Hastos eyes betrayed his otherwise stoic facial expression. He didn’t have to wonder whose foot found his under the table, but his fist glance at Sera was an acknowledgement as if Sera was simply trying to get his attention, the second glance looked slightly startled as the intent finally settled through his thick skull. He fought with the corners of his mouth to keep them serious and focused, but based on the frequency his mouth kept trying to curl into a smile, he was losing this battle.
”Ahem!” He cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure if he hadn’t made it a little too loud. “I… think that… meeting the Kobold is a good idea. Did I… did I say that already?” Hastos gives a thumbs up to Sharn as if he’d never given a thumbs up to someone in his life.
Hastos, a very capable fighter and sellsword, who just hours earlier stared down the town guard and magistrate found himself utterly lost. Thoughts raced through his mind. “Should I respond?”, “What if she’s trying to keep this unnoticed?”, “Should I look at her?”, “How long do I look before I look creepy?”, “Should I move my foot?”, “What if she thinks I’m moving away or, what if I step on her toe?”
”Just relax… relax, damnit.”
Hastos looks into the bottom of the glass that Glynnis had just offered them, then raises it in a salute to Glynnis. “My compliments, this was amazing.”
Hastos’ expression was priceless—like a man who’d just discovered a squirrel had crawled up his leg and wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. The stoic, battle-hardened elven warrior, who had likely faced horrors on the battlefield, now sat frozen, his composure cracking as he tried to form words. The stuttering attempt at a response made Sera bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Finishing off the rest of the strong brew Glynnis had served, she set the cup down with a satisfied sigh, running her fingers over the smooth braids that now fell over her shoulders. The intricate weaving felt nice, a small touch of comfort in a world so often harsh.
“That’s so nice, Glynnis. Thank you.” She beamed at the dwarven woman before turning her attention toward Sharn. Her eyes gleamed with playful mischief. “Don’t dwarves braid beards?” she asked, her tone teasing as she gave his bushy mustache a pointed look. The challenge was clear.
At the same time, her foot, emboldened by the fact that Hastos had yet to move, slowly inched higher. It wasn’t long before it found his thigh, pressing softly .She deliberately drags the edge of her boot along Hastos' inner thigh—slowly, deliberately—just enough to feel the tension in his muscles. She lets the tip linger dangerously close to more sensitive territory before pulling back just a fraction, only to repeat the motion again. A sly smirk tugs at her lips as she watches his struggle to maintain composure.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Invigorated by the brew, Merkas slides his empty mug forward and attempts to switch it with Sharns mug. (Seight of hand 19) Meanwhile watching Sera's reaction as he finishes dropping his money pouch back into his sack.
"Soooo, are we going to get up early and stuff or is it sleep in day and then move on? Now I would love the extra sleep but there is a time limit on our venture so we may best get moving as soon as possible"
Taking a sip of what little water he had left he nearly spits it across the table when Sera suggests Glynnis to braid Sharns facial hair
"Y'know yer right Sera!, I seen lotsa 'em have braided mustaches to"
Sharn stroked his mustache. This time to hide the melancholy of his frown behind his hand. When he thought his mouth had straightened again, he smiled.
"You may try to braid it if you want Glynnis, but it'd be hard. The hairs of my mustache are pretty short and course, but there's a lot of them so it is still bushy."
He forced a laugh and wondered if it was too theatrical for a moment. (14 for deception to make it sound genuine)
"I can't grow a beard anymore, and my mustache will only grow down to my chin. It's a bit pathetic, but I work with what I have, and I quite like my mustache."
The banter about justice and good continued, playful jabs mixing with thoughtful musings. It was a conversation that could stretch into the night if they let it, but Glynnis had other plans. She appeared with a dark bottle, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and poured each of them a drink. The liquid shimmered amber in the lantern light, carrying a scent that promised warmth—and a kick.
Sera joined the toast, bringing the cup to her lips. The first sip burned, far stronger than she had expected, and she had to fight the urge to cough. Potent stuff. She swallowed hard, blinking away the sting, and laughed under her breath. Glynnis didn’t play around. (con save 12 )
Glynnis winces when she notices you react to the burn and mumbles something about needing to reduce the alcohol and sweeten it a bit. Handar elbows her gruffly in the ribs. "Ye ain't brewin' fer miners no more, dummy. HAHA! Ya' gotta soften the blow fer these lightweights!" He says with another boisterous laugh.
"Bah!" Glynnis remarks with mock frustration.
You feel a slight euphoric rush, but nothing that hinders your sobriety. Instead you feel calm and refreshed.
"Just a bit of water for me. Thank you. The stars have not yet aligned for me to treat myself."
That water, though, with his glass only half full from the beginning and somewhat dirty from scrapping the bottom of the barrel (or well) felt somehow sweeter than usual. He raised his cup an additional time.
"To the Dawnbound, and the bright tomorrow that awaits them."
Glynnis looks visibly stung by the rejection, but understands that some people, even dwarves, don't drink.
Hastos eyes betrayed his otherwise stoic facial expression. He didn’t have to wonder whose foot found his under the table, but his fist glance at Sera was an acknowledgement as if Sera was simply trying to get his attention, the second glance looked slightly startled as the intent finally settled through his thick skull. He fought with the corners of his mouth to keep them serious and focused, but based on the frequency his mouth kept trying to curl into a smile, he was losing this battle.
”Ahem!” He cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure if he hadn’t made it a little too loud. “I… think that… meeting the Kobold is a good idea. Did I… did I say that already?” Hastos gives a thumbs up to Sharn as if he’d never given a thumbs up to someone in his life.
Hastos, a very capable fighter and sellsword, who just hours earlier stared down the town guard and magistrate found himself utterly lost. Thoughts raced through his mind. “Should I respond?”, “What if she’s trying to keep this unnoticed?”, “Should I look at her?”, “How long do I look before I look creepy?”, “Should I move my foot?”, “What if she thinks I’m moving away or, what if I step on her toe?”
”Just relax… relax, damnit.”
Hastos looks into the bottom of the glass that Glynnis had just offered them, then raises it in a salute to Glynnis. “My compliments, this was amazing.”
Glynnis quickly recovers from her previous pouting and claps Hastos on the shoulder. "Me own special recipe, it is! Ye'll find nothin' else like it in all o' Khur!" She flashes a teasing side-eye at Handar. "Ye'll find nothin' like that slop yer eatin' neither... but mebbe that's a blessin'."
This time, it's Handar's turn to look hurt. "Hey, I made miracles wit' what I had!"
Hastos’ expression was priceless—like a man who’d just discovered a squirrel had crawled up his leg and wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. The stoic, battle-hardened elven warrior, who had likely faced horrors on the battlefield, now sat frozen, his composure cracking as he tried to form words. The stuttering attempt at a response made Sera bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Finishing off the rest of the strong brew Glynnis had served, she set the cup down with a satisfied sigh, running her fingers over the smooth braids that now fell over her shoulders. The intricate weaving felt nice, a small touch of comfort in a world so often harsh.
“That’s so nice, Glynnis. Thank you.” She beamed at the dwarven woman before turning her attention toward Sharn. Her eyes gleamed with playful mischief. “Don’t dwarves braid beards?” she asked, her tone teasing as she gave his bushy mustache a pointed look. The challenge was clear.
At the same time, her foot, emboldened by the fact that Hastos had yet to move, slowly inched higher. It wasn’t long before it found his thigh, pressing softly .She deliberately drags the edge of her boot along Hastos' inner thigh—slowly, deliberately—just enough to feel the tension in his muscles. She lets the tip linger dangerously close to more sensitive territory before pulling back just a fraction, only to repeat the motion again. A sly smirk tugs at her lips as she watches his struggle to maintain composure.
Lost in other distractions, Glynnis and Handar failed to notice the playful exchange between Sera and Hastos. Instead, Glynnis turned her eye to Sharn. "Ya know, I got some oil an' some beads. I could do that moustache up proper, if ye like. Might make ye look more presentable about town."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Invigorated by the brew, Merkas slides his empty mug forward and attempts to switch it with Sharns mug. (Seight of hand 14) Meanwhile watching Sera's reaction as he finishes dropping his money pouch back into his sack.
"Soooo, are we going to get up early and stuff or is it sleep in day and then move on? Now I would love the extra sleep but there is a time limit on our venture so we may best get moving as soon as possible"
Taking a sip of what little water he had left he nearly spits it across the table when Sera suggests Glynnis to braid Sharns facial hair
"Y'know yer right Sera!, I seen lotsa 'em have braided mustaches to"
Sharn stroked his mustache. This time to hide the melancholy of his frown behind his hand. When he thought his mouth had straightened again, he smiled.
"You may try to braid it if you want Glynnis, but it'd be hard. The hairs of my mustache are pretty short and course, but there's a lot of them so it is still bushy."
He forced a laugh and wondered if it was too theatrical for a moment. (14 for deception to make it sound genuine)
"I can't grow a beard anymore, and my mustache will only grow down to my chin. It's a bit pathetic, but I work with what I have, and I quite like my mustache."
Glynnis is thrilled to see the cup not go to waste as Merkas slides the cup his way. Then she hurries to the back to get her oil. "I been braidin' hair since I was a wee lass. Ain't no trouble to freshen..." her voice trails away as she disappears to the back.
While she's gone, Handar collects the empty cups and grabs some heated sand and a cloth to polish them clean. His grin is genuine as he watches the party laugh and talk. It feels like, for a moment, there aren't any troubles in the world. But then his smile fades, and he stops polishing the cup.
Behind you a mysterious person appears. Their voice is low and threatening. "You do not belong here, interloper! Leave Santekh or die!" They are wearing a strange mask, disguising their appearance, full red leather armor, and wielding a massive scythe that they drive down onto the counter. Handar jumps back, dropping the dishes in his hands, and instinctively reaches for a weapon that isn't there, before realizing he's ill-equipped to fight this battle! Desperate to help, he grabs a kitchen knife. "Arm yerselves!" He bellows, and Glynnis rushes out, her mouth agape in shock.
As you spring into action, the lone assassin jumps back, swinging their heavy scythe back into a defensive posture and prepares themself for a duel to the death!
“What the HELL?” Hastos exclaims as the scythe bisects the group and slams into the bar. He spins to the outside and in a single move snatches his battle axe from its resting place at the end of the bar, then shoulder rolls into a position slightly behind the.intruder, surrounding him. In an instant his face grows dark as fury releases inside him, causing him to feel like his blood is boiling.
Coming out of the roll, he brings his rage to focus on the intruder and brings the axe around in an upward cutting motion, attempting to split the intruder in half from the bottom up.
The unknown assailant brings the shaft of the scythe low to block, but Hastos's ferocity is too much to bear. The axe knocks the scythe high... almost out of the wielder's hands and continues upward, ripping through leather and flesh, cutting a jagged line up their front.
Crimson viscera gushing from a gaping wound, you'd think the attacker would surrender, if not just fall to the ground. But some misguided ferocity keeps them standing... staggering, but standing.
The Mystery Attacker is Bloodied. Hrothbert_Neruca Merkas is up.
The suddenness of the attack makes the energetic kender leap straight up in the air and onto the bar as Hastos swings around with his ax."Oi, we's just having a nice meal and a drink!"
Jumping from the bar towards the now distracted enemy he pulls out his daggers, dropping onto their head and shoulders. He smashes the hilts of both daggers into either side of their head as he shouts"This is no way to treat this place that gives good food and drink, you need to apologize and go to sleep!"
Athletics check = 3
Attack with Dagger = 24
Damage from first dagger = 7
Bonus action - two weapon fighting attack = 21
Damage from second dagger = 4
In case not clear, Merkas is attempting to knock out the assailant instead of kill them. Athletics was hoping for a good enough roll to do this without inflicting to much damage.
Merkas's flying leap over the assailants head is enough to throw both of them off balance, but the dagger hilts do their nasty work on the way down. Withy a heavy thud, and a messy splash of gore, the mystery attacker, with Merkas along for the ride, crash hard to the stone ground. Merkas bounces hard for a few feet, but looks otherwise unscathed.
You are out of initiative, and you each get 25 XP. (Even the ones who didn't get a chance to fight.)
The mystery attacker's breathing is ragged and faint as blood continues to spurt from the massive chest and neck wound.
"What in the nine hells was that about?!" Glynnis proclaims... almost yelling. "My bloody bar!!!"
Attempting to roll with the fall not working as well as he wanted, Merkas scrambles back towards the assailant and pulls back the hood"Sorry for the mess Glynnis, but you know this guy at all?"
He reaches over to move the weapon away from their mystery man and backs off to let the other, more local people have a look at him. Checking over the scythe as they do.
The front of him covered in blood, Hathos’ eye are fixed on the now fallen assailant, almost predatory in nature. He slowly sidesteps and begins to raise his axe, clearly intent on finishing the business at hand.
Sera barely had time to register the attack. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, but before she could draw it, the battle was over. The assassin lay crumpled, Merkas having knocked him unconscious while Hastos nearly struck a killing blow.
The raw fury in Hastos’ eyes unsettled her. He stood over the fallen attacker, his blade still poised for execution. Sera moved quickly, placing a steadying hand on his arm, her touch firm yet soothing. Sharn was already speaking reason and holding his arm, and she added her voice to his, soft but resolute.
“listen to Sharn. He is beaten, Hastos…” she murmured, her fingers brushing against his blood-splattered cheek. Her touch lingered, a tender caress meant to pull him back from whatever dark place his mind had gone. "It’s over. He wasn’t sane—this was a suicide mission.”
When his grip slackened and the tension in his shoulders eased, she gave him a final searching look before stepping away. The immediate danger had passed, but the weight of it still lingered.
Moving swiftly, Sera knelt beside the assassin, tearing strips from her robe to staunch his wounds. The blood soaked into the fabric almost instantly as she applied pressure, her hands working with the practiced urgency of someone who had seen blood before even she was unskilled.
“We’re okay, Handar!” she called over her shoulder, sensing the dwarf’s frantic energy. “Only this one’s wounded.”
Sharn’s warning about the scythe made her glance up. The wicked-looking weapon was on the floor with tve evercurious kender peeking at it. The dark steel gleamed ominously, almost humming with menace.
Sharn warns caution with that scythe...
Sera’s gaze lingered on the weapon for a moment, then she returned to her bloody work, securing the bandages and keeping the man alive—for now. She speaks up as she work. Mostly directed at Sharn who seems smart. "Who would know about us and what we about to do? We just got the mission..."
Hastos takes a dip breath at Sera’s touch, then steps back to give her room to work. Wiping the some of the spatters from his face he adds. “And where did he come from? I didn’t hear a sound until he said something.”.
He leans the axe back against the bar. And gets down on one knee next to Sera. “Glynnis, have you or Handar seen this guy before?”
Hastos looks the armor over and anything distinguishing.
Holding up the scythe that is more than 3 times his height, Merkas spins it on it's hilt blade up in the air.
"It's a farmers tool, guy just confused us for weeds in his crops" Squinting at shaft and blade (Investigation 10 for runes/markings/hidden compartments) "As to why attack us is a good question, of all the people that might draw some ire it would be Haz and his armour, but we dealt with that already. Maybe there's another group here that wants all the missions from Verhanna. Kinda like 'If we can't have it noone can' group. That's crazy kinda as they would be starving the same as the rest. They could be in cahoots with the peopel who took the supplies though so then they get food but the rest don't"
The Kender moves to his sack and pulls a length of rope from it and takes it over to Sharn and Sera."Best tie him up, at least we can take him to Verhanna or the guards or soemthing in the morning. If he doesn't die from blood loss, I sure want to as a few questions. And tickling isn't out of the question for getting them"
Sharn nodded, his new companions were young, but listened to reason. That put him further at ease and filled him with confidence. Yet, Merkas was the first to pick up the weapon. Would he be the one to be protected?
"Who is the best of us with ropes and knots?"
The dwarf turned to Sera.
"Perhaps we won't have to wait until the morning. If you have a way to heal his wounds and get him conscious, we could interrogate him immediately. Hastos could be at the ready to knock him down."
Sharn offered his quarterstaff to Hastos. The grooves and use on the tool were apparent. Putting one's hands around it even revealed where the fingers of the dwarf had worn away with his grip.
"It's not as mighty as your axe, but it can carry a punch. Careful though, I carved it myself. This stick has dug in the ground for twenty years."
Hastos puts his hands up, politely declining the Dwarfs weapon.
"I appreciate your caution, and your trust. But that's what the flat side is for..." Hastos grins, "...theoretically." He adds, cocking an eyebrow upwards. "Besides. If our friend here pulls something more sinister, it's just a flick of my wrist and his treachery will permanently be at an end. I like options."
He reaches over to move the weapon away from their mystery man and backs off to let the other, more local people have a look at him. Checking over the scythe as they do.
You feel a surge of power rush over you when you touch the scythe. Promises of power and glory... even the power to return life to the dead seep into your mind. It's easily ignored, and fades as soon as you are not touching the scythe.
Holding up the scythe that is more than 3 times his height, Merkas spins it on it's hilt blade up in the air.
"It's a farmers tool, guy just confused us for weeds in his crops"
Wielding the weapon feels good in your hands. In spite of its size, it almost seems made for you. It's surprisingly lightweight and balanced, and spins swiftly in your hands. The call to claim it feels even stronger now, and you feel a sudden desire to slam the scythe into the form of the vile assassin. Perhaps ridding the world of such a person would send a message to whomever sent them, and prevent their ilk from causing more death in Santekh.
With the mask removed, you see a local of Khur: young, androgynous, foolish. Smooth olive skin and dark eyebrows create an image of innocence that rises in stark contrast to the hatred that was boiling within them so recently. It makes no sense for one person to pick a fight with four obviously capable warriors such as you. If this was a hit, it wasn't a very well planned one. The garments suggest ritual attire... like a cult or cabal. You recognize the details of the mask, a red condor, as the symbol of Sargonnas, god of wrath, vengeance, and retribution. And the necklace, now mangled in battle, represents the condor constellation. No other papers or coin identify this person, but even torn as they are, their tenacity remains as their hand seems to subconsciously reach for the scythe, even though they appear to be unconscious.
Merkas feels it too. A pull between wills. The scythe demands to be claimed. It feels like, if you were to let go, the scythe would somehow land back in the assassin's hand.
Hastos eyes betrayed his otherwise stoic facial expression. He didn’t have to wonder whose foot found his under the table, but his fist glance at Sera was an acknowledgement as if Sera was simply trying to get his attention, the second glance looked slightly startled as the intent finally settled through his thick skull. He fought with the corners of his mouth to keep them serious and focused, but based on the frequency his mouth kept trying to curl into a smile, he was losing this battle.
”Ahem!” He cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure if he hadn’t made it a little too loud. “I… think that… meeting the Kobold is a good idea. Did I… did I say that already?” Hastos gives a thumbs up to Sharn as if he’d never given a thumbs up to someone in his life.
Hastos, a very capable fighter and sellsword, who just hours earlier stared down the town guard and magistrate found himself utterly lost. Thoughts raced through his mind. “Should I respond?”, “What if she’s trying to keep this unnoticed?”, “Should I look at her?”, “How long do I look before I look creepy?”, “Should I move my foot?”, “What if she thinks I’m moving away or, what if I step on her toe?”
”Just relax… relax, damnit.”
Hastos looks into the bottom of the glass that Glynnis had just offered them, then raises it in a salute to Glynnis. “My compliments, this was amazing.”
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
Hastos’ expression was priceless—like a man who’d just discovered a squirrel had crawled up his leg and wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. The stoic, battle-hardened elven warrior, who had likely faced horrors on the battlefield, now sat frozen, his composure cracking as he tried to form words. The stuttering attempt at a response made Sera bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Finishing off the rest of the strong brew Glynnis had served, she set the cup down with a satisfied sigh, running her fingers over the smooth braids that now fell over her shoulders. The intricate weaving felt nice, a small touch of comfort in a world so often harsh.
“That’s so nice, Glynnis. Thank you.” She beamed at the dwarven woman before turning her attention toward Sharn. Her eyes gleamed with playful mischief. “Don’t dwarves braid beards?” she asked, her tone teasing as she gave his bushy mustache a pointed look. The challenge was clear.
At the same time, her foot, emboldened by the fact that Hastos had yet to move, slowly inched higher. It wasn’t long before it found his thigh, pressing softly .She deliberately drags the edge of her boot along Hastos' inner thigh—slowly, deliberately—just enough to feel the tension in his muscles. She lets the tip linger dangerously close to more sensitive territory before pulling back just a fraction, only to repeat the motion again. A sly smirk tugs at her lips as she watches his struggle to maintain composure.
Invigorated by the brew, Merkas slides his empty mug forward and attempts to switch it with Sharns mug. (Seight of hand 19) Meanwhile watching Sera's reaction as he finishes dropping his money pouch back into his sack.
"Soooo, are we going to get up early and stuff or is it sleep in day and then move on? Now I would love the extra sleep but there is a time limit on our venture so we may best get moving as soon as possible"
Taking a sip of what little water he had left he nearly spits it across the table when Sera suggests Glynnis to braid Sharns facial hair
"Y'know yer right Sera!, I seen lotsa 'em have braided mustaches to"
Loyalty Begets Honour
Sharn stroked his mustache. This time to hide the melancholy of his frown behind his hand. When he thought his mouth had straightened again, he smiled.
"You may try to braid it if you want Glynnis, but it'd be hard. The hairs of my mustache are pretty short and course, but there's a lot of them so it is still bushy."
He forced a laugh and wondered if it was too theatrical for a moment. (14 for deception to make it sound genuine)
"I can't grow a beard anymore, and my mustache will only grow down to my chin. It's a bit pathetic, but I work with what I have, and I quite like my mustache."
Glynnis winces when she notices you react to the burn and mumbles something about needing to reduce the alcohol and sweeten it a bit. Handar elbows her gruffly in the ribs. "Ye ain't brewin' fer miners no more, dummy. HAHA! Ya' gotta soften the blow fer these lightweights!" He says with another boisterous laugh.
"Bah!" Glynnis remarks with mock frustration.
You feel a slight euphoric rush, but nothing that hinders your sobriety. Instead you feel calm and refreshed.
Sera gains 10 temporary hit points!
Glynnis looks visibly stung by the rejection, but understands that some people, even dwarves, don't drink.
Glynnis quickly recovers from her previous pouting and claps Hastos on the shoulder. "Me own special recipe, it is! Ye'll find nothin' else like it in all o' Khur!" She flashes a teasing side-eye at Handar. "Ye'll find nothin' like that slop yer eatin' neither... but mebbe that's a blessin'."
This time, it's Handar's turn to look hurt. "Hey, I made miracles wit' what I had!"
Lost in other distractions, Glynnis and Handar failed to notice the playful exchange between Sera and Hastos. Instead, Glynnis turned her eye to Sharn. "Ya know, I got some oil an' some beads. I could do that moustache up proper, if ye like. Might make ye look more presentable about town."
Glynnis is thrilled to see the cup not go to waste as Merkas slides the cup his way. Then she hurries to the back to get her oil. "I been braidin' hair since I was a wee lass. Ain't no trouble to freshen..." her voice trails away as she disappears to the back.
While she's gone, Handar collects the empty cups and grabs some heated sand and a cloth to polish them clean. His grin is genuine as he watches the party laugh and talk. It feels like, for a moment, there aren't any troubles in the world. But then his smile fades, and he stops polishing the cup.
Behind you a mysterious person appears. Their voice is low and threatening. "You do not belong here, interloper! Leave Santekh or die!" They are wearing a strange mask, disguising their appearance, full red leather armor, and wielding a massive scythe that they drive down onto the counter. Handar jumps back, dropping the dishes in his hands, and instinctively reaches for a weapon that isn't there, before realizing he's ill-equipped to fight this battle! Desperate to help, he grabs a kitchen knife. "Arm yerselves!" He bellows, and Glynnis rushes out, her mouth agape in shock.
Everyone, roll for initiative!
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Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
As you spring into action, the lone assassin jumps back, swinging their heavy scythe back into a defensive posture and prepares themself for a duel to the death!
Initiative Order:
Hastos: 21
Merkas: 20
Sera: 13
Attacker: 10
Sharn: 9
MrUncleTio, Hastos is up!
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My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
“What the HELL?” Hastos exclaims as the scythe bisects the group and slams into the bar. He spins to the outside and in a single move snatches his battle axe from its resting place at the end of the bar, then shoulder rolls into a position slightly behind the.intruder, surrounding him. In an instant his face grows dark as fury releases inside him, causing him to feel like his blood is boiling.
Coming out of the roll, he brings his rage to focus on the intruder and brings the axe around in an upward cutting motion, attempting to split the intruder in half from the bottom up.
To Hit: 14 + 4 = 18
Damage: 8 + 2 = 10
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
The unknown assailant brings the shaft of the scythe low to block, but Hastos's ferocity is too much to bear. The axe knocks the scythe high... almost out of the wielder's hands and continues upward, ripping through leather and flesh, cutting a jagged line up their front.
Crimson viscera gushing from a gaping wound, you'd think the attacker would surrender, if not just fall to the ground. But some misguided ferocity keeps them standing... staggering, but standing.
The Mystery Attacker is Bloodied.
Hrothbert_Neruca Merkas is up.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
The suddenness of the attack makes the energetic kender leap straight up in the air and onto the bar as Hastos swings around with his ax. "Oi, we's just having a nice meal and a drink!"
Jumping from the bar towards the now distracted enemy he pulls out his daggers, dropping onto their head and shoulders. He smashes the hilts of both daggers into either side of their head as he shouts "This is no way to treat this place that gives good food and drink, you need to apologize and go to sleep!"
Athletics check = 3
Attack with Dagger = 24
Damage from first dagger = 7
Bonus action - two weapon fighting attack = 21
Damage from second dagger = 4
In case not clear, Merkas is attempting to knock out the assailant instead of kill them. Athletics was hoping for a good enough roll to do this without inflicting to much damage.
Loyalty Begets Honour
Merkas's flying leap over the assailants head is enough to throw both of them off balance, but the dagger hilts do their nasty work on the way down. Withy a heavy thud, and a messy splash of gore, the mystery attacker, with Merkas along for the ride, crash hard to the stone ground. Merkas bounces hard for a few feet, but looks otherwise unscathed.
You are out of initiative, and you each get 25 XP. (Even the ones who didn't get a chance to fight.)
The mystery attacker's breathing is ragged and faint as blood continues to spurt from the massive chest and neck wound.
"What in the nine hells was that about?!" Glynnis proclaims... almost yelling. "My bloody bar!!!"
"Is everyone ok?!" Handar cries out.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
Attempting to roll with the fall not working as well as he wanted, Merkas scrambles back towards the assailant and pulls back the hood "Sorry for the mess Glynnis, but you know this guy at all?"
He reaches over to move the weapon away from their mystery man and backs off to let the other, more local people have a look at him. Checking over the scythe as they do.
Loyalty Begets Honour
The front of him covered in blood, Hathos’ eye are fixed on the now fallen assailant, almost predatory in nature. He slowly sidesteps and begins to raise his axe, clearly intent on finishing the business at hand.
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
Sharn put a steady hand on Hastos' axe arm and shook his head.
"If you have a rope we can interrogate this assassin. I wouldn't say it's incorrect to slay him afterwards, but we might better discern our fate."
Sharn pointed at the fallen scythe, certain of it's cursed nature.
"I'd be careful with that weapon as well. That sharpness doesn't feel natural."
There’s tension at first, but as Sharn continues to apply steady pressure, the tension eases, and his axe lowers.
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
Sera barely had time to register the attack. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, but before she could draw it, the battle was over. The assassin lay crumpled, Merkas having knocked him unconscious while Hastos nearly struck a killing blow.
The raw fury in Hastos’ eyes unsettled her. He stood over the fallen attacker, his blade still poised for execution. Sera moved quickly, placing a steadying hand on his arm, her touch firm yet soothing. Sharn was already speaking reason and holding his arm, and she added her voice to his, soft but resolute.
“listen to Sharn. He is beaten, Hastos…” she murmured, her fingers brushing against his blood-splattered cheek. Her touch lingered, a tender caress meant to pull him back from whatever dark place his mind had gone. "It’s over. He wasn’t sane—this was a suicide mission.”
When his grip slackened and the tension in his shoulders eased, she gave him a final searching look before stepping away. The immediate danger had passed, but the weight of it still lingered.
Moving swiftly, Sera knelt beside the assassin, tearing strips from her robe to staunch his wounds. The blood soaked into the fabric almost instantly as she applied pressure, her hands working with the practiced urgency of someone who had seen blood before even she was unskilled.
“We’re okay, Handar!” she called over her shoulder, sensing the dwarf’s frantic energy. “Only this one’s wounded.”
Sharn’s warning about the scythe made her glance up. The wicked-looking weapon was on the floor with tve evercurious kender peeking at it. The dark steel gleamed ominously, almost humming with menace.
Sharn warns caution with that scythe...
Sera’s gaze lingered on the weapon for a moment, then she returned to her bloody work, securing the bandages and keeping the man alive—for now. She speaks up as she work. Mostly directed at Sharn who seems smart. "Who would know about us and what we about to do? We just got the mission..."
Hastos takes a dip breath at Sera’s touch, then steps back to give her room to work. Wiping the some of the spatters from his face he adds. “And where did he come from? I didn’t hear a sound until he said something.”.
He leans the axe back against the bar. And gets down on one knee next to Sera. “Glynnis, have you or Handar seen this guy before?”
Hastos looks the armor over and anything distinguishing.
Investigation: 7+1=8
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
Holding up the scythe that is more than 3 times his height, Merkas spins it on it's hilt blade up in the air.
"It's a farmers tool, guy just confused us for weeds in his crops"
Squinting at shaft and blade (Investigation 10 for runes/markings/hidden compartments) "As to why attack us is a good question, of all the people that might draw some ire it would be Haz and his armour, but we dealt with that already. Maybe there's another group here that wants all the missions from Verhanna. Kinda like 'If we can't have it noone can' group. That's crazy kinda as they would be starving the same as the rest. They could be in cahoots with the peopel who took the supplies though so then they get food but the rest don't"
The Kender moves to his sack and pulls a length of rope from it and takes it over to Sharn and Sera. "Best tie him up, at least we can take him to Verhanna or the guards or soemthing in the morning. If he doesn't die from blood loss, I sure want to as a few questions. And tickling isn't out of the question for getting them"
Loyalty Begets Honour
Sharn nodded, his new companions were young, but listened to reason. That put him further at ease and filled him with confidence. Yet, Merkas was the first to pick up the weapon. Would he be the one to be protected?
"Who is the best of us with ropes and knots?"
The dwarf turned to Sera.
"Perhaps we won't have to wait until the morning. If you have a way to heal his wounds and get him conscious, we could interrogate him immediately. Hastos could be at the ready to knock him down."
Sharn offered his quarterstaff to Hastos. The grooves and use on the tool were apparent. Putting one's hands around it even revealed where the fingers of the dwarf had worn away with his grip.
"It's not as mighty as your axe, but it can carry a punch. Careful though, I carved it myself. This stick has dug in the ground for twenty years."
Hastos puts his hands up, politely declining the Dwarfs weapon.
"I appreciate your caution, and your trust. But that's what the flat side is for..." Hastos grins, "...theoretically." He adds, cocking an eyebrow upwards. "Besides. If our friend here pulls something more sinister, it's just a flick of my wrist and his treachery will permanently be at an end. I like options."
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
You feel a surge of power rush over you when you touch the scythe. Promises of power and glory... even the power to return life to the dead seep into your mind. It's easily ignored, and fades as soon as you are not touching the scythe.
Wielding the weapon feels good in your hands. In spite of its size, it almost seems made for you. It's surprisingly lightweight and balanced, and spins swiftly in your hands. The call to claim it feels even stronger now, and you feel a sudden desire to slam the scythe into the form of the vile assassin. Perhaps ridding the world of such a person would send a message to whomever sent them, and prevent their ilk from causing more death in Santekh.
With the mask removed, you see a local of Khur: young, androgynous, foolish. Smooth olive skin and dark eyebrows create an image of innocence that rises in stark contrast to the hatred that was boiling within them so recently. It makes no sense for one person to pick a fight with four obviously capable warriors such as you. If this was a hit, it wasn't a very well planned one. The garments suggest ritual attire... like a cult or cabal. You recognize the details of the mask, a red condor, as the symbol of Sargonnas, god of wrath, vengeance, and retribution. And the necklace, now mangled in battle, represents the condor constellation. No other papers or coin identify this person, but even torn as they are, their tenacity remains as their hand seems to subconsciously reach for the scythe, even though they appear to be unconscious.
Merkas feels it too. A pull between wills. The scythe demands to be claimed. It feels like, if you were to let go, the scythe would somehow land back in the assassin's hand.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin