Where did this come from?
Outside, a ranger held on against two goblins. His two longswords, lightly curved at the tip, reflected the firelight at his stern face.
Brindol burned. It seemed a whole warren of goblin was running around, in groups of two or three. Claidheamh, the ranger, picked off his foes from the mob with methodic cuts. When a black panther shot out of the inn and turned north, he too felt trouble was brewing in that direction. The bridge. Can't go now, he cursed to himself. Houses burn. Hope that one went to help..
An arrow landed at his feet, drawing his attention to the rooftops. Two particularly bright members of the horde had taken to high ground, and fired their short bows from opposing houses. For a ranger, Claidheamh was not the best mark in the land, but he knew his way around well enough. He stuck his swords on the ground and drew his longbow. He fired two arrows in quick succession, a wide overhead lob that would not hit either goblin if they were giants.
It worked just right. The goblins stared in awe at their respective arrow until it was way past them. When they looked back, that puny human was gone.
Covered by the low-hanging out ceiling of the inn, Claidheamh surveyed the tavern room from the outside. It was quite damaged, but the fires had been put out. Near a dozen goblin lay dead on the wooden floor and one roasted on the common hearth. To the back, someone gave divine rites to a patron that had died in the fire. Some of the survivors stood up when his head poked through the door frame. The ranger identified a dragonborn and a dwarf. The one saying words for the dead was human, some war priest in a stupid crown. City-born, he thought. And that - the hooded hulk with a tiny dagger in his hand - is a half-orc if I ever saw one. What a strange lot to assemble here today.
"Wetch it lad. Thar coul be moar of these thengs." The dwarf seemed worried. He was leaning on his battleaxe and looked expectantly around him, as if a goblin were to jump on him at a moment's notice. He seemed quite nervous for a paladin.
"There are plenty, ser. Outside." Claidheamh answered. "The town burns", he added eerily.
"We'll kill'em all", grunted the half-orc under his cowl, not without excitement.
_________________________________________________________________________
Shedinn slashed at the air with his knife. A loud crack, and two blades of lightning fried the goblin scouts. Two more came around the corner, wielding large kitchen knives. The paladin charged them shield first, driving them into the alley. The group quickly followed, and quickly wished they hadn't.
An ogre pulled a cart filled to the brim with barrels. Two more goblins sat atop the barrels, waving torches and firing the occasional arrow at fleeing peasants. Claidheamh stopped in his tracks the moment he saw it, halting the rush of the sorcerer as well. The dwarf didn't even raise his head. He could see a leg, and that was very much enough. He rushed to the creature, standing just a little over knee height, and cleaved blindly. The dwarven battleaxe had trouble cutting through the thick giant skin, barely drawing blood. If it was hurting, one wouldn't know from the ogre's face.
An ogre's face has a permanent angry, grinning, constipated scowl. Their eyes came in two varieties: the dull, glassy, stupid daze most had when they were not rampaging, and the vicious bloodshot rage all of them had when they were rampaging. This one was the latter. Goblins had tied him up to an oxcart, and would sting him with their little flying sticks if he didn't move. He wished he had eaten them. Now more little ones were hitting him with their sharp sticks. He might just eat these, if the goblin don't nag too much.
The ogre turned his body with great effort and picked up a barrel. The smartest of the two goblin jumped on its arm and lit the rag coming out of the cask with his torch.
The robed man paid no attention to the flaming cask flying over his head. In truth, he didn't see it, as the others saw it. His eyes, wide open, saw nothing of his world. When one speaks with a god to ask him for an angel, one looks him in the eye.
The cask went up in blue flames the second it hit the ground. Claidheamh, five feet way from it, felt the heat in his face and the fire in his sleeve. He dove shoulder first into the nearby wall to put it out. Then rushed the ogre. He had expected to run beside the half-orc, who had struck him as some type of duelist, but he was nowhere to be found. If that coward ran on us, I'll hunt him down myself. The ranger maneuvered around the bulk of the ogre, taking advantage of the paladin's challenge: a yellow dragon had appeared above the ogre's heart, branding him an enemy of Bahamut. Were he not to live up to the challenge...
Seeing a little one with two sharp sticks run by him, the ogre took his chance. He swung his enormous maul in a wide uppercut, hitting him above the stick holder. A moment later, his heart burned in pain, and the thought of the small little one appeared in his mind. He roared at him.
Shedinn's flame whip had faded, so he turned to less artistic demonstrations of power. He inhaled deeply, fusing his innate magic and his inheritance inside his body. The fire that rushed from his mouth was a jet stream of cold winds and frozen water so powerful the goblin that received it to his face dropped without a word. Alright, one more. Leave more room for the big ones to fight in... A small sphere of light formed near the other goblin's face. Well that's new. Did I make the sun?, he thought.
He hadn't. The "sun" exploded in a dozen smaller shards that pierced the two creatures, and his goggly-eyed friend's sudden intake of breath had Shedinn between relieved and disappointed that he hadn't made such sweet flame.
Paladin and ranger had brought the ogre to its knees. Claidheamh had found a place in the wagon, right behind the ogre. A blind spot. Adjusting his grip, he sunk both longswords in the beast's back. It shook violently in pain, overturning the cart. In fear of being crushed, Claidheamh looked up just in time to see two throwing knives sink into the ogre's neck.
The ogre saw nothing when he looked up. No birds up there. Nothing on the roof either. Ugh. It nothing. Kill anyhoots.
A shadow clouded Claidheamh for a second, and then it crashed into the ogre. The shadow then proceeded to slice dozens of cuts on the beast with a long dagger.
________________________________________________________________
It wasn't hard to bring down. The five sat resting just as far from the cart as they could monitor the fire, and still not smell burnt ogre. The ranger spoke first.
"Claidheamh", he said, "It's my name. I have been ranging for a while. We beat a powerful foe today."
"Aye lad. Stone called me Thoradin, so I be that. Paladin of great Bahamut for as many years as ye been born."
Shedinn's introduction was a revolving ball of fire hovering above his hand. "I'm Shedinn. I like goblins." Dramatic pause. "They make funny little pop -he clicked his tongue- noises when they die!"
When it was the robed man's turn, he just said, "Occam. Hello". The paladin added to his story. "Lad say he be an invoker. That Pelor heself be talkin to him. Bah! Might as well be." He than laughed to a joke noone saw.
The half-orc -it was indeed a half-orc, to Claidheamh's pride- turned out to be called Ugarth, and said he was great with knives. Although his prowess in that field was not in question, he also claimed to be like a ninja -and here he threw some punches at the air- striking from the shadows. Were that to be proved, it would be a feat of note, for someone whose shadow is larger than most.
_______________________________________________________________
All fires had been put out at the end of the same afternoon. The next morning, five people woke up to a note slid under their door.
SoW e02
Brindol burned. It seemed a whole warren of goblin was running around, in groups of two or three. Claidheamh, the ranger, picked off his foes from the mob with methodic cuts. When a black panther shot out of the inn and turned north, he too felt trouble was brewing in that direction. The bridge. Can't go now, he cursed to himself. Houses burn. Hope that one went to help..
An arrow landed at his feet, drawing his attention to the rooftops. Two particularly bright members of the horde had taken to high ground, and fired their short bows from opposing houses. For a ranger, Claidheamh was not the best mark in the land, but he knew his way around well enough. He stuck his swords on the ground and drew his longbow. He fired two arrows in quick succession, a wide overhead lob that would not hit either goblin if they were giants.
It worked just right. The goblins stared in awe at their respective arrow until it was way past them. When they looked back, that puny human was gone.
Covered by the low-hanging out ceiling of the inn, Claidheamh surveyed the tavern room from the outside. It was quite damaged, but the fires had been put out. Near a dozen goblin lay dead on the wooden floor and one roasted on the common hearth. To the back, someone gave divine rites to a patron that had died in the fire. Some of the survivors stood up when his head poked through the door frame. The ranger identified a dragonborn and a dwarf. The one saying words for the dead was human, some war priest in a stupid crown. City-born, he thought. And that - the hooded hulk with a tiny dagger in his hand - is a half-orc if I ever saw one. What a strange lot to assemble here today.
"Wetch it lad. Thar coul be moar of these thengs." The dwarf seemed worried. He was leaning on his battleaxe and looked expectantly around him, as if a goblin were to jump on him at a moment's notice. He seemed quite nervous for a paladin.
"There are plenty, ser. Outside." Claidheamh answered. "The town burns", he added eerily.
"We'll kill'em all", grunted the half-orc under his cowl, not without excitement.
_________________________________________________________________________
Shedinn slashed at the air with his knife. A loud crack, and two blades of lightning fried the goblin scouts. Two more came around the corner, wielding large kitchen knives. The paladin charged them shield first, driving them into the alley. The group quickly followed, and quickly wished they hadn't.
An ogre's face has a permanent angry, grinning, constipated scowl. Their eyes came in two varieties: the dull, glassy, stupid daze most had when they were not rampaging, and the vicious bloodshot rage all of them had when they were rampaging. This one was the latter. Goblins had tied him up to an oxcart, and would sting him with their little flying sticks if he didn't move. He wished he had eaten them. Now more little ones were hitting him with their sharp sticks. He might just eat these, if the goblin don't nag too much.
The ogre turned his body with great effort and picked up a barrel. The smartest of the two goblin jumped on its arm and lit the rag coming out of the cask with his torch.
The robed man paid no attention to the flaming cask flying over his head. In truth, he didn't see it, as the others saw it. His eyes, wide open, saw nothing of his world. When one speaks with a god to ask him for an angel, one looks him in the eye.
The cask went up in blue flames the second it hit the ground. Claidheamh, five feet way from it, felt the heat in his face and the fire in his sleeve. He dove shoulder first into the nearby wall to put it out. Then rushed the ogre. He had expected to run beside the half-orc, who had struck him as some type of duelist, but he was nowhere to be found. If that coward ran on us, I'll hunt him down myself. The ranger maneuvered around the bulk of the ogre, taking advantage of the paladin's challenge: a yellow dragon had appeared above the ogre's heart, branding him an enemy of Bahamut. Were he not to live up to the challenge...
Seeing a little one with two sharp sticks run by him, the ogre took his chance. He swung his enormous maul in a wide uppercut, hitting him above the stick holder. A moment later, his heart burned in pain, and the thought of the small little one appeared in his mind. He roared at him.
Shedinn's flame whip had faded, so he turned to less artistic demonstrations of power. He inhaled deeply, fusing his innate magic and his inheritance inside his body. The fire that rushed from his mouth was a jet stream of cold winds and frozen water so powerful the goblin that received it to his face dropped without a word. Alright, one more. Leave more room for the big ones to fight in... A small sphere of light formed near the other goblin's face. Well that's new. Did I make the sun?, he thought.
He hadn't. The "sun" exploded in a dozen smaller shards that pierced the two creatures, and his goggly-eyed friend's sudden intake of breath had Shedinn between relieved and disappointed that he hadn't made such sweet flame.
Paladin and ranger had brought the ogre to its knees. Claidheamh had found a place in the wagon, right behind the ogre. A blind spot. Adjusting his grip, he sunk both longswords in the beast's back. It shook violently in pain, overturning the cart. In fear of being crushed, Claidheamh looked up just in time to see two throwing knives sink into the ogre's neck.
The ogre saw nothing when he looked up. No birds up there. Nothing on the roof either. Ugh. It nothing. Kill anyhoots.
A shadow clouded Claidheamh for a second, and then it crashed into the ogre. The shadow then proceeded to slice dozens of cuts on the beast with a long dagger.
________________________________________________________________
It wasn't hard to bring down. The five sat resting just as far from the cart as they could monitor the fire, and still not smell burnt ogre. The ranger spoke first.
"Claidheamh", he said, "It's my name. I have been ranging for a while. We beat a powerful foe today."
"Aye lad. Stone called me Thoradin, so I be that. Paladin of great Bahamut for as many years as ye been born."
Shedinn's introduction was a revolving ball of fire hovering above his hand. "I'm Shedinn. I like goblins." Dramatic pause. "They make funny little pop -he clicked his tongue- noises when they die!"
When it was the robed man's turn, he just said, "Occam. Hello". The paladin added to his story. "Lad say he be an invoker. That Pelor heself be talkin to him. Bah! Might as well be." He than laughed to a joke noone saw.
The half-orc -it was indeed a half-orc, to Claidheamh's pride- turned out to be called Ugarth, and said he was great with knives. Although his prowess in that field was not in question, he also claimed to be like a ninja -and here he threw some punches at the air- striking from the shadows. Were that to be proved, it would be a feat of note, for someone whose shadow is larger than most.
_______________________________________________________________
All fires had been put out at the end of the same afternoon. The next morning, five people woke up to a note slid under their door.
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