Chapter 1b: Through the Land Gate

[Marullus]

Holding for a repost for Syuun and a post for Hrærek.

[Alethan]

Hrærek, Beadle

Sensing the dragon's approach overhead, Hrærek pauses where he is in the safety of the doorway. Sure enough, the heated blast of dragon fire envelopes the intersection where he was about to cross. Once it is gone, he waits for 10 heartbeats before continuing...

Avoid Dragon Fire (DC8) [1d20] = 16

[sirravd]

Syuun, Costermonger

Syuun looks about for a stone (or brick, or otherwise inflammable) building to duck into. If there is some such, he will push through and step over as many people as necessary to get inside that building, as quickly as possible, even if it draws attention from the dragon. Otherwise he will simply keep moving...

[Marullus]

Characters:

• AleBelly: Rikke
• Alethan: Hrærek
• Faanku: Kinnard
• Faanku: Myantha Theneiros
• redwarrior: Sigurd Sigurdsson (4 / 5)
• Samwell Turleton: Fljúga Thormundson
• sirravd: Ilwegg
• sirravd: Syuun
• ybn1197: Tenghel

Flames roar down the main street, fanned by the wingbeats of the giant reptilian hand of fate. Whole sections of the crowd melt before your eyes, their screams assaulting your ears, and the smell... oh the smell. It reminds Sigurd the butcher of a pig roast gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Sigurd pushes ahead, his swinging pitchfork managing to part the crowd, finding them a path to a less-packed part of the road. Rikke grips hard to his shirt tails, her doll pressed to her chest with the other hand. Syuun runs behind them, taking advantage of the path they opened, Ilwegg's sheep almost tripping him up as it presses hard against him, bleating in terror. The flames pass through the center-mass of the crowd, incinerating hundreds of people off to their right, but coincidentally freeing up much of the roadway for the survivors to move.

Fljúga sprints forward, prayers on her lips, veering right through the crowd. The sheer volume of people impedes her until the flames roar past, incinerating a thousand people at her left hand, but not touching her. Whether by miracle or sheer luck, she lives, standing among the flames and stench of the crematorium that was once the Avenue of the All-Father.

Hrærek ducks into the doorway of a tavern hanging open on its hinges, watching the flames roar past. He hears a hissing sybilant language behind him and sees six man-sized dragonheaded cultists ransacking the bar on the other side of the room now looking up at him.

Kinnard looks around desperately for a way out of the situation that doesn't involve their ashes being scattered to the winds, and finds his back against the door to a half-ruined hovel. It takes three strong kicks to move the misaligned wooden door from its hinges, and the swordsman jut barely manages to throw his charge into the ravaged building before a wave of dragon-fire engulfs the screaming mob behind him. His heart pounding in his chest, Kinnard clutches at something in his pocket and whispers a silent prayer to Althea that he and Myantha might get out of this city alive. There is a scream in the room as they enter, then the whimpering and crying of young children accompanied by a frantic shushing. You cannot see who or how many are hidden there, vulnerable behind the now-broken door.

The Plaza of the Gate, hemmed in by its tall buildings meant to impress first-time visitors and direct them up the Avenue, stands before Sigurd, Rikke, Syuun, and Fljúga. The escape you hoped lies at the far end, the gates hanging half-open. But between you and the gate lies a killing field. Now thinned, the crowd no longer pushes forward from behind to trample those at the fore who were moving too slow for some reason, but the reason for the slowing now elicits further screams of terror. Cultist archers stand atop the Land Gate where the city's defenders should have been, calling to each other as they shoot down into the plaza -- like fish in a barrel, or panicked humans in an exitless plaza -- taking sport as husbands, mothers, and children fall with black-fletched arrows in their chests. At the gate itself are mobs of squealing kobolds and man-sized dragon-headed men, exulting in their draconic language as they thin the herd by slaying as many as they can who rush the gauntlet to escape the gate. You see some make it through, but more are piled in heaps, forcing those behind them to climb over their dead neighbors as they try to avoid the blades and spears.

Many in the mob turn back to look for another route. You now understand why the mob slowed and so many were trampled - the panicked mob rushes forward heedless of what you know see and know. From where Hrærek, Kinnard, and Myantha are near the rear, they see scores of cultists - both human, dragon-headed men, and kobolds - coming behind. They herd the mob of citizens forward, slaying those who fall behind and ensuring the refugees push forward to the gate.

Crossing the Plaza of the Gate requires a reflex save, DC 11, or take [1d6] damage from the skillfull archers atop the gate. Making it out the gate then requires defeating someone in combat to make a hole you can slip through (narrate your approach and make an attack roll).

[redwarrior]

Sigurd takes a deep breath and rushes across the plaza. As he does, he draws the fire of several archers, one of whom manages to send an arrow straight through his heart. As he falls, those near him hear him cry out Rosebud...


Reflex [1d20] = 2 arrows [1d6] = 5

[AleBelly]

Rikke, orphan

Terrified, Rikke looks to Sigurd. She sees him make for the gate, only dimly aware of the archers set to mow them down.

She sees her bearded protector fall. "Sigurd!" she cries. She bends down quickly to check on him...

Reflex saving throw [1d20-1] = 11-1 = 10

Will burn 1 luck to make the reflex check

...and an arrow whizzes six inches above her head. Rikke has seen many dead bodies in her lifetime...and Sigurd's open eyes and frozen expression relay to her his similar fate.

Even in this chaos, the orphan girl must think of her next meal. She pinches whatever beef she can from the dead butcher, and with no better idea, rushes towards the gate, club firmly gripped in her hand to deal with anyone who seeks to block her path to safety.

Rikke club attack [1d20+1] = 8+1 = 9, damage [1d4+1] = 3+1 = 4

Bummer about Sigurd, redwarrior...he had some tasty stats!

[Alethan]

Hrærek, Beadle

Hrærek sucks in a deep breath when he sees the dragon-born looting the building. He attempts to open the door that seems to have closed behind him, but... it's stuck. It somehow latched shut behind him and he cannot seem to get it opened. He turns back around to see three of the dragon men much closer than they were before.

"Wait, wait..."he pleads as the largest one approaches. As if he was but a sack of potatoes, the dragonkin grabs a handful of robes and lifts him up off the ground, pressing him up against the door. A wicked dagger appeared in his other hand and he pressed it against Hrærek's throat.

"Wait..." Hrærek tries again as the knife moves from left to right. The only other sound he makes is a gurgle as his life blood flows down his robes.

Reflex Save [1d20-2] = 2-2 = 0

[Samwell Turleton]

Fljúga Thormundson

Fljúga charges head long through an approaching volley of arrows. She feels a stiff breeze against her face as a few of the feathered shafts land before her thudding into the packed dirt of the street, the majority sail on pushed by the fortuitous wind. A few of the arrows that landed before her kept their shape and lodged into softer soil. She grabs one that is easy to quickly snatch up without breaking stride.

Reflex Saving Throw [1d20] = 14, Damage [1d6] = 2

May auspiciousness abound forever...

She eyes the center kobold of a group of the creatures that are chattering excitedly and each focused on different quarry. It will provide her a little extra separation from the larger dragon headed invaders. She grips a quill from her pouch of the writing tools and flings it deftly at the excited creature. Fljúga doesn't stop in her advancing movement. She grips the arrow shaft tightly ready to make another strike at the creature.

Quill Attack [1d20] = 16, Damage [1d4] = 2
I keep forgetting the strength modifier - this would be a -1 damage

Number of Quills [1d6] = 4
3 Quills Left

[redwarrior]

Rikke, orphan
Bummer about Sigurd, redwarrior...he had some tasty stats!

Yeah, he was one of my 2 personal favorites. Now if Hilde can just hold it together.

[sirravd]

Syunn, Costermonger

Syuun sees strong Sigurd fall. What chance does he have? He, whose luck has been so poor...

He has but one idea. He says farewell to Ilwegg's sheep, thanking her for her years of mute friendship. Then he rushes forth, aiming for the bottom of the nearest heap of corpses. He will lie there and play dead until the threat is over.

[1d20] = 5[1d6] = 3
If he's nevertheless hit, he goes to 3 hp

[Marullus]

Holding for Kinnard and Myantha.

[Faanku]

Kinnard, the Mercenary
Myantha Theneiros, the Elven Barrister

The heat from the battered wooden door against Kinnard's back is almost unbearable for a few seconds as the dragonfire sweeps through the street outside, but he manages to endure it by considering the alternative. He breathes a sigh of relief, then notices what has caught Myantha's gaze; two adults and several small children of varying age have taken shelter here against the rampaging horde, likely a family hoping to avoid the slaughter by hiding until it was over. They'll be dead by nightfall, the mercenary muses to himself as he peers out the door, looking for an opening for himself and Myantha, and is about to pull her away before he is interrupted.

"You cannot stay here, it is not safe." The elf approaches the hiding family with a warm smile, hand outstretched. "Come with us, and we can escape together. Then we shall think about what comes next." The family begins to move after a few tense seconds of silence, and the barrister grins at Kinnard in response to his wordless protests, who can only sigh in turn.

The group merge back into the throng as they run the fiendish gauntlet to the gates, Kinnard and Myantha managing to stay clear of the kobold arrows as villagers fall around them, until they reach the final line of defence. Seeing Fljúga choose a target, Kinnard presses the attack as his ward flings her iron quill with remarkable accuracy. If they can break through here...

[1d20+1] = 20+1 = 21[1d6] = 4 Kinnard reflex save
[1d20] = 17[1d6] = 3 Myantha reflex save

[1d20+1] = 8+1 = 9[1d8+1] = 4+1 = 5 Kinnard longsword attack
[1d20] = 19[1d4+1] = 2+1 = 3 Myantha dart attack

[Marullus]

Characters:

• AleBelly: Rikke
• Alethan: Hrærek
• Faanku: Kinnard
• Faanku: Myantha Theneiros
• redwarrior: Sigurd Sigurdsson
• Samwell Turleton: Fljúga Thormundson
• sirravd: Ilwegg
• sirravd: Syuun
• ybn1197: Tenghel

Sigurd waves his pitchfork and clears a path, leading the yound Rikke and Syuun the orange grocer forward. He also creates a clear view for the archers, whose shaft plunges deep into his chest. The burly butcher collapses and utters his last words, his pitchfork and cleaver clattering to the stones. Rikke takes up Sigurd's sack of beef, content with her club, and charges the gate! She knocks out a Kobold (-4) and ducks through the crowd, accustomed to slipping through small opportunities.

As Rikke runs, Syuun is shot in the shoulder right behind her (-3). He runs towards the nearest pile of bodies and flops down with it, trying to still his breathing like the pale corpses around him. He lasts an hour before three cultists come upon him. He hears reptilian hisses and then the words "...a breather." Then he is skewered by their spears (-1, -4). Once they are sure his breath ceases, they move on, leaving him already in the pile of his choice. "Baaaaaa," mourns Ilwegg's sheep, pausing to taste one of Syuun's toppled oranges before wandering away.

Hrærek finds himself trapped in the tavern between dragon fire and dragonkin. "Wait..." he gasps, his last hopes unspoken. The dragon-faced cultist reaches in his pockets as he slides, limp, down the wall. The cultist tosses a small silver saltpinch in the air and catches it, pleased, then turns away.

Fljúga heads for a small cluster of Kobolds, sending a weak point in the Gate defense, dodging arrows miraculously as she goes. She throws a quill at the creature, but that seems to only annoy it and fix it's attention on her. She hopes the arrow plucked from the ground might avail her...

...until Kinnard appears beside her at a run, his longsword taking the small lizard man's head clean off. Behind him is Myantha, who's steel pen catches another Kobold in the eye, dropping him as well. Behind them are a pair of frightened parents and three tow-headed children running with panic in their eyes. The remaining Kobolds instinctively dive asIde, the seven of you bowl through the gate like a wild ox.

For a moment, you rejoice in your freedom! So do the others around you. Then a woman screams. An arrow sticks in her husband's clavicle. You're still too close to rest. You press on until you think you are safe.

Narrate your escape with (or without) the dramatically thinned crowds. When do you stop? Where do you feel safe? How do you interact with others and each other?

Your rescued family glues themselves to you. Name them. If anyone wants another character, roll up a member of this family.

at Syuun [1d20] = 16[1d6] = 1 [1d20] = 11[1d6] = 4 [1d20] = 8[1d6] = 5

[AleBelly]

Rikke, orphan

Rikke runs 30 yards past the gate, when her lungs finally must yield to the lack of oxygen. Doubled over, she turns to face the burning city, gasping for air. With the luxury of the beef, she dumps the half dozen dead rats from her sack to lighten her load.

"Cut...off...his...head!" she rasps between breaths, smiling at Kinnard. "You fought good."

She lifts up her club, pointing to a smear of gore. "I...did...too!"

She observes Myantha's kindness to the children, and knows Fljúga from her brushes with the city's legal system. This is who she will cast her lot with...for now.

She fishes in her pouch and pulls out an old weathered rag doll. "Yes, okay Dukke" she says to it.

She looks up to the others. "The sky monster can still get us. Where is safe?" she asks.

[Faanku]

Kinnard, the Mercenary

Clear of the immediate threat, Kinnard lets the less durable members of the impromptu entourage rest a little, preferably slightly off the roads. He stands keeping watch towards the city to make sure they weren't followed, until a grubby little voice from waist-height gleefully mentions the skirmish. "Erm, yes. Very well fought." he replies to Rikke, eyeing the bloodied club in the urchin's hand. "You seem rather chirpy for someone that just lost their family, I have to say." His tone is wavering, as if unsure how to approach conversation with a sickly peasant child. This is likely due to Kinnard being unsure how to approach conversation with a sickly peasant child.

Myantha Theneiros, the Elven Barrister

After sprinting at a dead run for so long, the elf nearly collapses in a heap at the first opportunity. She spends a few moment catching her breath, them laughs softly despite herself. "I can scarcely believe we escaped that madness." She, too takes stock of the group, then turns her attention to Fljúga. "Pray forgive my assumptions, but by your choice of projectiles I would take you as a member of the judicial system? An occupation I am all too familiar with." Myantha flourishes her own steel quill with a devious smile. "Perhaps you might be the best person to suggest a destination for our merry gang? The child speaks true that we are not safe from those dragons this close to the city."

[sirravd]

I intended to go underneath the bodies

[Marullus]

I intended to go underneath the bodies

I understand that; it also would have been difficult to execute unnoticed but I allowed the benefit of the doubt. It isn't why you were caught, though -- They were checking the bodies. As a result, you found yourself facing three cultists alone. I assumed you would try to evade and posted the attack rolls (without even penalizing you for being prone). You were hit by two of the three of them and it did enough damage with him already wounded.

[redwarrior]

Your rescued family glues themselves to you. Name them. If anyone wants another character, roll up a member of this family.

I'll role up one of them around noon my time (Pacific)

[Samwell Turleton]

Fljúga Thormundson

Fljúga sees the quill hit the creature but it sticks in a thick shoulder muscle. The Kobold fixes its attention on her as she runs towards it. From out of her view a soldier lopes along taking the creature's head in a clean strike. Fljúga seizes the opportunity to clamber through over the bodies of the line of disoriented Kobolds and past the lines of soldiers guarding the gate.

We're almost free... she thinks and then hears the screams of a woman nearby. Fljúga doesn't stop to look and presses on feeling the weight of the soldier along side and hearing the heavy breathing of a few others behind.

After a distance she hears the heavy breathing of a child pausing for breath and she hears the group slow for a moment and take shelter a little off the road. The soldierly man looks back to the city guardedly.

A moment to catch our breath but I think we need to keep moving. Once we are clear enough of the city we need to find a safe place to rest. She regards the other Elven Barrister warmly, Your guess is as good as mine as to where we should go...Læsø might be an option. I have some family there. Fljúga thinks back not knowing when she last wrote to her family there or if they would even remember her. It had also been a long time since she had made the journey but she vaguely remembers.

One of the children walks up to Fljúga and gives a light tap on the pouch at her side. What are those?, the child asks. Fljúga pulls out a quill and the small lapis lazuli colored ceramic jar she keeps for her ink and hands them to the child. These are for you to use wherever we end up...for your reading and writing. Hopefully, I will be able to read some of your writings some day.

[redwarrior]

Narrate your escape with (or without) the dramatically thinned crowds. When do you stop? Where do you feel safe? How do you interact with others and each other?

Your rescued family glues themselves to you. Name them. If anyone wants another character, roll up a member of this family.

Saral, holding his wife Melikii's hand, and carrying his youngest child Janiiss, with Neptisiss following along behind pants his thanks. It is clear that Melikii is not native to this area given her much darker, almost almond skin, and that the children take after her more than Saral. He pants out Thank you, thank you all! as they hurry to stay with the group. They won't feel comfortable until they can no longer see the city walls.