(OOC: continuing on per OOC chat from DM that only Raider C remains standing standing now and it is Xari and Elk-elyn's turns).
Xarian's DC10 CON Save to maintain concentration on Blade Ward after taking 6 damage: 24 (success)
Xari turns as the elk's head-butt ends the raider in front of him. His soft hazel eyes stare hard at the half-dragon standing over Kite and Roga's corpses and he fails to parry the attack from the next onrushing raider (C). He does not understand the harsh language he hears Hadrian speak, but he nods, getting the gist from the tone Another bully, this one, fearsome half-dragon or not. It may not be today, but one day, he will stop smiling.
The big man circles the raider that just slashed at him, making room for Elk-elyn to charge. He breathes deeply, relaxing his muscles and gathering his energy (Second Wind), then pivots, bringing his greatsword around in a vicious sideways arc directly through his foe's center of mass.
Movement: Xari steps NE - NW, ending just N of Raider C.
Action: Xari attacks Raider C with his greatsword. Greatsword to hit Raider C: 26 (Natural 20) Greatsword damage: 18 (slashing) GreatswordGraze Weapon Mastery: on a miss, the target (Raider C) still takes damage: 4 (slashing)
Bonus Action: Second Wind, Xari heals 10 hp (now 21/22).
Xari is concentrating on Blade Ward for up to 7 more rounds.
Already on death's door, the second unfurling ball of lightning is enough to send the raider over the threshold. He's blown off his feet as Aimon'sspell strikes him for the second time, dead before he can even hit the ground.
The next raider falls without ever being truly aware of what happened to him. One moment, Hadrianis swinging at him empty-handed, and in the next his neck falls from his shoulders, body falling shortly behind.
On the other side of the fight, a shower of blood goes up as Xarian's greatsword horizontally bifurcates the remaining raider who had broken through the line.
The half-dragon is surprised for a moment, features wiped blank as it processes its mother tongue being thrown at it. Then its lips curl into another sneer. "You are welcome to come try, skav."Vermin. The words come in a deep voice, delivered with slow menace. Its the kind of voice that doesn't need to be raised to be heard. The creature holds its arms out to either side, welcoming. Taunting.
A glance behind reveals that your charges have made it inside the keep. A horn blows from somewhere behind you, and a voice calls out. "Fall back to the keep!" The call has to be repeated twice more before the defenders in front of you begin to break away from the fight. You quickly see why - two more large groups of raiders come, one from the road to the north, and one from the road to the south.
Out of initiative for now (unless you continue to fight!)
Elk-elyn forces the bulk of her form between the nobile and the source of his ire, shoving his shoulder with her snout. "Back little lordling, you'll be cut to a thousand pieces before you can even reach it." Before she moves on, she sweeps her head around to stare at the larger man. If she's satisified Xarian isn't going to charge in as Hadrian seemed about to, she'll make her way to the keep.Carefully avoiding the little goblin underfoot as she trots away.
Xarian has obeyed orders as a guardsman for long enough that he goes along the horn and call to retreat instinctively.
Yet he makes himself last among retreaters, serving as rear guard. Attacking any who threaten the beleaguered forces of Greenest as they make for the keep gates. And he takes a long last look at the half-dragon, observing the villain's disdainful confidence. Like a dragon. A blue dragon...
Xari'sHistory to recall what he can of blue dragons and their followers: 24 (Nat. 20)
He remembers lounging in Orlan's study with a book on wyrms, great and greater. Red and gold bring fire, blue and bronze, lightning...
Lightning... we saw blue-scaled kobolds, blue-scaled drakes, masks made to look like a blue dragon's maw, and now a blue half-dragon, by his coloration.
"We may have to fight that big bastard..." (Xari means the other big bastard, the half-dragon, not himself, since Xari is literally both big and a bastard, parentage-wise), "... sooner or later. Aimon! Are you able to sling anything other than lightning? All we have seen tonight speaks of blue dragons, who embody lightning. It would not surprise me if the blue-scaled drakes and that bloody blue half-dragon shrug off those electric blasts of yours."
Where do my friends even get their magic? For Evelyn it seems to come from something animalistic. Aimon's from inside himself. Hadrian's from the red star lady and who knows what other pact he's made. Meanwhile I pore over a book for weeks, trying to get it right. Hardly seems fair...Xari grins ruefully.
Brow furrowing further as he retreats, the big man tries to recall anything else he can about lore surrounding blue dragons and their followers.
"I don't know! Maybe!" Aimon says as he hurries back inside the keep. He's just a merchant. Gods know what else might spring forth from the well of power swirling inside him if he tried.
He is less worried about the half-dragon at the moment and more about what they're supposed to do now. He looks about the gathering in the keep, desperately hoping one of the town's leaders is there with a plan to save them all.
As light as the taunt is, it's enough to send the noble even further into his rage. He's cut off as he starts forward by the large elk. When she butts his shoulder and speaks snse to him, his tunnel vision starts to widen. He again sees the tangle of guards and raiders between him and the half-dragon. Hears the calls to retreat. Fury is folly. Hadrian closes his eyes for a long second. Breathe. He draws a deep breath.
"You're right."
With a last glare at the half-dragon he turns sharply, following after Evelyn.
Xarian Blue Dragons: While most chromatics are more solitary when it comes to associating with other creatures, you recall reading that blues are much more disposed towards cultivating relationships with other creatures - albeit ones that tip the balance of power in the dragon's favor. Still, they place more value on the lives of their underlings than other dragon flights might.
You know they are capable of exhaling deadly lightning.
And you know they are completely immune to such lightning based attacks.
Drakes: You know these drakes to be of a variety that are created through ritual rather nature. From your reading you don't know the exact details of the ritual, but you do know that they involve the help of a chromatic dragon, and that the drakes themselves will carry some of their traits.
You know them to be more resistant to lightning based attacks.
Half-dragons: As with the drakes, you know they're the result of magic rather than nature. They serve the dragon who created them, and carry some trace of their might and grandeur. They share traits with the dragon that created them, typically right down to the personality.
As with the drakes, they also share a resistance to lightning based attacks.
You also know they have a breath attack similar to their draconic creator's, though not as powerful.
As you turn to leave, the half-dragon throws back his head to laugh. "Just so, little skav. Run and hide! I will be out here having my fill should you find your courage!"
The defenders break away completely from the fight - and aside from a few parting swipes, the raiders do not give much chase. As you retreat behind the keep's walls, you see the two new groups of raiders arriving at the crossroads just as the gate closes.
The uneven ground of the keep's courtyard is scattered with hastily opened crates, barrels, and discarded equipment. To your right, you see a staircase leading up to the castle's walls. On the south wall there is an open door to a narrow barracks - through the doorway you can see a wounded guard sitting on a cot, face in their hands. The wall of the keep's tower occupies about about a quarter of the space. The stables are empty of any mounts. The Rathywyns, Mary, and her son stick close to you as you slowly wander towards the courtyard's center.
It's quieter than you expected. The chaos of what's outside the walls now dimmed, you hear soft groans of the injured, whispered prayers, and quiet sobs. Fewer civilians than you would have hoped, and even fewer militia and guards. Those that you do see are bloody, battered, and distraught. The few people that are here are exhausted, slumped against walls, huddled into corners, or seated on overturned crates. The retinue of guards and makeshift militia that were fighting outside have scattered across the courtyard aimlessly. A pair slowly drag a third between them to the tower. Another guard slumps down against a wall, removing his dented helm with shaking hands.
This is not some stalwart stronghold. It's a last resort, and it's barely holding on.
Aimon There are many folk here you recognize. Sibba Vanrel, a quiet herbalist who sold tinctures and other remedies from a small shop near your own storehouse. She's seated against the wall to your left, cradling a child who isn't hers. Tommel Graye, an elderly bookkeeper who you've used to draft caravan agreements before paces near the stables, muttering to himself. And about half a dozen others you have more than a passing acquaintance with. Some bear physical wounds, others bear wounds of a different kind by the look in their eyes, and the absence of family you know them to have.
The keep is somewhere you've been only a few times, on delightful tours with some of the town's wealthier residents. Notably absent is the keep's castellan, a fiery red-headed dwarf by the name of Escobert. You can't recall a time you haven't heard him before you saw him. Up on the keep's walls however, you can spot the town's leader: Tarbaw Nighthill. Even from down here you can tell he's worse for wear. A hastily thrown on bandage covers half of his face. Blood stains his robes, and his arm is in a sling. He speaks with the trio of archers who covered your retreat, occasionally gesturing out towards the town.
"That's the town's leader," Aimon says with a point up toward Tarbaw. He seems much less anxious now that he's inside the relative safety of the keep's walls.
"Tarbaw Nighthill. He'll have a plan."
It seems as if Aimon might be trying to convince himself more than anything else. He starts to climb the stairs up the inside of the keep's walls.
Hearing the parting sting, Hadrian reminds himself once more of Sir Toban's breathing exercises. Fury is folly. The knight had always seemed to have a bottomless well of aphorisms about rage and anger. Never mind that he was the angriest person the young noble had ever met.
He regards the miserable state of the keep's interior grimly. It seemed very few had made it to the safety of its walls. How many others were scattered throughout the town at this very moment, having some desperate last stand against this merciless attack he wondered. He shakes his head, watching as Aimon begins to move up the stairs towards someone he's pointed out as the town's leader. "I'll get these ones settled." He says, gesturing towards the group they had escorted in.
He turns towards Mary, Andy, and the other family they had helped. "Everyone alright? Any injuries?" Regardless of the answer, he ushers them towards somewhere quieter such as the empty stables.
Still pondering back to what he recalls on Blue Dragons, their proclivities, and their drakes and half-dragons, Xari absently tousles Andy's hair and makes eye contact with Mary with a nod as Hadrian addresses them. He starts following Aimon to meet town leader Nighthill.
The big man is about to launch into a full run-down of what he knows when he turns and finds himself face-to-face with Elk-elyn. The sudden incongruity of this makes it impossible for him to begin his lore-dump while directly addressing an elk's visage, even though he knows it is Evelyn.
"Ah... as it w-were, ..." Xari finds his stutter returning, but he plows ahead with his thoughts as he ascends the keep's stairs with Aimon, looking away at no one in particular while speaking. "M-most chromatic dragons like reds, blues, greens, blacks, whites are avaricious, d-domineering and manipulative, but what I recall from m-my mentor's books is that blues are the most inclined to put effort into r-relationships with humanoids and others they consider underlings to advance their plans. Everything we've seen tonight has been about blue dragons. The blue-scaled kobolds, drakes, half-dragon, masks..."
"S-someone planned this. There was your erstwhile tiefling patron, Aimon, what was her name? Also the purple-clad lady with a halberd I saw at a distance leading the cultists. Then that monster of a blue half-dragon. But none of these leaders are actual dr-dragons. Is there a blue dragon behind all this? But then... why? Is this really a dragon's master plan? To burn a t-town and loot it for its mundane trinkets as we saw the kobolds gathering?"
The big man trails off, his lips still moving and eyes distant in thought.
Elk-elyn turns her head so one eye faces the big man as he turns to her to say something. Unable to raise a brow in this form, she instead tilts her head questioningly. When he instead turns and keeps walking, she huffs. Was it really so difficult to talk to a cervine creature?
A whirlwind of emerald energy surrounds her again as she shifts back into a more conversationally appropriate form, giving a very elk-like shake of her head before hurrying up the steps after the pair.
Evelyn catches the tail end of Xarian's rambling as she jogs up the steps behind them. "Why wouldn't it? Don't dragons like to hoard things? Maybe the town got too big for its own good. It clearly isn't well defended."
As you make it to the top of the keep's walls, you look out to see that the raiders have formed a semi-circle around western side. Kobolds, drakes, cultists, all of them. You won't be getting out through the gate anytime soon.
The governor is just finished with his hushed conversation with the archers when you approach, he turns to you, his one good eye glancing over the three of you. One of the archers hurries past, heading down the very stairs you came up.
Nighthill's gaze stops on Aimonfor a moment before his eye widens with surprise. "Good gods, that was you out there Perynor? I had no idea you could command such magic." You've met the man himself briefly only once, at a dinner hosted by Lord Halvar Myrren - Greenest's very own (and only) true nobleman. Nighthill had a knack for remembering names and faces, so perhaps it isn't so surprising that he remembers you.
His eyes gaze moves over to Xarianand Evelyn. "I don't know either of you. Travelers I presume? You may have picked the wrong night to visit, but I saw what you did out there at the gates. You have my thanks for helping get those people inside. And for helping my guard."
Passive Insight (12 Minimum) Though his people seem to be on the edge of despair, Nighthill himself has a determined glint in his eye. Despite how dire the situation is, this man is not yet finished.
He glances out towards the burning town briefly, then back to the three of you. "Damnable scoundrels. I met their leader, or I presume anyway. That zealot ***** in the purple robes. She's the one that did this to me." He gestures broadly to his injuries. "No interest in negotiation. No interest in surrender. They're going to take everything and slaughter every last one of us if they can."
The governor realizes he's beginning to ramble and stops himself. His good eye narrows. "What did you come up here for anyway?"
Hadrian Those you rescued nod solemnly, following your direction as you move them all to the stables. Mary slumps down onto a hay bale, pulling Andy onto her lap and holding him. The Rathwyn parents ease their daughter down onto one and begin to fuss over her. You notice now that she's been limping. Brandon Rathwyn looks over his shoulder at you. "My daughter's leg was cut up by one of those little bastards with the daggers. Are you a healer of some kind?"
Hadrian briefly gets his own glance at the wound before giving the father an apologetic look. "Well...No. Not really. But I'll see if I can go find someone who is, or some bandages at least." With that he moves back into the courtyard, flagging down the first guardsman or woman who seems to have their wits about them to ask about a healer or medical supplies.
Hadrian The wound isn't life threatening, but it doesn't look like a mere scratch either. The kobold's dagger left a jagged, shallow gash about four inches long, just below the back of the knee. Around the wound the skin is torn unevenly, the edges raw and inflamed from the filth that clung to the blade. Blood runs in thin lines down to her heel.
A couple of guards standing nearby point you towards the tower. You walk through, and find that the first floor has been converted into a field ward for the most wounded. A rough, improvised space pressed into service by necessity. The long table that would have dominated the center of the room has been pushed against a wall, its surface now cluttered with torn bandages and empty flasks. Chairs have been stacked atop it to make more room on the floor. Blankets, cloaks, and straw have been arranged on the floor into crude bedding for those too injured to stand or sit.
You observe a young woman in earthen toned-robes working with quiet determination, her brown hair tied up in a tight knot. As you approach, she's kneeling next to a guardsman drawing shuddering breaths, bleeding from a wound in his chest. The woman holds her hand gently to the wound, murmuring a prayer. A faint glow pulses beneath her hand - weak, but steady. When she moves her hand, you see the wound has stitched itself closed, and the begins to regain some color in his face. "Thank you Sister." He breaths, and without a word she moves on. Without turning her head to you, she addresses you. "If you're hurt, sit. If not, come with me and explain why you're standing around gawping when you could be helping."
Elk-elyn turns her head so one eye faces the big man as he turns to her to say something. Unable to raise a brow in this form, she instead tilts her head questioningly. When he instead turns and keeps walking, she huffs. Was it really so difficult to talk to a cervine creature?
A whirlwind of emerald energy surrounds her again as she shifts back into a more conversationally appropriate form, giving a very elk-like shake of her head before hurrying up the steps after the pair.
Evelyn catches the tail end of Xarian's rambling as she jogs up the steps behind them. "Why wouldn't it? Don't dragons like to hoard things? Maybe the town got too big for its own good. It clearly isn't well defended."
Xari nods, not disagreeing with Evelyn, but his voice is contemplative.
"I d-don't know, just seems a little... small-time to be robbing trinkets from commonfolk after amassing this army. Always thought of dragons hoarding gold and platinum, magic items and wondrous treasures. You fill a dragon hoard with copper and baubles from these homes the kobolds are looting and it feels like to be w-worth a dragon's while, the hoard would have to be a mile wide, too big for one dragon to guard... and a target for other dragons."
When Governor Nighthill addresses him, the big man belatedly stands up straight from his habitual slouch. He peers down at the wounded leader.
Good that this one at least hasn't given up! Holding strong for his people in tough times? Might be a man worth following.
"I'm Xarian, sir. This is Evelyn, though we've only known each other a couple hours. Been fighting side-by-side for most of it. She can tell her own story. I was Amphail town guard. Hadrian, the dark-haired nobleman down there, and I, we, ah... helped bring a caravan through from the west after some trouble with other cultists, different ones, I think. The ones attacking here seem like they must follow a blue dragon?"
Xari lets the question trail off, ready to say more about blue dragons, but then adds, "A mother and child we brought in are relatives of one, ah... Leosin? Who I think Evelyn knows? And Aimon, we met at the Bent Bow after, ah... well anyway, speaking of enemy leaders, you want to tell him about the tiefling woman, Aimon? As for the purple-robed one who slashed you, sir, I spied her, the one with the halberd? She stopped to inspect some kobold and cultist bodies we cut through to get here. Didn't notice us. And I'm sure you saw the blue half-dragon bastard out there. Killed some friends of ours..."
The big man's look grows dark, and he splutters to a halt, stepping back so Evelyn can speak. His posture signals that he is ready to keep fighting.
He looks up to see whether the red star still shines in the sky.
Used to slinking in the back of conversations and letting others do the talking, Evelyn suddenly finds herself feeling...Out in the open as the large man steps out of the way such that the governor can see her fully.
"I came here on a trip with my brother, watching a friend's home while they were away. He doesn't like to leave his things unattended for long."She lies as smoothly as she's capable. A bit desperate to deflect away from the topic, she quickly adds, "Aimon said you might have a plan to deal with this?...This place isn't my home...But it's as you say." The druid shrugs. "They mean to kill us all anyway, might as well try and do something."
Hadrian isn't surprised or offended by how short the priestess(?) is with him, she was one person in a room full of wounded. He walks with her, getting to his point quickly. "There is a wounded girl outside. Not a life-threatening wound but it's a nasty one. I was looking for a healer, or something for the gash."
"A blue dragon?" The governor's tone is incredulous at first, but you see the wheels turning in his head. "That's not something even this keep could withstand. If you're right, you'd better start praying to whichever god or goddess you worship that dragon is far from here tonight." He scrutinizes the three of you with his one eye as Xarianrambles on. Nighthill seems to pay no special mind to Evelyn's short explanation, though she may not be used to deception, there's enough else going on that doesn't take much to slip in such a small lie.
As he waits to hear about Aimon's tiefling woman, he nods his head further along the wall. "Walk with me." He begins to hobble along with his wounded leg, taking you on a counter-clockwise trek around the keep's walls. From this vantage point, you can see much of the town, though it's now shrouded in part by smoke and darkness where there fires haven't yet reached.
"Too many of our people are still out there. Regular folk and my militia alike." You reach the north wall, and he points to a large building slightly to the northeast. "Town hall. I know for a fact we've got quite a few trapped in there." You round a corner to the east wall, and he points to a large structure with a steeple atop it to the southeast. "Temple was having an evening worship tonight as well. I've seen torches circling it for the past half hour." He stops and turns around, leaning a hand against the parapet to steady himself. "And then one of my archers told me he's seen a rather large force heading to the northwest. I'd been willing to bet my good eye Lord Myrren's doing. Tough old bastard is a retired knight from the Order of the Companion. Guarantee him and his own are giving these vagrants a headache."
"Now I don't give a good god damn what you'll fight for. Whether it's survival. Or gold. Or just outta the goodness of your shining heart. If you're serious about taking the fight to these raiders, I can give you a way out of the keep unseen. I can give you what little supplies I have. And if the gods grant us the luck to survive the night, a reward when it's all said and done with."
"What say you?"
Hadrian As the woman begins to splint a teenage boy's leg, she points to the table pushed against the wall. "Take only the bandages you need. Salve from the green pot goes on first. It's going to hurt, but if you don't use it she'll have an infection before the dawn breaks."
"Now go, quickly."
The red star still hangs in the sky above your heads. Brighter and closer than before.
Aimon listens quietly to Xarian's recitation of his extensive knowledge of blue dragon's and their ilk. How does he know so much? If Aimon hadn't just fought by the man's side through the town, the elven merchant might be a little suspicious.
But he doesn't have much time for suspicions to rise, because it's quickly supplanted by a growing unease. The invading force are ransacking Greenest, seemingly leaving no stone unturned and no building unburned. Are they looking for something? Perhaps something that belonged to their blue dragon's master? At that thought, Aimon's complexion paled even further.
"Um, yes, hello governor," he manages to say eventually.
"There's a strange woman in town with whom I've had some dealings. Her name is Vareeza. She came to me tonight just before all this began with an urgent change to our plans. Now, that doesn't mean she—or I!—have anything to do with those thugs out there," he insists, perhaps trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
"Thank you,"Though she is too preoccupied to turn and look at him, the nobleman still bows out of respect and habit. Before he turns to leave her, he stops to ask..."There's a good chance I'll be heading out into the town again. Is there anything I could look for out there that would help you?"
After receiving an answer, he goes to the table to get the medical supplies as she instructed, returning to the stables where he'd left the Rathwyns and Mary. He shows the bandages and salve in his hands. "I have something that can help."
He kneels down next to the girl. "This is going to hurt at first, but it'll help." As instructed he first rubs the salve on the gash before wrapping it with a bandage.
(OOC: continuing on per OOC chat from DM that only Raider C remains standing standing now and it is Xari and Elk-elyn's turns).
Xarian's DC10 CON Save to maintain concentration on Blade Ward after taking 6 damage: 24 (success)
Xari turns as the elk's head-butt ends the raider in front of him. His soft hazel eyes stare hard at the half-dragon standing over Kite and Roga's corpses and he fails to parry the attack from the next onrushing raider (C). He does not understand the harsh language he hears Hadrian speak, but he nods, getting the gist from the tone Another bully, this one, fearsome half-dragon or not. It may not be today, but one day, he will stop smiling.
The big man circles the raider that just slashed at him, making room for Elk-elyn to charge. He breathes deeply, relaxing his muscles and gathering his energy (Second Wind), then pivots, bringing his greatsword around in a vicious sideways arc directly through his foe's center of mass.
Movement: Xari steps NE - NW, ending just N of Raider C.
Action: Xari attacks Raider C with his greatsword.
Greatsword to hit Raider C: 26 (Natural 20)
Greatsword damage: 18 (slashing)
Greatsword Graze Weapon Mastery: on a miss, the target (Raider C) still takes damage: 4 (slashing)
Bonus Action: Second Wind, Xari heals 10 hp (now 21/22).
Xari is concentrating on Blade Ward for up to 7 more rounds.
Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall| Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles| Xarian(Fighter2):NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil| Soren(Druid5):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft| Nivi(Rogue4):Raiketsu's CoS| Ophelia(Sorcerer4):Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request| Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return| Sabetha(Monk3):Bedlymn's Murder Court
Already on death's door, the second unfurling ball of lightning is enough to send the raider over the threshold. He's blown off his feet as Aimon's spell strikes him for the second time, dead before he can even hit the ground.
The next raider falls without ever being truly aware of what happened to him. One moment, Hadrian is swinging at him empty-handed, and in the next his neck falls from his shoulders, body falling shortly behind.
On the other side of the fight, a shower of blood goes up as Xarian's greatsword horizontally bifurcates the remaining raider who had broken through the line.
The half-dragon is surprised for a moment, features wiped blank as it processes its mother tongue being thrown at it. Then its lips curl into another sneer. "You are welcome to come try, skav." Vermin. The words come in a deep voice, delivered with slow menace. Its the kind of voice that doesn't need to be raised to be heard. The creature holds its arms out to either side, welcoming. Taunting.
A glance behind reveals that your charges have made it inside the keep. A horn blows from somewhere behind you, and a voice calls out. "Fall back to the keep!" The call has to be repeated twice more before the defenders in front of you begin to break away from the fight. You quickly see why - two more large groups of raiders come, one from the road to the north, and one from the road to the south.
Out of initiative for now (unless you continue to fight!)
Elk-elyn forces the bulk of her form between the nobile and the source of his ire, shoving his shoulder with her snout. "Back little lordling, you'll be cut to a thousand pieces before you can even reach it." Before she moves on, she sweeps her head around to stare at the larger man. If she's satisified Xarian isn't going to charge in as Hadrian seemed about to, she'll make her way to the keep. Carefully avoiding the little goblin underfoot as she trots away.
Xarian has obeyed orders as a guardsman for long enough that he goes along the horn and call to retreat instinctively.
Yet he makes himself last among retreaters, serving as rear guard. Attacking any who threaten the beleaguered forces of Greenest as they make for the keep gates. And he takes a long last look at the half-dragon, observing the villain's disdainful confidence. Like a dragon. A blue dragon...
Xari's History to recall what he can of blue dragons and their followers: 24 (Nat. 20)
He remembers lounging in Orlan's study with a book on wyrms, great and greater. Red and gold bring fire, blue and bronze, lightning...
Lightning... we saw blue-scaled kobolds, blue-scaled drakes, masks made to look like a blue dragon's maw, and now a blue half-dragon, by his coloration.
"We may have to fight that big bastard..." (Xari means the other big bastard, the half-dragon, not himself, since Xari is literally both big and a bastard, parentage-wise), "... sooner or later. Aimon! Are you able to sling anything other than lightning? All we have seen tonight speaks of blue dragons, who embody lightning. It would not surprise me if the blue-scaled drakes and that bloody blue half-dragon shrug off those electric blasts of yours."
Where do my friends even get their magic? For Evelyn it seems to come from something animalistic. Aimon's from inside himself. Hadrian's from the red star lady and who knows what other pact he's made. Meanwhile I pore over a book for weeks, trying to get it right. Hardly seems fair... Xari grins ruefully.
Brow furrowing further as he retreats, the big man tries to recall anything else he can about lore surrounding blue dragons and their followers.
Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall| Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles| Xarian(Fighter2):NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil| Soren(Druid5):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft| Nivi(Rogue4):Raiketsu's CoS| Ophelia(Sorcerer4):Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request| Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return| Sabetha(Monk3):Bedlymn's Murder Court
"I don't know! Maybe!" Aimon says as he hurries back inside the keep. He's just a merchant. Gods know what else might spring forth from the well of power swirling inside him if he tried.
He is less worried about the half-dragon at the moment and more about what they're supposed to do now. He looks about the gathering in the keep, desperately hoping one of the town's leaders is there with a plan to save them all.
As light as the taunt is, it's enough to send the noble even further into his rage. He's cut off as he starts forward by the large elk. When she butts his shoulder and speaks snse to him, his tunnel vision starts to widen. He again sees the tangle of guards and raiders between him and the half-dragon. Hears the calls to retreat. Fury is folly. Hadrian closes his eyes for a long second. Breathe. He draws a deep breath.
"You're right."
With a last glare at the half-dragon he turns sharply, following after Evelyn.
Xarian
Blue Dragons: While most chromatics are more solitary when it comes to associating with other creatures, you recall reading that blues are much more disposed towards cultivating relationships with other creatures - albeit ones that tip the balance of power in the dragon's favor. Still, they place more value on the lives of their underlings than other dragon flights might.
Drakes: You know these drakes to be of a variety that are created through ritual rather nature. From your reading you don't know the exact details of the ritual, but you do know that they involve the help of a chromatic dragon, and that the drakes themselves will carry some of their traits.
Half-dragons: As with the drakes, you know they're the result of magic rather than nature. They serve the dragon who created them, and carry some trace of their might and grandeur. They share traits with the dragon that created them, typically right down to the personality.
As you turn to leave, the half-dragon throws back his head to laugh. "Just so, little skav. Run and hide! I will be out here having my fill should you find your courage!"
The defenders break away completely from the fight - and aside from a few parting swipes, the raiders do not give much chase. As you retreat behind the keep's walls, you see the two new groups of raiders arriving at the crossroads just as the gate closes.
The uneven ground of the keep's courtyard is scattered with hastily opened crates, barrels, and discarded equipment. To your right, you see a staircase leading up to the castle's walls. On the south wall there is an open door to a narrow barracks - through the doorway you can see a wounded guard sitting on a cot, face in their hands. The wall of the keep's tower occupies about about a quarter of the space. The stables are empty of any mounts. The Rathywyns, Mary, and her son stick close to you as you slowly wander towards the courtyard's center.
It's quieter than you expected. The chaos of what's outside the walls now dimmed, you hear soft groans of the injured, whispered prayers, and quiet sobs. Fewer civilians than you would have hoped, and even fewer militia and guards. Those that you do see are bloody, battered, and distraught. The few people that are here are exhausted, slumped against walls, huddled into corners, or seated on overturned crates. The retinue of guards and makeshift militia that were fighting outside have scattered across the courtyard aimlessly. A pair slowly drag a third between them to the tower. Another guard slumps down against a wall, removing his dented helm with shaking hands.
This is not some stalwart stronghold. It's a last resort, and it's barely holding on.
Aimon
There are many folk here you recognize. Sibba Vanrel, a quiet herbalist who sold tinctures and other remedies from a small shop near your own storehouse. She's seated against the wall to your left, cradling a child who isn't hers. Tommel Graye, an elderly bookkeeper who you've used to draft caravan agreements before paces near the stables, muttering to himself. And about half a dozen others you have more than a passing acquaintance with. Some bear physical wounds, others bear wounds of a different kind by the look in their eyes, and the absence of family you know them to have.
The keep is somewhere you've been only a few times, on delightful tours with some of the town's wealthier residents. Notably absent is the keep's castellan, a fiery red-headed dwarf by the name of Escobert. You can't recall a time you haven't heard him before you saw him. Up on the keep's walls however, you can spot the town's leader: Tarbaw Nighthill. Even from down here you can tell he's worse for wear. A hastily thrown on bandage covers half of his face. Blood stains his robes, and his arm is in a sling. He speaks with the trio of archers who covered your retreat, occasionally gesturing out towards the town.
"That's the town's leader," Aimon says with a point up toward Tarbaw. He seems much less anxious now that he's inside the relative safety of the keep's walls.
"Tarbaw Nighthill. He'll have a plan."
It seems as if Aimon might be trying to convince himself more than anything else. He starts to climb the stairs up the inside of the keep's walls.
Hearing the parting sting, Hadrian reminds himself once more of Sir Toban's breathing exercises. Fury is folly. The knight had always seemed to have a bottomless well of aphorisms about rage and anger. Never mind that he was the angriest person the young noble had ever met.
He regards the miserable state of the keep's interior grimly. It seemed very few had made it to the safety of its walls. How many others were scattered throughout the town at this very moment, having some desperate last stand against this merciless attack he wondered. He shakes his head, watching as Aimon begins to move up the stairs towards someone he's pointed out as the town's leader. "I'll get these ones settled." He says, gesturing towards the group they had escorted in.
He turns towards Mary, Andy, and the other family they had helped. "Everyone alright? Any injuries?" Regardless of the answer, he ushers them towards somewhere quieter such as the empty stables.
Still pondering back to what he recalls on Blue Dragons, their proclivities, and their drakes and half-dragons, Xari absently tousles Andy's hair and makes eye contact with Mary with a nod as Hadrian addresses them. He starts following Aimon to meet town leader Nighthill.
The big man is about to launch into a full run-down of what he knows when he turns and finds himself face-to-face with Elk-elyn. The sudden incongruity of this makes it impossible for him to begin his lore-dump while directly addressing an elk's visage, even though he knows it is Evelyn.
"Ah... as it w-were, ..." Xari finds his stutter returning, but he plows ahead with his thoughts as he ascends the keep's stairs with Aimon, looking away at no one in particular while speaking. "M-most chromatic dragons like reds, blues, greens, blacks, whites are avaricious, d-domineering and manipulative, but what I recall from m-my mentor's books is that blues are the most inclined to put effort into r-relationships with humanoids and others they consider underlings to advance their plans. Everything we've seen tonight has been about blue dragons. The blue-scaled kobolds, drakes, half-dragon, masks..."
"S-someone planned this. There was your erstwhile tiefling patron, Aimon, what was her name? Also the purple-clad lady with a halberd I saw at a distance leading the cultists. Then that monster of a blue half-dragon. But none of these leaders are actual dr-dragons. Is there a blue dragon behind all this? But then... why? Is this really a dragon's master plan? To burn a t-town and loot it for its mundane trinkets as we saw the kobolds gathering?"
The big man trails off, his lips still moving and eyes distant in thought.
Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall| Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles| Xarian(Fighter2):NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil| Soren(Druid5):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft| Nivi(Rogue4):Raiketsu's CoS| Ophelia(Sorcerer4):Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request| Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return| Sabetha(Monk3):Bedlymn's Murder Court
Elk-elyn turns her head so one eye faces the big man as he turns to her to say something. Unable to raise a brow in this form, she instead tilts her head questioningly. When he instead turns and keeps walking, she huffs. Was it really so difficult to talk to a cervine creature?
A whirlwind of emerald energy surrounds her again as she shifts back into a more conversationally appropriate form, giving a very elk-like shake of her head before hurrying up the steps after the pair.
Evelyn catches the tail end of Xarian's rambling as she jogs up the steps behind them. "Why wouldn't it? Don't dragons like to hoard things? Maybe the town got too big for its own good. It clearly isn't well defended."
As you make it to the top of the keep's walls, you look out to see that the raiders have formed a semi-circle around western side. Kobolds, drakes, cultists, all of them. You won't be getting out through the gate anytime soon.
The governor is just finished with his hushed conversation with the archers when you approach, he turns to you, his one good eye glancing over the three of you. One of the archers hurries past, heading down the very stairs you came up.
Nighthill's gaze stops on Aimon for a moment before his eye widens with surprise. "Good gods, that was you out there Perynor? I had no idea you could command such magic." You've met the man himself briefly only once, at a dinner hosted by Lord Halvar Myrren - Greenest's very own (and only) true nobleman. Nighthill had a knack for remembering names and faces, so perhaps it isn't so surprising that he remembers you.
His eyes gaze moves over to Xarian and Evelyn. "I don't know either of you. Travelers I presume? You may have picked the wrong night to visit, but I saw what you did out there at the gates. You have my thanks for helping get those people inside. And for helping my guard."
Passive Insight (12 Minimum)
Though his people seem to be on the edge of despair, Nighthill himself has a determined glint in his eye. Despite how dire the situation is, this man is not yet finished.
He glances out towards the burning town briefly, then back to the three of you. "Damnable scoundrels. I met their leader, or I presume anyway. That zealot ***** in the purple robes. She's the one that did this to me." He gestures broadly to his injuries. "No interest in negotiation. No interest in surrender. They're going to take everything and slaughter every last one of us if they can."
The governor realizes he's beginning to ramble and stops himself. His good eye narrows. "What did you come up here for anyway?"
Hadrian
Those you rescued nod solemnly, following your direction as you move them all to the stables. Mary slumps down onto a hay bale, pulling Andy onto her lap and holding him. The Rathwyn parents ease their daughter down onto one and begin to fuss over her. You notice now that she's been limping. Brandon Rathwyn looks over his shoulder at you. "My daughter's leg was cut up by one of those little bastards with the daggers. Are you a healer of some kind?"
Hadrian briefly gets his own glance at the wound before giving the father an apologetic look. "Well...No. Not really. But I'll see if I can go find someone who is, or some bandages at least." With that he moves back into the courtyard, flagging down the first guardsman or woman who seems to have their wits about them to ask about a healer or medical supplies.
Hadrian
The wound isn't life threatening, but it doesn't look like a mere scratch either. The kobold's dagger left a jagged, shallow gash about four inches long, just below the back of the knee. Around the wound the skin is torn unevenly, the edges raw and inflamed from the filth that clung to the blade. Blood runs in thin lines down to her heel.
A couple of guards standing nearby point you towards the tower. You walk through, and find that the first floor has been converted into a field ward for the most wounded. A rough, improvised space pressed into service by necessity. The long table that would have dominated the center of the room has been pushed against a wall, its surface now cluttered with torn bandages and empty flasks. Chairs have been stacked atop it to make more room on the floor. Blankets, cloaks, and straw have been arranged on the floor into crude bedding for those too injured to stand or sit.
You observe a young woman in earthen toned-robes working with quiet determination, her brown hair tied up in a tight knot. As you approach, she's kneeling next to a guardsman drawing shuddering breaths, bleeding from a wound in his chest. The woman holds her hand gently to the wound, murmuring a prayer. A faint glow pulses beneath her hand - weak, but steady. When she moves her hand, you see the wound has stitched itself closed, and the begins to regain some color in his face. "Thank you Sister." He breaths, and without a word she moves on. Without turning her head to you, she addresses you. "If you're hurt, sit. If not, come with me and explain why you're standing around gawping when you could be helping."
Xari nods, not disagreeing with Evelyn, but his voice is contemplative.
"I d-don't know, just seems a little... small-time to be robbing trinkets from commonfolk after amassing this army. Always thought of dragons hoarding gold and platinum, magic items and wondrous treasures. You fill a dragon hoard with copper and baubles from these homes the kobolds are looting and it feels like to be w-worth a dragon's while, the hoard would have to be a mile wide, too big for one dragon to guard... and a target for other dragons."
When Governor Nighthill addresses him, the big man belatedly stands up straight from his habitual slouch. He peers down at the wounded leader.
Good that this one at least hasn't given up! Holding strong for his people in tough times? Might be a man worth following.
"I'm Xarian, sir. This is Evelyn, though we've only known each other a couple hours. Been fighting side-by-side for most of it. She can tell her own story. I was Amphail town guard. Hadrian, the dark-haired nobleman down there, and I, we, ah... helped bring a caravan through from the west after some trouble with other cultists, different ones, I think. The ones attacking here seem like they must follow a blue dragon?"
Xari lets the question trail off, ready to say more about blue dragons, but then adds, "A mother and child we brought in are relatives of one, ah... Leosin? Who I think Evelyn knows? And Aimon, we met at the Bent Bow after, ah... well anyway, speaking of enemy leaders, you want to tell him about the tiefling woman, Aimon? As for the purple-robed one who slashed you, sir, I spied her, the one with the halberd? She stopped to inspect some kobold and cultist bodies we cut through to get here. Didn't notice us. And I'm sure you saw the blue half-dragon bastard out there. Killed some friends of ours..."
The big man's look grows dark, and he splutters to a halt, stepping back so Evelyn can speak. His posture signals that he is ready to keep fighting.
He looks up to see whether the red star still shines in the sky.
Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall| Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles| Xarian(Fighter2):NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil| Soren(Druid5):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft| Nivi(Rogue4):Raiketsu's CoS| Ophelia(Sorcerer4):Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request| Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return| Sabetha(Monk3):Bedlymn's Murder Court
Used to slinking in the back of conversations and letting others do the talking, Evelyn suddenly finds herself feeling...Out in the open as the large man steps out of the way such that the governor can see her fully.
"I came here on a trip with my brother, watching a friend's home while they were away. He doesn't like to leave his things unattended for long." She lies as smoothly as she's capable. A bit desperate to deflect away from the topic, she quickly adds, "Aimon said you might have a plan to deal with this?...This place isn't my home...But it's as you say." The druid shrugs. "They mean to kill us all anyway, might as well try and do something."
[Deception]: 15
Hadrian isn't surprised or offended by how short the priestess(?) is with him, she was one person in a room full of wounded. He walks with her, getting to his point quickly. "There is a wounded girl outside. Not a life-threatening wound but it's a nasty one. I was looking for a healer, or something for the gash."
"A blue dragon?" The governor's tone is incredulous at first, but you see the wheels turning in his head. "That's not something even this keep could withstand. If you're right, you'd better start praying to whichever god or goddess you worship that dragon is far from here tonight." He scrutinizes the three of you with his one eye as Xarian rambles on. Nighthill seems to pay no special mind to Evelyn's short explanation, though she may not be used to deception, there's enough else going on that doesn't take much to slip in such a small lie.
As he waits to hear about Aimon's tiefling woman, he nods his head further along the wall. "Walk with me." He begins to hobble along with his wounded leg, taking you on a counter-clockwise trek around the keep's walls. From this vantage point, you can see much of the town, though it's now shrouded in part by smoke and darkness where there fires haven't yet reached.
"Too many of our people are still out there. Regular folk and my militia alike." You reach the north wall, and he points to a large building slightly to the northeast. "Town hall. I know for a fact we've got quite a few trapped in there." You round a corner to the east wall, and he points to a large structure with a steeple atop it to the southeast. "Temple was having an evening worship tonight as well. I've seen torches circling it for the past half hour." He stops and turns around, leaning a hand against the parapet to steady himself. "And then one of my archers told me he's seen a rather large force heading to the northwest. I'd been willing to bet my good eye Lord Myrren's doing. Tough old bastard is a retired knight from the Order of the Companion. Guarantee him and his own are giving these vagrants a headache."
"Now I don't give a good god damn what you'll fight for. Whether it's survival. Or gold. Or just outta the goodness of your shining heart. If you're serious about taking the fight to these raiders, I can give you a way out of the keep unseen. I can give you what little supplies I have. And if the gods grant us the luck to survive the night, a reward when it's all said and done with."
"What say you?"
Hadrian
As the woman begins to splint a teenage boy's leg, she points to the table pushed against the wall. "Take only the bandages you need. Salve from the green pot goes on first. It's going to hurt, but if you don't use it she'll have an infection before the dawn breaks."
"Now go, quickly."
The red star still hangs in the sky above your heads. Brighter and closer than before.
Aimon listens quietly to Xarian's recitation of his extensive knowledge of blue dragon's and their ilk. How does he know so much? If Aimon hadn't just fought by the man's side through the town, the elven merchant might be a little suspicious.
But he doesn't have much time for suspicions to rise, because it's quickly supplanted by a growing unease. The invading force are ransacking Greenest, seemingly leaving no stone unturned and no building unburned. Are they looking for something? Perhaps something that belonged to their blue dragon's master? At that thought, Aimon's complexion paled even further.
"Um, yes, hello governor," he manages to say eventually.
"There's a strange woman in town with whom I've had some dealings. Her name is Vareeza. She came to me tonight just before all this began with an urgent change to our plans. Now, that doesn't mean she—or I!—have anything to do with those thugs out there," he insists, perhaps trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
"Thank you," Though she is too preoccupied to turn and look at him, the nobleman still bows out of respect and habit. Before he turns to leave her, he stops to ask..."There's a good chance I'll be heading out into the town again. Is there anything I could look for out there that would help you?"
After receiving an answer, he goes to the table to get the medical supplies as she instructed, returning to the stables where he'd left the Rathwyns and Mary. He shows the bandages and salve in his hands. "I have something that can help."
He kneels down next to the girl. "This is going to hurt at first, but it'll help." As instructed he first rubs the salve on the gash before wrapping it with a bandage.
Medicine: 17