brother has run away to relatives in Faule. I seek to bring him back where it is safe. We have family there that will escort us back. Please Mr. Ashfall!! Please!!” Seeing such a beautiful woman in such pain caused Morgan’s stalwart walls to break down. Even through the suspicion his mind caved in and that very moment irritated him This feeling was plainly shown his face. Phaelis smiles pleadingly and thankfully with a look of hope in her eyes.
“Promise me that he was not kidnapped. Promise me!!” His eyes were stern and seeking any untruth in her following words. A wide and very relieved smile washes over her and she says “I promise you! You have my word.” She sighs and takes a few breaths. “Thank you!! I will give you the full two thousand gold pieces now, Mr. Ashfall!! I know that I can trust you.” She hands Morgan a dark velvet jingling pouch. He looks into it and sees 3 smaller pouches containing gems, platinum, and gold and silver respectively.
She lightly courtsies and then quietly begins to leave, a trail of delicately sweet perfume dances in her wake. She stops at the door and then turns to Morgan “I have made the arrangements for us to join a caravan leaving to Faule in a fortnight. We will be leaving with the Markin Company’s caravan. I will seek you out the night before.” She smiles again, nods good-bye, and then leaves.
Morgan looks to Endar. “If anything happens to my family. I will hunt you down and......” He let that thought trail off. Shaking his head, he turns and leaves. “What have I done?” He asks himself quietly... Saerra is not going to be happy.”
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The night sky is clear and full of stars. All is quiet in Griffon Ward except for the lone sound of a horse cantering on the cobblestone street. A brisk breeze pulls at the rider’s hooded cloak which is pulled tightly about its body and face keeping the cold night air at bay. The rider goes on for quite a while and stops at a tavern, tethers the horse, goes inside and melts into the boisterous crowd. After a while it melts back into the street seeming not quite the same as it did before it entered the tavern, somehow smaller and its clothes have changed colors and style. The figure walks down the street into the night leaving the sounds of talking, drinking, and the clanging of glasses in the distance. The path it follows weaves and wanders in a seemingly random path throughout the Griffon Ward sometimes crossing back on itself. The meandering trip finds its end at a familiar home, the home of Morgan and Saerra Ashfall. The figure cautiously looks around and knocks on the door.
As the door opens the figure’s form, melts into something more familiar, to that of a taller, well-dressed, blonde haired, perfumed, noble woman named Phaelis. Morgan opens the door to see the familiar sight of Phaelis and in a nonchalant manner says “Come in.” There is a tension visible in the air as she slowly enters. Phaelis smiles, nods and then brightly says “Greetings Saerra!” who looks up from tending to the baby. She looks at the baby laying quietly in its crib and says “How beautiful!! Congratulations.” Saerra smiles proudly and affectionately says “Yes. Yes, he is.” Out of the corner of her eye, Saerra spots Morgan cautiously looking out of the window. After a few moments of that he seems to be satisfied that there is no trouble following and returns to stand before Phaelis.
“Have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink? We have water, a little bit of honey ale, or Black River Tea?”
Phaelis’ friendly smile turns to something more sinister and arrogant. Saerra and Morgan let out a muffled yelp as short blades quietly sheathe themselves into the flesh of their backs. A look of shock and utter horror fills their faces as they look to each other and then to their new born son, their life slowly fading from them. The bodies of Saerra an Morgan slump quietly to the floor to reveal two figures enshrouded in shadows behind them with bloodied blades in hand. They soundlessly sheathe the blades and their forms shift to that of Morgan and Saerra. They pickup the two bodies and lay them in bed covering them in blankets. Their movements making not a sound. When they finish with that they return to the main room and all three surround the baby, Shraen, laying wide-eyed in his crib. Soundless moments pass as the three do not move, their eyes fixed on Shraen. Phaelis passes a hand over the quietly cooing child and it falls asleep.
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Narrative: A New Beginning
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The 9th of Sutar is a day like any other spring day in Vormarsch. The sun rises early, as it always does in the spring, and the sky is moderately clouded. The birds are singing and flying about on the cool breeze that carries the smell of spring tainted by dried fish, leather, horses and freshly cut wood. The sounds of creaking wagons, whinnying horses and the chattering voices of many people can be heard outside of the South Gate. The Markin Company’s caravan gathers outside and eager voices full of anticipation and a tense excitement fills the air. Small pavilions are setup for the caravan masters to answers questions and to decide on the logistics of their forthcoming journey.
A voice that reminds you of circus ringleader carries over the dim roar of talking and movement to announce “The time to start life in a new place is what living is all about, ladies and gentleman. Change!! Here is you once in a life time chance to start over...and the Markin Company’s caravan is your answer!! You...” The rest of what he says is drowned out as the crowd starts to clap and begins to talks amongst themselves.
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Morgan’s form gracefully weaves his way through the crowd to a particular pavilion to register his family and wagon. He finishes this then quickly and quietly finds his way back to the wagon with his wife, son, and Phaelis. They appear somewhat distracted and nervous and try to use some small talk to break the tension. Phaelis is dressed very conservatively, not at all in the luxurious formfitting manner that she wore before. She now wears clothes that you would expect Endar to wear - muted, dull and not at all memorable. Her hair is pulled up and hidden in hood of her cloak, and not a trace of perfume to be found. This is an entirely different look for her, very different.
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As the train starts out people are excited and talk about how starting life in Faule will change their lives and how it will make it better. Children playing in the wagons are soon chastised by their parents for fear of them breaking something. Lone travelers that happen to be within a conversation's distance of someone offer a few moments of small talk and then gravitate into familiar groups. Settlers that see people they know arrange to change positions in the wagon train to maintain some sense of familiarity. As the day goes on the duration of the trip settles on everyone and a tense quiet hangs about the caravan. All that can be heard is the squeaking of wagon axles or the occasional whinnying and snorting of horses.
As you move farther and farther from Vormarsch the lands become rougher and more wild. The scenery moves from small rolling fields and small copses of bare trees to broad expanses of hilly plains and small forests full of bare trees. The roads become progressively worse as the distance increases from the capital city. A smooth hard-packed road becomes a rocky, muddy, jutted wagon path that has barely seen use. Your smooth ride becomes a bumpy and noisy and your butt becomes numb as you fidget to try to keep some feeling. Naked forests, devoid of leaves, seem to be alive and watch you curiously as you pass by hoping that you might bravely venture into their midst to an unknown fate.
The caravan stops several times to take care of problems that pop-up - a stuck wheel, a pet that becomes restless. In these moments caravaners take the time to adjust the order of wagons as some have requested and to give a small speech to pick up everyone's spirits. The caravan guards help to quickly resolve problems and they watch everyone carefully looking for signs of trouble. Their wary eyes keep a careful watch on the surrounding lands for problems like the ever growing wolf population and ork raiders.
The sun wanders in and out of the clouds all day long giving you warmer and cooler moments.
It seems to take an eternity for it to travel across the sky to the western horizon. It feels as if it is intently watching the caravan, not wanting to miss anything that happens, trying delay the inevitable sunset. The sun finally relents as white clouds thicken above before it starts to dip below the horizon. When the sun starts to set the temperature drops sharply reminding you that winter has recently ended. A chill runs down your back making you desire to pull out warmer clothes to stave off this nights coming chill.
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Narrative of the first 2 rounds
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After a long hard day with the trudging caravan train, your mind feels the tiredness of watching the same thing all day - morning, afternoon, and into the night. You have seen the same on all sides of you trees to the left, trees to the right, wagon in front of you and wagon in back of you. You hear the rhymic squeaking of not so well fitted axles of wagons, the clomping of hooves of horses pulling wagons or carying a sagging rider, and a short conversation that rarely pops up. Most have succumbed to the mind numbing pall of monotony to not speak and just trudge on hoping to soon see the end of their journey the frontier city Faule.
Towards early morning ominous dark gray clouds quickly take their place over the caravan and seem to follow a cruel script to ensure a miserable journey. In a way you welcome the clouds as they bring a change, a little something to break the sameness of seeming to march on for the sake of marching on. The temperature drops noticeably and it cools down quite a bit; enough to make you want to reach for some warmer clothes, and clothes possibly better suited for the coming rain.
Black clouds have shrouded your day in darkness so now everything is even more the same than it was before. There is darkness and everything is darker. There is less to see now and that which you do see is covered in the shadows of the foreboded rain. Sunlight occasionally peaks through the black clouds in an almost divine moment. As if Pelor himself is granting relief from the darkness, coldness, and storm to come. That is but a brief moment as the sun loses its epic battle with the storm clouds and shadows once again cover the land.
The rain starts to pour down as if the world is trying to purge itself of the putrescent will of settlers looking for a new start, the desire and hope of something new. It seems as if the very world is against you trying to keep you from change; wanting to drown you in a sea of water, cold and a nothingness. The temperature drops even more; a cool breeze starts as the rain falls. A cold wetness permeates your very being and the sound of rain drones out all else and it is hard to see anything more than a few feet in front of you. The oppressive darkness, rain and cold turning the world into more of the same. You close your eyes and attune yourself to the will of the march, the rhythm of the caravan and you march on. Drear and gloom are your companions; isolation and nothingness are the gifts they bear.
It rains and rains for most of the day, from mid morning and on into the early night. You thought that it might never end just as Pelor himself wins a great battle seeming to banish the clouds; the temperature rises and the rain is reduced to a fine mist. The temperature rises quite a bit, enough for you to want to shed you warmer clothes and take in the warming rays of the sun. A warm mist replaces the rain and a fog seems to roll from the ground as the sun begins to warm the ground. It seems like a strange combination to you, the warm cloudless mist and rolling fog. The sun cuts through the fog and mist like a beacon of joy and warmth. Your bones seem to drink it up and you can almost feel the bitter cold and wetness start to recede. The sun reflects off the fog creating a wall of fluffy whiteness making hard to see more than a few feet ahead of you. You rely mostly on feeling the rhythm of the caravan to guide you forward. You find the ground muddy and wet as those wagons, horses and people that have come before you tear up the ground and let the water create a long trail of mud two or three inch deep for you to muck through.
A cooler light rain starts again and seems to dampen the fog a little bit as night seems to slowly creep upon you. Darkness firmly set itself upon the caravan and you find yourself cold, tired, and your body aches from walking or riding and you wish a reprieve from the endless march to the glory of Faule. A whistle pierces the silence and echoes from group of guards to group of guards. Like a wave of sound starting from the front of the caravan and rolling all of the way to the back bringing the promise of rest and an end to the march. The Caravan Master's call for a halt and rest for the night was welcomed by everyone and you could feel a large weight being lifted, and the air seems to clear as sprits are lifted with thoughts of rest and sleep.
When the whistling resides people start to move about, welcoming the change in movement. Instead of a forward walk permeated by an unending cool dampness we get to stop and mill about, pick things up and talk. The settlers stretch, yawn, sigh, and slowly break out the gear for night time; fires are started, bedrolls and rolled out, and tents are set up. Guards work on setting a perimeter and assisting people in setting up camp. Some settlers go out to search for more food and wood to be dried for the next time the caravan stops.
The poised relaxation and contentness is broken by primal cries and screams as new creatures charge in to fill the empty spaces. Large brutal creatures wielding huge axes with doom on their breath and in their eyes. Axes fall and horses whinny and rear up as an orkish horde charges into the midst of the caravan in a howling frenzy of violence. You hear women screaming, children crying, and the dying screams of men cleaved asunder. The orks attack the nearest person they see and try to carry off women and take horses. The moment of such a severe change from a bland nothingness to pure chaos catches everyone by surprise. Your senses having been dulled by the march and you find it hard to process what exactly is happening. Through the mist and darkness you can see less than a handful of raiders doing their business and seem to be unconcerned that there might be someone here that could pose a threat to their orkish invasion.
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A slight smile crosses Franky's face as the realization that boredom has just been banished. He looks to the wet and dour Dagmar whose face instantly changes from a wet tactiturness to an almost maniacal glee as the realization that Orks had come for their death. Franky's smile grows even larger and he says "Here we go..." while looking to Felicity and Dagmar, and he is curious to see what his new found companions can do. Franky's hands, slick from rain, wanders to his saddle bags and pulls out his crossbow and readies it to be loaded. He begins and old chant about a dwarven warlord hoping to see the glory of the axe wielding dwarven heroes in Dagmar's arm.
With great enthusiasm Dagmar pulls about his Dwarven waraxe and charges the nearest ork and completely over shoots the creature, his zeal getting the best of him. The ork passing by him seems to take no notice of the dwarven fury that could have just ended its existence. The dwarve's axe bites into the ground and its cold-iron blade sparks as it catches a rock.
In an excited and worried rush Felicity pulls out her crossbow and fires at the nearest ork she can see, missing completely seeming to underestimate the speed of the orkish attackers. A concerned frustration sets upon her face as she drops the crossbow to the wagon seat. Her practiced fingers seek something more comfortable and familiar - her pouch of spell components...
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At the head of the caravan the simultaneous reaction of Koric and Percy is uncanny and empowering. They react to the orkish invaders in very similar ways, knowing that there is strength in numbers, they seek to strenghten the many to ensure they can last the fight.
Koric's powerful voice booms "Lo, I hear the roars of the orken hoards! Steady yourself, Percy, for this day many orcs will rue the day they face us!" Koric brandishes the symbol of Pelor as if it was reason enough for the orks retreat; a fierce resolve that all salvation lies in the glory and light of Pelor. Koric roars "Pelor, heed my call! Grant us a swift and rightous victory in your name!" and the very air seems to be filled with energy and people in the area seem to feel as if the very will of Pelor guides them and gives them strength.
Percy says more to himself than to anyone in particular "So much for this being a safe area; and for our flankers." He pulls his mind from focusing on the world at large and concentrates in the way that he has been taught. He draws confidence and an air of command seemingly from nowhere and shouts "Strike hard lads and take your openings". His command of the field battle and the shout of a commanding prescence on the field pushes the guards and settlers on. He yells "Come on, give 'em some back." not wanting to speak with too much military jargon as few here would understand. Percy's tactical minds seeks a common ground from which the orks attack hoping to find a weakness in their plan. He pulls his bow about and fires towards the charging wave of orks. The arrow loses itself in the night and seems to give the viewing settlers more confidence and pushes them to hit harder.
The effect of a the commanding prescence of Percy and the blessing of Pelor fills the battlefield and the settlers fight on knowing that there are competent adventurers about.
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A slience falls over Lindal as he quickly and carefully weaves his way through the scattering settlers like a hungry cat hunting his prey. Determination fills his eyes as he deftly slips his quarterstaff from its back holster and attempts to crush the ork's skull in one smooth movement. His staff slams into the ground and dirt shoots up all around as it misses its target, his eyes never leaving his prey as the hunt has not ended. The speed of this ork is deceiving and it is not a mistake he shall make again.
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After seeing Dagmar of the Clanging Armor swing and completely miss the ork Franky thinks to himself "...born to such weapons...?"
Dagmar swirls his dwarven forged death-dealer menacingly through the air as he snarls at the ork and then shouts "That's your last warning ork, release the woman or the next one takes your head off.".
Worry continues to distort Franky's cherubic face as he fumbles around to load his crossbow and continues the Dwarven Chant of the Valar Dwarves. His keen eyes searching for the biggest threat to the struggling threesome and levels the crossbow marking his prey.
Not taking kindly to being ignored by the ork, Dagmar follows through on his threat taking a big two-handed swing partially severing the orks neck. Its body slumps to the ground with the face stuck in an expression that is half snarl and half confusion. Blood splatters on the ground and on dwarven armor; it spills onto the ground forming a crimson pool of the orks life essence.
"I warned ye!" Dagmar said confidently with a smile.
"Come on ye cowardly sows! Leave off the wimmen an bairns an face a real dwarf!"
Dagmar says to himself "I'll need to 'ave the lad, Lindal, teach me orkish. It's not worth taunting opponents in combat who cannot understand ye."
Felicity's hands weave through the air, as if she is gathering floating pollen. Swirling motes of light begin to coalesce in front of her as she concentrates on the weave and the spell pattern she instinctively understands. The motes of light concentrate into a single bright point and she lets out a wild shout, "Bite of the Rat!" The light seems to scurry through the air like a thousand tiny ravenous rats rushing to eat the only slice of cheese left in existence. You could swear you heard the scurrying and gnawing of rats as the light impacted the ork's shoulder causing it to visibly give under the force of the spell. The ork grunts loundly and turns toward the source of its pain eyes flaring with savage rage. The ork, seeming not to care, lowers its wounded shoulder and rushes towards her.
Felecity looks at the frenetic melee surrounding her and begins to worry. Her left hand grips the handle of her scimitar so tightly her knuckles turn white. "Franky! Where are the others? Can you see them? Should we run?" With the satisfaction of the success of Rats Bite her right hands goes back into her component pouches, preparing to unleash more of the wrath of the Green Path.
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"Fear not, Percy, for my arm shall aide yours!" Koric roars as he raises his heavy mace in the air and swings it in a deceptive and seemingly wide path from the upper right. The ork does comprehend the what is about to befall and dodges to the left just a little thinking itself safe. Koric's mace smashes against the ork's ribs in a crushing horizontal slant. The ork folds over the force of the blow and slumps hard to the ground. Koric's eyes light up as he quells his foe.
"Friend Dagmar!" he yells hoping that his dwarf friend can hear him. "Everyone! Protect the women and children!" He looks around for the next target who wishes to experience Pelor's wrath. Koric raises his mace to the sky and shouts "Praise Pelor! First blood!"
"They bleed like anything else!" Percy states in a matter-of-fact yet jubillant manner as he sees Koric's ork fold to the ground. The cleric's display of martial prowess is enough to distract him from his own oppenent and his arrow goes wide. "Focus, focus." He says quietly to himself.
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Lindal's eyes were full of an anger that none of his companions from last night would have recognised. His quiet demeaner belies a silent rage within. The hunter spun around swinging the quarterstaff over his head like a two handed sword, never missing a beat. The resounding sound of a sickening crunch announced the staff as it connected with the orks head crushing it, not stopping untill it reached the collar bone. The ork's corpse slid silently down the length of the staff leaving a bloody trail and silently lay to rest on the ground.
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Harvey
First Post
Koric, Half-Orc Cleric of Pelor
Round 3:
Koric watches the two orcs rushing towards himself and Percy. "Friend Percy!" he shouts. "I can handle these marauders myself! Go back and protect our halfling and elven friends!"
As he's shounting this with a snarl, he strikes at the orc that would have attacked Percy.
OOC: Attack 14 + 4 melee + 1 bless = 19
He raises his mace in the air and smashes it across his opponent's head in mid-charge, though only grazes his opponent's shoulder.
OOC: Damage 1 + 4 (melee) = 5
He then braces for the attacks from both orcs in the front...
Round 3:
Koric watches the two orcs rushing towards himself and Percy. "Friend Percy!" he shouts. "I can handle these marauders myself! Go back and protect our halfling and elven friends!"
As he's shounting this with a snarl, he strikes at the orc that would have attacked Percy.
OOC: Attack 14 + 4 melee + 1 bless = 19
He raises his mace in the air and smashes it across his opponent's head in mid-charge, though only grazes his opponent's shoulder.
OOC: Damage 1 + 4 (melee) = 5
He then braces for the attacks from both orcs in the front...
Voadam
Legend
Dagmar Frekkeson
Dagmar spies the orc who ran past him after the elf maid "Hey ya deaf galoot!" Dagmar charges after him and [4+6=10] lands a clanging blow with his axe that rattles the orc in his armor with its force, drawing the orc's attention but not dealing real damage. "I said leave the wimmen alone!"
Dagmar spies the orc who ran past him after the elf maid "Hey ya deaf galoot!" Dagmar charges after him and [4+6=10] lands a clanging blow with his axe that rattles the orc in his armor with its force, drawing the orc's attention but not dealing real damage. "I said leave the wimmen alone!"
Lindal - Half Orc Ranger
Satisfaction lit Lindal's eyes as his opponent was smashed to the ground before him, but the rage returned with a vengence as he looked up and saw the looting continue.
Unfortunately, he had his own distractions to deal with first before he could do much to help anyone else - he hoped his companions from last night were doing alright at the front of the caraven.
Discarding his quarterstaff for a moment, Lindal wrenched the axe from the dead body in front of him, seeming to ignore the orc charging him. At the very last moment he spun, viciously lashing out with a two handed blow - and realised he'd left it too late.
...this might hurt... he thought to himself.
OOC:
Free action, drop quarterstaff
Move action, grab axe
Attack action: Roll 3 to-hit (7 with mods)
Satisfaction lit Lindal's eyes as his opponent was smashed to the ground before him, but the rage returned with a vengence as he looked up and saw the looting continue.
Unfortunately, he had his own distractions to deal with first before he could do much to help anyone else - he hoped his companions from last night were doing alright at the front of the caraven.
Discarding his quarterstaff for a moment, Lindal wrenched the axe from the dead body in front of him, seeming to ignore the orc charging him. At the very last moment he spun, viciously lashing out with a two handed blow - and realised he'd left it too late.
...this might hurt... he thought to himself.
OOC:
Free action, drop quarterstaff
Move action, grab axe
Attack action: Roll 3 to-hit (7 with mods)
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Wilphe
Adventurer
OOC: I'm mildly ahead of Koric but...
IC:
Percy checks that his back is secure against the caravan and his front is secured by Koric; if he can climb up onto a wagon and shoot from there he will - otherwise he will duck under a wagon and shoot from there. In any case he marks out any orc moving towards the pair of them and looses an arrow at it.
OOC: Attack roll 17 (16+1)
Damage roll 5
IC:
Percy checks that his back is secure against the caravan and his front is secured by Koric; if he can climb up onto a wagon and shoot from there he will - otherwise he will duck under a wagon and shoot from there. In any case he marks out any orc moving towards the pair of them and looses an arrow at it.
OOC: Attack roll 17 (16+1)
Damage roll 5
