Storm King's Thunder

[kevintheradioguy]

[class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:-5px; margin-bottom:100px; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#194b66; color:#fff; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [div class=text][div class=txtheader]Nightstone[/div]
By distinguishable roars, it was obvious to all that the party was discovered. Crossing the pavement in large leaps, two beasts approached fast, their attention drawn to the sudden movement of the swiftest two - and the first ones to move - Jo and Yenric. Greedy buggers, the worgs, however, decided to both attack the larger prey, that being the ranger. Each of them desired a bigger piece of meat, and the little guy just wasn't enough.

The rest of the group saw clearly what was going on: the scouts managed to sneak across the bridge, and only crossed maybe thirty feet into the city, when the treacherous wind caught their scent and sent it to the beasts, that approached the scouts in a manner of seconds, bloodied jaws ready to lock on their necks. The entire scuffle was seen well, and it was only the matter of time before the rest of the group would be seen... unless they flee, of course.

Spoiler: Current post order/initiative

Yenric
Kyria
Jo
Worg A
Samson
Nai
Deidre
Sturdy
Zi'on
Worg B
Iris
Rina

wowbobwow | Damafaud | useless | BriiAngelic ​

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[wowbobwow]

​

Yenric was often mistaken for a rogue. This never happened when he was in his enclave ... why would it? Since he had rejoined proper society, though, it was like everyone saw a halfling and immediately thought he was good at sneaking. He was small, he wasn't necessarily stealthy. In his heart, though, he was a team player, so he happily went along with Jo. He did, however, wonder what made her so cranky. He made a mental note to ask Sturdy to place some nice bag pipes for her when there was some down time.

He found the big rocks, making note of their position, their shape, the fact that it was clear they had been fired over the wall with some sort of siege weapon. At least that it was it looked like. He couldn't help wondering what else ... or who else might be able to chuck big rocks that far ... He had some ideas. After all, he had studied giants quite a bit while in his enclave.

And then, there were growls.

"Ooops," Yen said as he looked over and saw the two beasts snarling. "They ... don't look so friendly." He stood tall ... as tall as he could, even when Jo bravely guarded him. "You are sweet, dear Jo, but I have Lady Luck looking out for me," he said, a little smile on his face. He reached up to the amulet hanging from his neck. It was a small coin with the visage of Tymora on it. "Be with me, my Lady," he whispered.

He trained his thought on the nearest Warg as raised his other hand, tracing the lines of the Guiding Bolt spell into the air with his small, but nimble fingers. He felt the magic swirling around them. It was a feeling he never tired of. There was a smile on his face as he spoke the evocation, and a radiant bolt of pure magical energy fired through the air.

 

[useless]

Sweet? Such a word had never been used to define her before! “Fuck off!” She immediately spat defensively, tightening her grip on her sword and stealing a peek back at the halfling to see him going on about ‘luck’ and holding his necklace. Huffing, she quickly looked back to the wargs and bolted toward them when they were only a few short feet away, swinging back with her sword and striking for the beast’s face.

“No such thing as luck!” She roared as she went, perhaps a bit TOO eager to get on with the bloodshed.

kevintheradioguy wowbobwow

 

[kevintheradioguy]

[class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:-5px; margin-bottom:100px; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#194b66; color:#fff; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [div class=text][div class=txtheader]Nightstone[/div]
The surge of energy rushed into the closest beast, swirling around, before the celestial light hit it straight into the skinned face. A loud, puppy-like yelp pierced the air, as it slowed down, shaking its head - now all covered in disgusting burns, oozing with something white. The light was still dancing around it, as it bear its teeth, jumping right on the masked woman. As Joan darted toward it, despite it being blinded by the light, it dodged with incredible grace for something as large as it was, landing a blow with its paw on the woman's shoulder, and clutching her into a weird form of embrace, as it was falling down - closer and closer, until its sharp, pearly-white teeth needled into her flesh, clenching around her neck. It landed with its prey in his jaws, holding her tight as it was bleeding out, eyes darting to the halfling, as if to say that he was next. It didn't like being burned like that.

wowbobwow | useless ​

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[BriiAngelic]

Naivara Naïlo Combat in Small Town Condition: Good Equip: Leather Armor & Rapier Rolls: Hit with Rapier:? , Damage:? Interact: Yenric ( wowbobwow ) Warg A ( kevintheradioguy )
The first attack was a brilliant light. She could hear the yelp of pain but before she could even move in closer she saw one of the people who came along rush through the light. By the time it cleared her “ally” was now on the ground. Oh dear this was not going to go well. She advanced aiming to get in close to the creature as she went in for a lunge at the dog while it was still focused on the halfling that struck it.

“And I Repeat. WE DIDN'T HAVE THE HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE”

 

[D. Rex]

Worgs. This was good. Or at least, not as bad as she had suspected it might be. Like a giant amorphous blob of sewn together parts of what giblets remained of the town people. Or a ghost amoebas that suck out the souls and had left only husks around town.

Yeah, worgs weren't so bad. Even the halfling and the masked person seemed relatively happy about this. Though... the worg seemed just as excited. Having apparently taken her down.

Alien words left the lips of the tiefling as she spoke her incantation. And with a wave of her staff fired a beam of eldritch power at the worg atop of Jo.

Eldritch blast.

 

[Seraph Darkfire]

Zion wasn't happy when the worgs appeared, he hadn't expecting such creatures. Wolves? Maybe. Not these evil beings. When one of them took Jo down he began to move just after Deidre's attack past him. He was sure he'd timed it just when the attack would have hit so that he could catch the creature unawares, his fist flying towards the creature. If he could land a solid hit, he could get his arm around the creature's neck and use that momentary pain to pull it off the woman. If it wanted to bite something, it could bite his ironwood body.

Whether he managed to grapple it or not, he followed up with a second punch aimed at it's temple in an attempt to disorient it.

useless D. Rex kevintheradioguy

 

[kevintheradioguy]

[class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:-5px; margin-bottom:100px; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#194b66; color:#fff; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [div class=text][div class=txtheader]Nightstone[/div]
The sticky tentacles of pure energy darted out, slamming into the worg's mug, like a large whip, making blood gush from the suddenly appearing cut, and ichor - from the burns ooze, spluttering actoss the pavement. The monster turned its mug towards his last attacker - a tiefling, dropping the first victim to bleed out on the ground. Tiefling. Lovely. It never tasted the demonspawn, but it imagined that is going to be spicy. But before the worg could dart towards its prey, a sudden massive punch dazed it, almost making it fall on the ground. The next thing it knew, It was being held tight around the neck. The creature bucked like a steed on a rodeo, trying to get out, accidentally dodging the second aimed hit. It growled, and strained, trying to get out of the hug, but seemed to be stuck.

That, however, might change soon. The second worg, seeing the trouble his friend was in, stopped for a moment, considering the situation, thinking whether it should pursue the little thing, the horned thing, or save his friend. It seemed to consider that the both of them would have better chances on survival, so the thing darted towards the warforged, teeth-firstc, aiming for the shoulder that was squeezing the other best. Ir pounced, taking a bite and growling at the lack of tasty flesh, its mass hitting Zi'on heard, making him and the worg fall crashing down, listing a cloud of dust in the air. The worg, proud and triumphal, turned to the tiefling. There was magic in her, and he didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.

Seraph Darkfire | D. Rex | BriiAngelic ​

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[Xio]

Iris had not actually been paying attention to the inside of the city. With the scouting party supposedly checking it out first, she had spent her time focusing on watching the path behind them. However the screams and growls coming from inside had finally gotten her attention. She turned back inside to see the massive wolf-like creatures attacking her companions. Iris had read about worgs before, but this was her first time seeing one in person. She had assumed they posed no more threat than an overgrown wolf, but considering how much her allies were struggling she would have to reassess that, "Seriously, already?" She sighed as she raised her hand, letting Yeux slide back down into her jacket. She pointed her index and middle finger towards herself and focused her attention on the worg that had just attacked Zi'on. Deidre and the others could handle their own, but this one was too close to Iris for her liking. She focused for a moment, hating the creature. Its unnatural gate, its hairless face, its cruel gaze; Iris was completely disgusted by this creature. The animosity filled her entire being. Iris focused on that hatred, pushing it out towards her fingers. The tips of her fingers began glowing with a sickening green light. "Nyf ko sesacris!" Iris shouted, finally pointing towards the creature. A black-green beam sprung out of her fingertips straight towards the creature.

 

[Damafaud]

Rina Rubare

Half-Elf Bard
Nightstone
Interaction: Warg B, Joan​

"H-hey! I think I recognise these prints! They are from-"

Worgs, she was going to say, but her warning was no longer needed. Roars deafened the previously silent town. Facing Yenric and Jo, a pair of bloody worgs snarled their teeth. Everything went south from there.

"By Everan's leather cloak I hate wolves!" complained Rina as she awkwardly stood still. Zi'on, which she was hiding behind, rushed forward to attack. She refused to move closer. No. Never. She hated those worgs. She wrinkled her nose and stared dead at the Worg facing Zion as if it was a mite. It was hideous. Garbage. Rancid. She gathered her malice and poured them generously to deliver a cutting remark.

"I swear I have seen rags in piss pots cleaner than those fur."

In the distance, she saw Jo being bitten down by a worg. Her heart froze for a second. No, no, no, she couldn't actually die, right? Her voice turned fierce as she shouted at the top of her lungs, channeling her wish and anger into words.

"Only the living could truly enjoy the bounty of the world. Jo of the humankind , you are not dying on me!"

Mention: GM ( kevintheradioguy ), Iris ( Xio ), Zi'on ( Seraph Darkfire ), Sturdy (@Nacre ) , Naivara ( BriiAngelic ), Jo ( useless ), Deidre ( D. Rex ), Yenric ( wowbobwow )

 

[wowbobwow]

​

Yenric was pleased with himself when he saw the radiant magic tear into the warg, though it was short lived when he saw Jo go down. The halfling’s eyes got wide, but he said nothing. Things happened fast and he whipped around as the rest of the group joined the fight. He didn’t but envy the strange monk his position in grappling one of the monsters, but he was glad that he had distracted the other warg from himself.

He grabbed his crossbow and trained it on the first warg, scrunching his face up in dismay. He had to do his Lady Tymora proud. She had gifted him with the magical light that seared the beast, now he felt compelled to finish him off.

He took a deep breath to center himself and then released the bolt, saying a silent prayer to his goddess for some good luck.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

[class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:-5px; margin-bottom:100px; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#194b66; color:#fff; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [div class=text][div class=txtheader]Nightstone[/div]
Magic seemed to be working well. The green energy, like a jet of putrid water, splattered across one of the beasts, soaking its coat, making its dog and blood smell even more putrid. It coughed, almost as if ready to vomit, but held back. And it might have just taken offence.

At the same time as a bolt from Yenric's crossbow flew across the battlefield, hitting right at the church's wall, the held down worg, easily brushing off the insult - whether as he didn't understand it or was too stupid to get it - was clawing at the plates of the warforged, but hitting only harder plates. Its back arched, like of a cat's, as it once more tried to free its ugly head from the clutches, but the heavy collar around it was just too heavy and too tight to. At the same time, as the wounds on Joanne's neck healed, and blood stopped pouring out of her throat, she opened her eyes - dizzy, barely able to keep her breakfast in... but alive.

Xio | Damafaud | wowbobwow | useless
​

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[useless]

Only the living could truly enjoy the bounty of the world…

The words faintly echoed through her head, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the pressure in her throat and the taste of blood that filled her mouth. She tried to open her eyes, but darkness was all she saw. It was like before, when she was a child. Helplessness. Confusion. And, of course, anger. Something new as well… apprehension or fear, maybe? No, not of the damned warg, that would be ridiculous. The beast got a good hit on her, but it was simply by chance. No, what terrified her as she laid there was the small halfling, of all things!! He had done this, in some way, hadn’t he? Or his ‘Lady, or god, whatever the fuck he had prayed to, it was pissed that she had told him to ‘fuck off’, wasn’t it? And it was the reason the damned worg got such a good hit in on her!

...you are NOT dying on me!

Suddenly, her eyes shot open and she jolted upright, hacking up the blood that had clogged her throat and gasping for breath as she looked around, but everything was too hazy to make anything out clearly. Who had said those words? The voice had been vaguely familiar… ah, to hell with it, she could figure it out later! Growling,Jo spit up the rest of the blood from her newly scarred throat, patted the ground until she found her sword, and wobbled to her feet.

Worgs: 1
Jo: 0

Round two, bitches.

kevintheradioguy Damafaud

 

[Sizniche]

In a feeble attempt to try and catch back up with the caravan, Samson sprinted down the road towards Nightstone. Well, as fast as a person could sprint in ring mail; in spite of his athleticism, the armor simply kept him from doing anything more than a brisk jog without burning out. Though familiar with his gear, Samson was still getting used to the feeling of being forty pounds heavier almost all the time. His days as a defender of Secomber were often devoid of action entirely, and thus he would rarely have to move great distances in the heavy equipment he used. It was a feature of his new life he was adapting to, but took in stride, much in the same way he does everything else.

But why did Samson lag behind in the caravan? Did this noble knight answer a cry for help? Perhaps he defended a fair maiden against bandits on the roads? Or saved a kitten from a tree? Well, if he was a less honest man--granted, only slightly less--he'd probably tell people that. However, the truth of the matter is that, out of force of habit, he had been drinking a lot of water, but, due to the cold weather and sedentary nature of the caravan, wasn't sweating any of it out. Unfortunately for the poor fellow, the water all hit his bladder at once, and he immediately needed to find a stream to... relieve himself... and then refill his drained waterskin upstream, for obvious reasons. He would've tried to ask the caravan to stop, but he just couldn't bring himself to tell them why. He wasn't ashamed of his bodily functions; after all, that was the domain of the chalkies, not a mere peasant like him. However, to the surprise of absolutely no one, people are less keen on you touching them to heal them if you admit that you haven't washed your hands since the last time you went for a piss, and who knows what could go wrong in a caravan? Besides, it's not like they'd stop anyway, as there were more than a few people who were the type to be busy, and would likely have a tight schedule.

However, it mattered little. Fortunately enough, he made it most of the way to Nightstone, and the caravan would be stopping there anyway, which made it easy enough to catch up. He caught up just in time to see Nightstone, and even at great distance, you could tell all was not well; the bridge to the main fortification of the town being destroyed was concerning enough, but the bell ringing incessantly, as if the church was trying to signal someone, gave Samson more than enough cause for alarm. He kept his pace to get to the gate as fast as possible while drawing his trusty sword and shield, overlooking the signs of an evacuation on the drawbridge and ignoring the people waiting outside the town in favor of getting inside as fast as possible to find out what's wrong, immediately finding himself in the midst of combat, alongside a masked huntswoman and a warforged, both of which were looking worse for wear. As tempted as he was to use his Lay on Hands to help aid their suffering, Samson was nothing if not a pragmatist, and a sucker for fighting; the current threat needed to be dealt with first to insure his work would not be wasted. He decided to start with the one in the grasp of the warforged; he brought his blade up, intending to make a slash straight for the throat.

Spoiler

Samson makes an attack roll against Worg A with longsword: 20 to hit, 8 damage.

useless kevintheradioguy Seraph Darkfire

 

[BriiAngelic]

Naivara Naïlo Combat in Small Town Condition: Good Equip: Leather Armor & Rapier Rolls: Hit with Rapier: 14 , Damage: 15 Interact: Warg A ( kevintheradioguy )She’d missed. Fuck. She wasn’t used to fighting this way. Too many people, attacking without cover, god only knows what weird things these people were flinging around, granted she’d recognized that they were spells and she recalled seeing similar ones before but she didn’t really have the time to analyze what they were doing when the dogs were this close. She twirled from her landing and aimed right back at the Worg. It didn’t matter how many times she missed so long as she kept going!

 

[kevintheradioguy]

[class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:-5px; margin-bottom:100px; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#194b66; color:#fff; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [div class=text][div class=txtheader]Nightstone[/div]
Trying to force itself out of the clutches, the worg looked up to see a man approaching. It's eyes widened, though not in fear: anger, hatred, disgust. It was quietly promissing revenge on the stupid little human trying to attack it - a much bigger, stronger, better creature. At the same time as the sword slashed across its face, chopping of a chink of rotting flesh starting from a brow and all the way through an ear and down to its lower jaw, a piercing hit cut between its ribs, leaving an elongated mark right through its lung and heart. The monster growled - a mix of a canine roar and a human battle cry, swinging its paw to try and claw at the elf and get the pestering rapier out of its body, until it coughed, spitting out its own blood, and in a next few seconds fell limp.

BriiAngelic | Sizniche
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[Seraph Darkfire]

Zi'on felt the beast go limp in his arms as he laid there on the ground. For a second he considered letting it go, but these creatures were mildly intelligent. It was unlikely but still possible that it would be playing dead. Slowly, he stood up, keeping the other worg in his sights. For a moment, he stared the creature down before he shoved the one he was holding towards the other, using that small moment to move forwards and attempt to slam his fist into the side of it's head in an attempt to stun this one. He didn't feel at one hundred percent, but attempting to move away would only pose a greater threat, best to rely on his unique body and end this creature as fast as possible.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

[class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:-5px; margin-bottom:100px; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#194b66; color:#fff; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [div class=text][div class=txtheader]Nightstone[/div]
Cr-r-runch! The sound was heard, as the body of a bleeding worg hit the one of his fellow. A huge mangy beast with its face all bloodied, crashed into the other one, and, even though it tried to dodge, a distinct snap was heard, and the two creatures rolled tumbling down in a mess of fur, blood, and ichor, bodies tangling in the harnesses and stirrups into almost comical something. The metallic smell of blood of one worg mixed with the putrid, almost sewer-like of the other one with its fur rotting from the magical disease it still held - not dangerous any longer, but prominent with its odour nonetheless.

The ringing stopped for a moment, maybe for a little bit too long, before echoing through the rock-littered town once more, with new force, like a funeral bell.

​

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[Seraph Darkfire]

Zi'on stepped back from the bodies and stretched his arms a bit "Alright, first things first" he said turning to the others "Healers, could we get a bit of a restore? And secondly, would someone healthy go into that church and stop that incessant ringing?"

He then knelt before the two creatures he'd finished off and brought his hands together in a small amount of prayer "Though you may have been beasts of I'll intent, I thank you for the battle"

 

[Damafaud]

Rina Rubare

Half-Elf Bard
Nightstone
Interaction: Joan​

It was over. Only after Zi'on released his hold on the worg did Rina dare to let her shoulder went limp. It was truly over. The worgs were dead. It could no longer harm her. Once it was all over, her thought flew back to a figure bitten down by the worg.

"Jo!" Rina ran toward the woman, ignoring the gore and blood on and around her. Her hands moved in to hug her, but she restrained herself to give her some space.

"Are you alright? I was not late, was I? Do you need another healing spell? Can you walk?"

A barrage of questions was thrown. Her scrutinised every nook and cranny on Jo's body with blood on it, worried if she missed anything important.

Mention: GM ( kevintheradioguy ), Iris ( Xio ), Zi'on ( Seraph Darkfire ), Sturdy (@Nacre ) , Naivara ( BriiAngelic ), Jo ( useless ), Deidre ( D. Rex ), Yenric ( wowbobwow )

 

[Sizniche]

After a quick cleaning of the blood to prevent it from mucking up his scabbard, Samson sheathed his sword in the scabbard on his back, and slung his shield around with it. After stretching his arms and taking a deep breath, he looked around to assess the damage. Most of the participants of the fight were fine; after all, the fight was more or less a small warband fighting back two wolflike creatures. That's not to say there weren't injuries, however. The huntswoman looked like she got the worst of the fighting, probably having been knocked to the ground before he arrived, judging from the dirt on her back and the blood she was covered in. The huntswoman, however, was being tended to by a frantic elf, worried about her health, and while the warforged was up and about his business as if everything was normal, he didn't seem to be doing much better. As such, Samson moved to help him.

The warforged seemed to be kneeling to the ground to give a brief prayer. Samson approached him, and put his hand on the warforged shoulder, which warmed up with divine energy. "Hey there, stranger. Nothin' like a fight t'get the blood pumping, is there? Or... eh... bloodlike fluids." His dialect was distinctly that of a peasant, having a sort of drawl that would stick out like a sore thumb in anywhere but the peasant countryside. In fact, almost everything about his presence screamed peasant; the accent, the armor and clothes, the oily, black hair, even his height that was a result of his impoverished childhood. The only two things on his person that seemed to be of any substantial value were the gleaming holy symbol of Chauntea that hung from his neck, and the only slightly less reflective longsword that was slung on his back. He had the look of a man who had no shame about where he came from--was probably proud of it, even--and didn't bother to conceal the fact that he had come from lowborn status.

Samson offered a hand to the warforged to help him come to his feet, though he had a feeling that the warforged was sturdy and nimble enough to do so on his own. "Th'name's Samson, though a lotta people prefer Sam. Heckuva fight, eh?"

Interaction: Zi'on Seraph Darkfire
Mention: Jo useless Rina Damafaud

Spoiler: Player Actions Performed

Samson gives Zi'on 5 hit points back using Lay on Hands.

 

[BriiAngelic]

Naivara Naïlo Combat in Small Town Condition: Good Equip: Leather Armor & Shortbow Rolls: Investigation (11) Perception (23) Interact: Zi’on ( Seraph Darkfire ) Jo ( useless ) Team in General ( wowbobwow Damafaud Xio D. Rex Sizniche kevintheradioguy )The fight was over. Both worgs were dead, though one she’d not even managed a single hit on. It was fortunate that the others came through. She doubted the halfling and her could have fought them both off while keeping Jo alive. In fact she was just straight up sure that she couldn’t have kept Jo alive. Magic was quite an odd thing. She took out the sword from the beasts carcass and shook it out hoping to get some of the blood off. She’d need to get a new set for cleaning her weapon. It’d only dull and become useless otherwise.

It was somewhat interesting what naïvety they possessed. The injured metal suit seemed to think that the area was safe enough considering that he asked that someone stop the bells. She did a quick investigation of the worgs and the surrounding area for anything out of place.

Still she wouldn’t be caught off guard again. She didn’t have time to spare and she needed to keep one eye on the surrounding area as well in case any additional threats came.

“Tend to your wounds now because I doubt two worgs alone is what caused the entire town to evacuate.”

She sheathed her rapier and brought out her short bow. If they came again she would get the drop on them this time.

 

[wowbobwow]

​

Yenric soaked in the feeling of having finished off the Worgs. It was his first true battle, and his first time tasting death. He looked at the carnage and felt a little sick inside. He was a healer, he worshiped everything that life had to offer, and he didn't love what he was feeling. Then he recalled the twisted, angry faces of the beasts, the way they took down Jo with such hate and cruelty. He was quickly able to convince himself that the worgs were on the side of death, and were not worth mourning over. His goddess would be pleased with his actions ... or at least he hoped she would.

He saw the other party members tending to their wounds, and felt compelled to go to Jo and help heal her. He had no idea what his magics would do on the stone and god-knows-what that made up the warforged. He was hoping to get some time alone with the big ... thing. So many questions!

"Naivara is right, everyone, let's not get too comfortable here. Those worgs are ... um were ... well, um ... I mean, they still are wearing saddles, though they aren't really 'are' anymore, are they? They are most definitely 'were.'" The halfling realized he was babbling and stopped himself. "They didn't come alone." As if to emphasize the point, he took a bolt and loaded his crossbow.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

[class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:-5px; margin-bottom:100px; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#194b66; color:#fff; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [div class=text][div class=txtheader]Nightstone[/div]

The two creatures were as dead as could be, in a chaotic mess of fur, blood, and leather. They had harnesses and saddles soaked in blood at the mouth, fit for a pony or a riding horse on them, made of simple materials, but painted and embroidered with colourful threads; beads, bones, and crystal vial caps hanging from them like necklaces.

Their front feet were all covered in blood too, and, as Nai looked at the trails they've left behind, and looked around the rock, she noticed the source of it: right behind the piece of stone, covered from them in just about twenty or so feet, lay a mutilated corpse of a large dog. Only a few spots of dry fur signified it was once ginger. Its paws broken, bones sticking out in sharp edges, one of the long ears mauled off, rib cage crushed, and belly torn, with insides spread across the pavement. It looked like the worgs were eating its insides when the group came by, and they sensed a fresher - and tastier - prey.

There was another thing that caught her attention, however. With the rocks all over the place, there was one thing that was... well, rather opposite of rocks. In the centre of the square, with a church and tavern on the left side of them, the stables in the further end, and small farms on the right - all with their doors open - exactly where the villagers might have placed a maypole or city dwellers - a statue of a folk hero, there was a large hole in the ground. It smelled of wet ground and grass, and seemed to be made pretty recently. It looked to be around five feet in diameter, and be much deeper than that - at least from where Nai stood.

BriiAngelic ​

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[Equusheart]

Kyria sat in silence and watched the party clean up after the warg attack.

"Figures the minute I turn my back shit happens," she muttered to herself.