It's Part of the Blargain

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For the last twenty four hours, you've sat on an airship, dispatched to the city state of Blar on a mission for the Alexandrian adventurer's guild. That mercenary clearing house has, on occasion, sent warriors to the city ostate of Blar as part of an exchange program of sorts, one in which those in service to Alexandri aassist the Blarites in their varied efforts. See how the alied Hobgoblins work and live, do whatever dirty work needs to be done, enjoy their ale, and fight undead.

It's the last one that is ever a problem in Blar, ever since the Bloody Revolutuon of over fifteen years ago tossed down the Ziggurat that once stood at its core as a monument to the God of Undeath, Thul, and bought th city its freedom at a very high price indeed.

See, the story goes that the former leaders, vampiric sorcerers known as the Garnaks, once ruled Blar from the shadows, and they percipitated that old revolution to raise a monument to their God of Death, and in doing so, bring a part of him into the world. It is said that even now sleeps the vessel which they build for Him. It is said that it lives in death even now, reaching out and leaving the touch of undeath in its wake which is why, on occasion, Blar has... outbreask.

Your airship, the Speedy Tyrant King of Am'shere, is lead by a Sith-Makar captain and his crew of gnomes. Don't ask how that happened. He's not telling. In the distance, having crossed the Vast now, you can see the city of Blar. Situated on the plains, it is a neat and uniform place of symmetry and order, structured ring after ring around a central plaza where the ziggurat is said to have once stood decades, which in itself is now filled with Temples to all the various Gods who've made their home here. All except Thul, of course.

It is not beautiful, unless you find beauty in order nad symmetry, elegance be damned. While efforts have been made to bring color and life to its buildings, the utilitarian core of its design remains entirely obvious. On the outskirts sits the airship port, your destination, an ever busy place, and in the vast fields outside it, farms and ranches for the horses that make the famed Blarite cavalry. The Arveks are nothing if not cavalrymen, known for having fought and won a war with the trolls that once took this rather unwanted land that the Hobgoblins have worked so hard to make into something more.


Burai peers over the edge of the airship at the landscape below as they approach the famous Blar. Whenever he occasionally spots an Arvek below, especially a mounted rider, his gaze drifts over to Gregor. As if...comparing.


Gregor is one of those Hobgoblins, and he likes the city as it is, all monochrome and clean angles. "Ah, home sweet home," he says with a sigh as we fly over. "Sometimes I wonder if I should come back here. But ... there is always something to do in Alexandria, and I have not done poorly there."


"All these squares make a circle!" erupted the Honourable and Esteemed Professor Emeritus Basil Theodore Cunningsworth, staring over the deck of the airship and pointing at some of the bricks he could see below. "Remarkable! An astonishing feat of engineering, truly! None of this pish posh about aesthetics and good form, just pure modern efficiency, yes yes! Art! Atrocious. Engineering. MAGNIFICENT!" Basil, of age and tendency to ramble, was doing just that. "These hobgoblins, despite their, ah, hinderances, have done something remarkable here!" Don't diss the hobgoblins, dude. "Shhh," he hissed at his empty shoulder containing a staggering amount of nothing. "They won't mind, because of this marvel! Marvelous!" He gestured downwards towards the city again, truly taken. "Tell me," he asked nobody, "why did I not come here in my youth?!"


Aboard the ship, mask over her face, the steady sound of her laboured breath entering and leaving in soft hisses of hssk and kssh as they work their way through her rebreather tells the others that Saiorse is still alive. Through the singular green lens of that mask she watches that symmetry, perfect in its own way, beautiful in reason and efficiency.

Yes... this is definitely her kind of place.

The rail she stands by has been furrowed by the steady knead of her unusual needle-like claws, stabbing in and dragging free as she considers all that she knows of this place, and the battles that have waged here. There is the slightest movement of her head when Gregor speaks, a rigid tick of tilting as her attention is redirected to the sound of his voice.

Ksss. ... hhhhk.

Her head turns back to look out over the city after some extended, terribly clinical and painfully obvious assessment that now is leveled upon Basil's ranting form. Her hatred ... is nearly palpable.

KSSSHHH. ...hshh...

One can assume that is what it sounds like when one heaves a sigh in her getup.


Kyn is looking over the ship as well, already having exhausted his questions about what the lizard man is and how he's forcing colorful children to work for him, he has yet to question the hob-goblin "Say Mr. Arvek sir, what is an Arvek?" he asks curiously, his eyes almost alight with curiosity as he smiles before looking towards the older gentlemen as he listens, then to the others, his eyes alight with questions as he laughs, holding his sun amulet in his hands, fiddling with it as he looks about until spotting the masked figure "Why do you wear a mask?" he asks, not focused on the next most interesting thing.


Vandred spent the majority of the airship flight engaging in the time-honoured and honed art of sleeping. Finding himself a small, dark, warm spot, he promptly settled himself in and spent the majority dozing. Of course, that's spoiled by the fact that the airship came to it's destination and he got himself up and out. His face demonstrates that no, he does not find this place artistic nor tasteful. Entirely too organized. He promptly pats Saiorse on the shoulder, before regretting it when he promptly whacks his knuckles off of something far too metallic. "Ow." He mutters, sucking on the knuckle idly. "Well. We're here now, I guess."

He pauses to check his clothes, tugging them straight before checking his small belt of wands, sucking his teeth as he counts over them before he shuffles his cloak around his figure. "You don't go around asking people why they're wearing masks -- that defeats the entire purpose of, you know. The mask."


"Disease." Hss. Ksh. Hss...

Saiorse does not seem a particularly verbose traveling companion, the single worded response hissed out, her head not even turning toward Kyn as he asks his questions. When Vandred's hand meets her shoulder, her head snaps to one side, another venting of her breath filling the air with the aroma of spices, herbs, and rot. That breath pauses briefly as she glowers toward him, expression ever-hidden, but intent as clear as day. Her hands move away from the rail with a plaintiff creak of the wood as she pries herself free, before she turns and begins to pace toward where they shall be disembarking from the craft.


Gregor also spent much of the journey racked out, cause a soldier knows to sleep when he can. But he wanted to be up to see us coming in. To Kyn, he says, "An Arvek is me. Also, I am an Arvek." Now that it's clear, he will watch us coming in.


Kyn nods as he rubs his chin "I see an Arvek is an Arvek then." he says with a happy grin, un phased by the semi-unaswered questions as he walks over to where the old man is to take a better look "Say, the city is certainly pretty, I'm sorry that disease makes you wear a mask, have you had someone look at what you have?" he asks with sympathy before looking towards Vandred "Perhaps the reason people wear masks is because they wanted to be asked? But you are certainly right, dosn't hurt to ask though." he says with an excited chuckle, much like a too curious child about to discover something new.


Burai turns his head to stare in the Saiorse's direction at the word 'disease'. Even though she might not speak much, they've probably all heard enough of it over the trip to recognize her voice. "Disease?" he repeats. "One that spreads?"


Saiorse no longer responds.


There may have been attempts or anything to get the attention of Basil T. Cunningsworth, but he was too busy chattering to his bare shoulder about Very Interesting Things going on down below. How had he even gotten to be here anyway? As usual he'd found a group of interesting looking people and started following them like the world's most terrible holistic detective. "Yes, of course, and as such I shall be visiting all the tea and opiate dens we find. All of them, Bruce, yes, all of them."

Was he insane?

"Because tea is the spice of life and I haven't had opiates since that incident in Veyshan thirty years ago, you see. When I got so hopped up I saw beholders in every corner! Oh what a jolly time was had! Of course I did a fantastic job cleaning up the local homeless population but alas that is not necessarily the correct method. No, no, they were fine. Just... some mis-aimed polymorph spells, I imagine. Oh, Bruce, if only I had my old power, you'd be here talking to me!"


"Maybe. I dunno. I don't wear a mask." Vandred replies, but he doesn't pry further into the whole disease thing. That's a kettle of fish beyond what he knows or really cares about. He instead begins doing some light stretching, reaching down to his toes a few times before he straightens up. "Ah, better." He mutters to himself, as he checks his small hand crossbow, loading a bolt into it as a sort of pre-prep. "I hope I'm not stuck here for the week, this place is so.. Organized. I'm going to get lost."


The airship closes in on Blar and descends toards its port, landing amongst the varied merchant and passenger ships that have reached it. Arvek workers are scurrying back and forth, alongside representaives of the various Skyguilds that have made their homes here.

Soon, you're able to descend down the gangplank onto the earth for the first time in many an hour.

Waiting for you is a uniformed Arvek soldier... which shouldn't be terribly surprising since Blar is more an army with a state than it is a proper nation in many ways. Adjusting his monocole and feathered ushanka, the Arvek nods.

"WELCOME TO BLAR," he booms boisterously, "I am Rikdar Trollspeared and I will be instructing you on what you are going to be doing here! Alexandria's government has lent us your services and we hope to make the best use of them!"

Somewhere in the distance, perhaps across the city, there is the sound of several explosions. The Arvek doesn't even flinch.


Burai does flinch, and then immediately whips his head around at the sound. He turns back to soldier. He seems to relax slightly. "Is that normal?" he guesses.


Barging ahead of the disembarking crowd with all the tact of a thrown brick was Basil T. Cunningsworth, who had no time for the youth of today. "I say I say, good day to you, good sir, and what a fine monocle you possess, why, I must have something similar? Can you direct me to a shop wherein I can obtain one? Oh, and tea houses. You see, tea is the spice of life..." people had probably tuned out by this point but Basil, being Basil, kept on going. "...bags upon bags of the things, for the porters to carry, and opiates. Opiates! Is there an opium den nearby? I haven't had opiates in thirty years! Shall I tell you the tale! I'll tell you the tale. You see, in my youth..."


Gregor's horse is getting craned off the airship, while he will go and meet our representative. "Alexandria's Explorers' Guild sends its greetings and is pleased to be able to assist Blar," he tells Trollspeared. His outfit, oddly, looks somewhat similar to the man's uniform.


Kyn frowns, giving the masked girl a look of pity before turning to the newest speaker and is about to ask him something when the boat hits "Oh! We're here!" he says excitedly as he grabs his things, making his way off. He smiles excitedly at the millitary man "Well met Mr. Trollspeared, I'm Kyn, a simple priests, but my compainons are better then me in such regards." he says before the explosion goes off and he litterally jumps "What was that! It sounded like a grainery exploding! Are the people ok?" he asks with concern as he wipes his brow to hide his sudden shock.


Saiorse will step off once doing so is possible. She stands somewhere nearby as Gregor gets to business, and Basil offers stirring distraction. The explosion causes her head to turn ever so slowly toward the sound, before her attentions return to this Trollspeared fellow. Still, she seems in no hurry to speak more than she has. After all, there was that single word back there, and she's still exhausted.


Vandred seems to be quite fine with people going ahead of him. It gives him time to finish checking his equipment - before he follows at the back, raising a hand in some half-hearted attempt of a salute towards their guide, Rikdar. The hand drops back down and he does his best to trot up after the group - there's a visible wince at the explosions, but he doesn't raise it as a concern - no. "Am I going to assume that there's going to be good old Rations?" He asks, with a hint of sadness in his voice.


Gregor will retrieve his warhorse when it's lowered down from the airship. "Good to see you on the ground again, old friend," he tells it. It does not reply. The explosion didn't even give him pause, much like Trollspeared he's far too used to goblins doing goblinny things and exploding.


"...hm? What was what?" he asks of Kyn, glancing around him confusedly. He has no idea what Kyn is asking abou.

"Rations! Of course, friend! Only the finest rations for our friends from Alexandria! You must all be famished. Why don't weh ead for the mess and I'll fill you in over the beans?"

Oh good.

This is going to be a very fun trip. He gestures with his head towards the street and turns to lead the way through the very broad, very well paved city streets in the direction of, presumably, one of the mess halls located in the city.

Regular patrols are definitely ongoing. The streets are kept clean, but the smell of horse dung and sulfur is omnipresent. More distant mini-explosions.


Vandred, the Mul'niessa, looks exceptionally pale at the prospect of Hobgoblin rations. Apparently he has dealt with them before. His voice does it's best to make up for the exceptionally bleak look his face takes - the joy in his tone does not match the expression at all. "Excellent! I am absolutely famished, I can't wait!"


Saiorse is quietly smug beyond the protection of her mask, but says nothing.


"Oh yes yes, beans, of course, I would prefer something more edible but if your pipes need cleaning, that's the way to go, haw haw haw!" Oh the old man has jokes! Basil, you cad. "Shhh," he hissed at his shoulder. "What was I saying? Tea. Do you have tea? I would like tea, please. After all, one must be sure to detox after beans. Especially sulfur beans. It smells like Proctor McNally's armpit here! And don't you dare ask me how I know that, all I will say is, it's not a prank that bears repeating, I assure you!"


Gregor will proceed along to the cafetria or wherever we're being led. He offers no opinions on our anticipated fare, but he's had beans before. There's worse. "At least it's not the sewers," he remarks for the Alexandrians. He will hitch his horse at the hitching post by the entrance and proceed along with everyone.


Burai follows along. He cranes his head around to look in the direction of every explosion, though they must be too far away to see the source. He wrinkles his nose and sniffs at some of the stronger odors. "How much further?" he ventures to Rikdar.


Kyn goes to say something and shuts his mouth "I guess graineries exploding is common here....poor flour." he says with a slight frown before following around, taking a deep breath and coughing "It smells like rotten eggs, the people must be so hungry." he says as he waves away air from his nose before licking his lips "Beans sound great, I've never had rations before." he says excitedly, flinching at the explosive sounds "It must be good if the people say so...why are you so pale?" he asks Vandred with a confused look before turning towards their guide "How has everything been going lately with the guard? It sounds slightly explody out there." he says as he coughs sulfur again.


Ah, the mess hall.

You move into the building which... actually smells considerably better than the outside. Of course, it's full of Arveks eating stews and soups. Bean stew, bean soup.

So many beanms.

Thankfully, the people here are /consuming/ them rather than having already consumed them but you're soon seated and being given generous portions from the stewpots by very busy, working hobs. Everything is efficient and orderly.

"As part of our long term alliance," begins Trollspeared, "you know that Alexandria and Blar have regular exchanges of men and materials. In the morning, you're to assist the 137th with a routine mine-sweep process. There is nothing at all to be concerned about and you will in no way be dealing with horrific abominations unleashed by the Khazad because they dug too deep. I am told that this a common occurence in your area so I wantred to assure you that there won't be enormous fiery demons or abominations beyond eldritch ken and hwat not." He has a spoonful of beans, "The 137th has reported that there /has/ bneen unusual activity. Come to think of it, they may be late reporting in. The messnger hasn't arrived yet." He squints, has a bite of st ew.


Burai wrinkles his brow. "Then we should seek them out. Perhas they have discovered the source of the - what did you call it? Unusual activity?" he nods to himself. "Unusual activity." Even though he's having a hard time imagining what is usual and unusual here in Blar.


Gregor will eat his dinner and enjoy it. At least there -is- dinner. There were enough nights without. He nods about the alliance and the mission as it stands, pausing to sigh at dwarves digging too deep. "Must be Eliday," he says sourly. "Can you direct us where to do?" he asks Trollspeared.


Vandred.. Eats beans. He gets himself his bowl, and he sits there, staring down at the bowl with a look of regret. Probably for not packing his own food. He begins eating anyway, doing his best to fit in. It's not /that/ bad, but beans, beans, beans, and nothing else. He does take a swig from his wineskin, which appears to improve matters much. "I think before we go chasing after a messenger - how long has it been since the messenger was meant to arrive?"


"Mine-sweeping? My good man, I thought this was a sightseeing journey," began the endless complaints of Basil T. Cunningsworth, his brain too affected by age, ego, or senility to pick up on what was not said. "You see, I am retired. HAPPILY retired, I might add. Away from such bothers as mine-sweeping and trench warfare and undergarment theft." What the... "Sweeping for mines? I haven't wielded a broom in YEARS! Years! Alas and alack, is this what my retirement has come to? Cleaning up the messes of the incumbent? The unwashed masses? SHAME on you, good sir!" Basil pointed an accusatory finger towards their Arvek host. "Shame! And there is STILL, NO, TEA!"


Kyn gladly digs into dinner "Mmmmm, beans." he says as he listens, paling slightly "Sweeping for mines? Do things normally pop up in mines?" he asks with concern "And what is unusual activity?" he asks as he looks over at the old man, reaching into his pouch to pull out a couple of small packages, passing one to the small man and putting one in his drink "A teabag for ya Mr." he says with a grin as he joyfully eats beans and drinks tea.


GAME: Basil rolls 1d2: (1): 1


Saiorse simply stands nearby. Ish. Breathing. ... heavily.


"Well, first we're enjoying our dinner!" At the question about when the messenger was meant to arrive, Trollspeared fumbles around for a moment and then produces his pocketwatch. It is an arcane looking thing, all fanciful magitek and totally out of keeping with the rest of his appearance. He squyints at it. "I believe he is four minutes overdue!" Of course.

At exactly /five/ minutes overdue, another monocole wearing hobgoblin bursts through the doors of the mess, panting heavily as he pushes towards Trollspeared.

"SAH! REPORTING FROM THE 137TH, SAH! I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU, SAH!"

Nobody around is paying attention, well, except the lot of you.

Hey, was that just a ground tremor? They don't seem to care about THAT either.


"Forgive me. I forgot where we were. Five minutes overdue. That's just.. Unacceptable." Vandred states before his bowl of beans. He eats the beans. He chews, while staring at the hobgoblin messenger. He blinks languidly, and lowers his spoon - he raises the wineskin and takes a gulp. One gets the immediate scent that this isn't water, or wine, but probably some strong mint schnapps. He screws the cap back on. "What took you so long?" He asks, blandly.


Kyn stops eating beans as his mouth opens "What is that! Does it tell time? Whats a minute? Does it rely on the sun?" he asks with sudden excitement before turning towards the tired looking hob-goblin that enters suddenly "Oh my, he looks tired, Daeus bless him." he says before looking towards Vandred "Is 5 minutes a long time?" he asks after a moment, having never heard about a minute thing.


Burai keeps turning his head back and forth. First the watch when Trollspeared produces it. That device tells him the time? The skies were clear, why not just look out a window? Then Vandred when the question is answered. Four minutes doesn't sound like that long overdue, but he isn't sure. Then the late - slightly late - messenger makes an appearance. Finally the tremors, but by now even Burai is becoming inured to the explosions.


Gregor has been in Alexandria too long, he's not bothered by five minutes late reporting. He will listen to the slightly tardy report.


"REport," says Trollspeared, taking another bite of his stew, "and we will speak of your tardiness another time."

"SAH THE MEN ARE REPORTING FIERY DEMONS IN THE MINES SIR!"

"...ah."

He gives an apologetic look towards the adventurers. "I do apologize. These things happen."

"SIR, THEY HAVE DETONATED THE ENTRANCE TO THE MINE AND DESTROYED THEM IN THE ENSUING COLLAPSE!"

"...ah... well, these things also happen." Another apologetic look.

"SAH, I WILL REPORT TO THE STOACKADES IMMEDIATELY. MY TARDINESS IS UNFORGIVABLE, SAH!"

" The messenger salutes, turns on his heel, and departs whence he came once Trollspeared dismisses him.

'Well, blast. There goes /that/ idea. Truth be told, we largely have things well in hand here in Blar these days. Even the undead aren't as much of a problem as they used to be due to the tireless work of the Priesthood and our armed forces. Oh, sertainkly, we still get the occasional outbreak -- a wight eat's someone's mother or something -- but we're really doing quite well and --"

That's when, in the distance, there is an alarmingly loud... alarm.

Immediately, the men and women in the mess hall are up on their feet and abandoning their meals to get /someplace/ and someplace fast.

"Well! I say," says Trollspeared, holding up a hand to the lot of you as he listens. The alarm has a certain rhytym and it becomes evident that it's a message in and of itself.

The officer blanches and all but whispers a single word.

"../trolls/."


Kyn looks completely confused, going from fiery demons to trolls "Could it potentially be fire trolls?" he asks curiously as he stands up, taking a final bite of beans and drink of tea "And it seems things are quite rough here, I'll have to right the temple a letter some time." he says with a sad frown, he looks scared though with the sounds of trolls and demons. Much like any standard priest would.


Burai wrinkles his brow again. He watches the officer closely. Burai has so far witnessed nerves of steel. Nerves that didn't so much as twitch at the explosions, the ragtag and apparently disease-ridden Alexendrians, and horrid cuisine. But these trolls seem to struck fear into him. "You name is Troll...speared, isn't it?"


Basil T. Cunningsworth had been rambling ignored about tea for some time now, disregarding the impact of a teabag to his forehead. Or chest. He wasn't paying attention, see, and occasionally complaining to his shoulder (whom for some reason he called Bruce) about the lack of hospitality. The loud messenger had him wincing, as someone had out-volumed him. "TROLLS!" Basil erupted, furiously. "APPLY FIRE TO SENSITIVE AREAS, I SAY!" Was he deafened or merely competing? "OR IS IT ACID? PERHAPS ACID. DEPENDS ON THE TROLL, YOU SEE!"


"Trolls? Well." Vandred apparently has found a reason to stop eating beans in a polite manner. He abuses this by promptly snapping up on to his feet and getting his gear ready.


Saiorse turns her head finally toward the mention of trolls. In honesty, she didn't have to turn her attentions that way in order to hear the messenger, and now Basil is adding to the problem. There's a narrowing of her eye, beyond the lens.

Ksss. Hhk. Ksss. ...

She looks toward Vandred, hesitates a moment, then looks back to Trollspeared before providing, "Please, hhk, package the beans--sshhhhhss--for the good fellow." Her voice is a strange thing, carrying a tone that would best be suited for campfire ghost stories. "That he might enjoy them on th--hhhhk--... the way."


"Oh, so yuo /noticed/ that," snarks Trollspeared to Burai. "It was my grand-father's name, speared by the trolls /seven/ times in the Wars. Lived each time! Retired to the city as it was building after the wars and then, bam, sinkhole got him." And this is why his name isn't 'sinkholed'.

In any event, Trollspeared darts out the door, yelling, "Come on, come on! Looks like you've got a fight on your hands after all!" He's leading the way down the street, thereafter, expecting you to follow him towards the guard station and watchtower where he can get a good idea of what's actually happening. Once inside, you can see that the place is jam packed full of Hobgoblins gearing up for battle, grabbing long spears to match what one would presume is the reach of the trolls.

"What's going on?" asks Trollspeared, sticking to the common trade language rather than his native goblin, no doubt for your benefit.

"SIR," snaps to attention one of the lesser Arvek soldiers. He starts off in goblin, but then with a flick of his eyes towards you, switches back to trade. "Troll, sir! One appeared at the west gate of the city -- inside the city sir. The initial report said that he attacked a patrol and devestated it before retreating into a warehouse. But that's not it, sir! Six other similar reports came within the last ten minutes, like they're acting in concert! Sir, the word has come down that we're to engage Infiltration Protocol Six."

"Building to building sweep, evacuate the civilians to our fortified shelters, and exterminate any hostiles we locate. It's not dissimilar to one of our undead protocols except we'll be using fire instead of holy water." explains Trollspeared, glancing over at the rest of you. "We'll be assigned a section of the city and we'll get to work." Indeed, crates are being pried open and vials of alchemists fire are being handed out, two for reach of you.

The arvek are nothing if not prepared for every eventuality, it would appear.


"Ah, yes, well, hrm, fighting, very distasteful, very distasteful." The ringing in Basil's ears had died down, whether from the messenger or his own voice, who could tell? He had followed the group at a brisk old-man pace and thus fell beind, coming in to hear that they'd be using fire. "I daresay, hurl a few fireballs at them, job done, job done! No more need to worry. Now, tea. Where, in this beautiful marvel of architecture you call a city, can I find some TEA?!"


Kyn gladly takes the vials "Oh, fire in bottles, I've read about these...but I've never heard of trolls being smart, at least in stories." he says as he thinks "Are they actually smart?" he asks no one in particular as he checks his sword, a perceptible eye would notice his hands are shaking, he looks pale and is sweating profusely. he has a hand holding a hand around his necklace so tight his knuckles are white as he mutters something in some free-flowing language that sounds pleasant to the ear (Celestial). Muttering the same thing over and over again as he pockets the alchemist fire shakily.


Burai looks around at the preparations and although he never fit in with army types himself, he can't help but be impressed at the military preparations. When the alchemical fire is offered to him he holds up a hand, waving it off. "If it's fire that works best against trolls, I have my own means." He looks around at the rest of the party, sizing them up.

GAME: Burai refreshes spells.

GAME: Burai casts Longstrider. Caster Level: 3 DC: 13


Gregor will grab his mount on leaving the cafeteria and ride out to the watchtower with the group. He of course follows the Goblin language dialog just fine, but will wait to be told which is our task specifically.


Burai also begins to cast a few quick spells to prepare himself for a fight.


GAME: Vandred casts Mount. Caster Level: 4 DC: 15


GAME: Burai casts Barkskin. Caster Level: 3 DC: 14


Vandred appears distracted. Maybe it's because he's hauling the beans with him despite having perfect opportunity to say no, or maybe it's because he's muttering to himself as he tries to remember exactly why he's in the heroism business. As they get closer and closer to danger, he promptly makes a few gestures with his hands, an arcane word or two, and then in a puff of smoke.. A horse. He pats the horse on it's flank. "You are going to lead the way into danger." He tells the horse.

He then lets the horse move ahead of himself and the group when they start to move.


GAME: Basil refreshes spells.

GAME: Basil casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 2 DC: 15


GAME: Kyn refreshes spells.


"Distasteful indeed," mutters Trollspeared as he leads you out of the watchtower, having apparently spent some time with the other commanders and officers in the immediate area first to determine where best to employ you. Soon, you're more or less doing what he said: ecavuating civilians from the buildings they're sheltering in place at and hurrying them down the street back towards a designatd, heavily fotified shelter. It gives the distinct impression that Blar is at all times prepared for war, and that anyone iontent on taking the city would be faced with some truly nightmarish possiblities from the way it's been deliberately structured in rings with bunkers interspersed without.

You move from building to building, clearing each one in turn, giving a close look at what Blarite life is like. For all it's regimented orderlyness, you find that it's pretty much like life anywhere else in a lot of the ways that count, though they tend to congregate in even larger family units when they're not actively sharing barracks.

It quickly becomes routine. Clear the building, send the family streamiing down the strets you've already cleared towards safety under the scort of roaming patrols that are assiting the clearing efforts and keeping watch of the young, the old, and the infirm. Those who are not are already in service.

You move into another building, another storehouse this time, and begin scouting only to find shattered crates amongst the bodies of several hobgoblin workers and standing amongs themn is...

..well, you /could/ call it a troll, but there's something wrong with it. It's body and frame are stunted. Though long of limb, it's torso is grotesquely shortened, limbs looking palid and scaleless, as if freshly grown somehow. It wobbles, whirling on the lot of you, blood soaking its claws and teeth. It howls in rage and charges.