Chapter 1b: Through the Land Gate

[Marullus]

Characters:

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

The clergy live at the bottom of the Avenue of Njörðr, above the homes of the wealthiest merchants around Worldtree Plaza yet below the wealthy Thanes who lives further up, stretching upwards in both physical and societal elevation to where the diamond cutters lived at the precipice above. It took Hrærek and Tenghel, beadles in the service of the loathesome abbott, only minutes to descend the road into the market square after the peal of the bells began, carrying the Abbott's silver and the coins from the almsbox. Rikke, after consulting her doll for confirmation, followed close behind them, an orphan and urchin most at home on the Avenue's alleys. Fljúga Thormundson having leaped from a window of the Inner Keep just before the other barristers within caught fire, gasped for breath as she came upon the two armed men of the faith, having run that far. Kinnard and Myantha, a beautiful elf and her mercenary escort, emerged from their inn to find themselves in a surging throng of people coming off of the High Road into the Plaza, pressed in against the beadles and their orphan straggler. From their vantage at the northpoint of the Plaza, they see the merchant stalls begin going up in flames - not all at once by dragonfire but by dozen of torches, tossed by the robed cultists and packs of skittering kobolds clustering at side streets and alleyways.

Sigurd emerged from his butcher's shop in time to impassively watch the swooping pass of the dragon, its immense presence inspiring terror and panic in all around him. "I'm going to need a bigger cleaver." Nearby, Ilwegg and Gudmund grab up pitchforks and livestock before everything around them is hopelessly trampled. Ilwegg was swept up with the others, but Gudmund ducked down an alley to find a less crowded egress, disappearing from the crowds towards the Waterfall Gate. Syuun managed to grab a sack of tropical oranges before his entire cart was toppled and crushed under the mass of people.

More and more of the city is funneling through the Worldtree Plaza and onto the Avenue of the All-Father - the widest road in the city winding its way to the Land Gate, the departure point for the overland roads southwards to greater civilizations. The road is normally wide enough for three wagons with some still parked along the sides... it is spacious even on the busiest of market days. But now, packed with many hundreds of people all surging and terrified all trying to gain the Land Gate and onward to freedom, it is chaos, piss, and fear. The dragon -- is it the same one, or are there two -- swoops down low. The mob surges and tramples itself in its terror to get away from the beast. The dragon snatches up a watchman who dares brandish a spear, blood spurting like a burst grape as it clenches its jaw around him. It grabs a fat melon saleswoman and a serving maid from one of the taverns in its great and terrible talons and swoops skyward... only to drop them back into the crowd once more. Their screams end abruptly with a sickening splat upon the ground. The terror of the mob is palpable, feverish, uncontrolled. They surge by the scores, shoving those in front of them, trampling those that fall, heading towards escape through the Land Gate far ahead.

Each of you make a Reflex Savings Throw. This is a 1d20, plus your Agility Modifier. Your goal is to roll 8 or higher. If you fail, take 1d4 damage as you are jostled by the mob. If that kills you, you go down and are trampled.

Then roleplay your actions and interactions.

[redwarrior]

As he glowers up at the dragon(s?), Sigurd is struck by a a team of horses dragging a runaway cart behind them. Luckily, his reflexes save him from major damage from his distraction, as he hops out of the way, suffering only a moderate pummeling from one of the horses and a wagon wheel.

Spying Ilwegg, with the pitchfork, he bashes his way through the crowd. Let us work together to force a path through these cattle!
Reflex [1d20+3] = 4+3 = 7

Trampled damage [1d4] = 1

[AleBelly]

The crowd surges, and Rikke is jostled by a man behind her and to her right.

Reflex saving throw [1d20-1] = 12-1 = 11

Their contact knocks them both off balance, but he's the one who falls, and is immediately trampled by the crowd. She hears Sigurd raise a rallying cry, and with no better plan of her own, joins forces with the butcher to cut her way through the crowd. She clutches her doll in one hand, and an old wooden club in the other, waiting to swing at any cultist attacking her.

Attack roll if needed:

Rikke club attack [1d20+1] = 12+1 = 13, damage [1d4+1] = 1+1 = 2

[Samwell Turleton]

Fljúga Thormundson

Time seemed to slow for Fljúga as she fell through the air in a cloud of colored glass particles led by the sturdy chair. The power in the creature that flew past was obvious. As it wheeled towards the plaza with flames spuming at the edges of its fierce jaws, the rushing change of the winds bit harshly against Fljúga's skin and sent her hair whipping around. It was only a matter of great fortune that she landed against a roof thick with fresh thatching and fell into the piles of fresh cut material at the foot of the building.

But can you call it luck?

Fljúga emerged from the piles into the street. At the edges of the disorder of the frantic mob in the company of two holy men trundling along.

Pray for our safekeeping!, she says as she joins their company and works her way along the edges of the buildings towards the gates among the jostling mob.

Trampling Crowd [1d20] = 18

[sirravd]

[1d20] = 13[1d4] = 4[1d20-1] = 2-1 = 1[1d4] = 2
Alas, poor Ilwegg, we hardly knew ye

Syuun the costermonger

Syuun has never been a lucky sort. Indeed, things rather reliably go badly for him. But this is a particularly unfortunate day, what with his old friend Ilwegg having been trampled to the death just before his eyes. With his sack of tropical oranges in hand, he prepares to escape for the Gate...

[ybn1197]

Tenghel - Beadle

"Hrærek, Hrærek! Slow down! For the gods sake, at least let me catch..." where the last words Tenghel spoke before being overwhelmed by the mobs and trampled beneath their feet.

Tenghel Reflex: [1d20-1] = 5-1 = 4 Damage: [1d4] = 4

[Alethan]

Hrærek, Beadle

Trying to avoid the mob [1d20-2] = 12-2 = 10

Hrærek runs to the Land gate, his fr... er, fellow beadle, Tenghel, close behind. He hears Tenghel call out as the mob overruns him, but he doesn't turn back to help, even knowing he had some coins from the collection box in his purse. Panic drives him and he uses his staff to keep others away while he skirts along the wall.

"Pray later, woman! Just run!"

[Faanku]

Kinnard, the Mercenary
Myantha Theneiros, the Elven Barrister

With little choice as to their destination, Kinnard and Myantha move desperately onwards amongst frantic stampede, the swordsman jostling space for his fragile charge as best he can. The pair manage to stay moving for a while, but as the dragon's human projectiles slam into the ground nearby and cause a panicked swell from the throng, the elf finally loses her footing and is about to be trampled by a portly commoner... before Kinnard's elbow catches him a vicious blow to the nose, blood spraying as he falls to the floor screaming. Several people around him seem to take issue with this, but balk at anything beyond frowning when they catch sight of the mercenary's glowering eyes. "Stay on your feet, we're nearly clear!" he states, to which the barrister only nods, being pulled back to her feet and held close to the mercenary.

[1d20+1] = 19+1 = 20 Kinnard Dex Save
[1d20] = 7 Myantha Dex Save. She'll burn one point of Luck to turn it into a success, bringing her annoyingly down to a +0 modifier, but with only a single hit point it's a necessary sacrifice!

[Marullus]

Rikke, Fljúga, Kinnard, Myantha - you were also all adjacent to Tenghel when he was trampled, do you want to interact?

Sigurd, Rikke - you're adjacent to Illwegg when he was being trampled, if you want to interact?

[redwarrior]

Sigurd looks over at the orphan. You, child, where are your parents? You should not be about without them! He grabs the pitchfork from the fallen man, and starts using it (stick end) to swat a path through the crowd towards the gate.

[Samwell Turleton]

Fljúga Thormundson

I will pray for you if I make it, father , Fljúga says not pausing in her progress moving towards the gate with the crashing mob.

[AleBelly]

Sigurd looks over at the orphan. You, child, where are your parents? You should not be about without them! He grabs the pitchfork from the fallen man, and starts using it (stick end) to swat a path through the crowd towards the gate.

Rikke, orphan

"I don't have parents" replies Rikke flatly as she's jostled by the crowd. "Dukke takes care of me!" The slight cheer in her tone contrasts deeply with the scene unfolding around them.

Rikke watches the butcher part the crowd, and imitates his movements using her club. "Where are we going?"

[redwarrior]

Sigurd shakes his head, not believing what he is doing... Very well, child. Maybe you and.... Dukke? should accompany me. For now, we are going through that gate ahead, and away from this press of ... people.

[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

"Hrærek, Hrærek! Slow down! For the gods sake, at least let me catch..." where the last words Tenghel spoke before being overwhelmed by the mobs and trampled beneath their feet. His coins, purloined from the church's alm's box, bounce and clatter across the cobbles as he falls. He still wears his father's good vest as he is trampled by the crowd, the sounds of cracking and splintering heard behind.

"I will pray for you if I make it, father," Fljúga says not pausing in her progress moving towards the gate with the crashing mob. "Pray later, woman! Just run!" yells Hrærek. He hears Tenghel call out as the mob overruns him, but he doesn't turn back to help, even knowing he had some coins from the collection box in his purse. Panic drives him and he uses his staff to keep others away while he skirts along the wall.

The pair are pressed together with Kinard and Myantha, who elbow a portly man in the nose and veer towards the wall after the splattering of the dragon's human projectiles causes further panic. The walls here are more solid, without the break of alleyways, funneling towards the Land Gate.

On the other side of the mass, Ilwegg loses his footing and falls, the crowd unable to cease its surging, pushed from behind, crushes him beneath its feat. Sigurd scoops up his pitchfork and swings it to clear room before him in the crowd as Rikke falls in behind him. Illwegg's sheep bleats, "baaaaaa baaaaa" in its panic. Strangely, the crowd avoids the sheep more than it did the humans before it. The plump ewe pushes itself agains Rikke behind Sigurd, the closest thing it can find to the safety of a herd. A strangely shaped potato rolls in the street for a moment, then is crushed by a boot, whatever story it had to tell lost to time and chaos. Syuun, seeing his friend Ilwegg crushed before his eyes, finds himself behind Sigurd as well, his bag of oranges clutched to his chest.

The screams, crescendoing forward from the rear of the square, come first. Then the roar of flame. The larger of the dragons sweeps low and breathes out its fire upon the thousands of humans pressed together as a herd. It comes straight down the middle of the Avenue, roasting everyone its flames touch alive for its own amusement.

Make reflex saves to get out of the way as the flames come down the road. DC 8.

[Samwell Turleton]

Fljúga Thormundson

Fljúga feels the heat of the dragon's flames as they churn through the crowd boiling blood, melting flesh, and burning leathers. Whether it was the mass of people at her sides absorbing the heat of the flames before it reached Fljúga, divine intervention, or a change of fortune - Fljúga sets her jaw and runs a little bit faster with a mantra in her mind to the Lady of Peace,
May health abound forever
May peace abound forever
May complete abundance abound forever
May auspiciousness abound forever

Reflex Saving Throw [1d20] = 14

[redwarrior]

Sigurd yells at the little girl, Follow me, out of this!!, he starts swinging the pitchfork wildly around to clear a path the to side of a building out of the way of the flames. He reaches the relative safety, catches his breath, and looks around.


Reflex [1d20] = 9

[AleBelly]

Rikke, orphan

Rikke grabs a fistful of Sigurd's shirt with her free hand and follows him through the crowd.

Reflex saving throw [1d20-1] = 18-1 = 17

As she is pulled along by Sigurd, the pockmarked girl looks up to see the dragon bearing down upon her. She is entranced by its terrible beauty. She is saved only by Sigurd's sudden lurch to the side of a building, which sends her tumbling behind him. She giggles slightly as the *whoosh* of the flames fling her hair back.

The smoke from charred flesh sends her into a coughing fit. She stands, gathers her club and sack, and looks to Sigurd. "Keep going?" she asks.

[Faanku]

Kinnard, the Mercenary
Myantha Theneiros, the Elven Barrister

"Well, that's one way to do it." Myantha chides nervously as the man with the now-shattered jaw collapses behind her. After getting back to her feet and edging towards the buildings at the fringes of the throng, the elf breathes a sigh of relief that it cut short by an overpowering cry from one of the rampaging dragons as it bears down on the fleeing crowds. 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.

[1d20+1] = 7+1 = 8 Kinnard reflex save
[1d20] = 3 Myantha reflex save, burning even more luck to make it

[sirravd]

[1d20] = 20

Syuun's miserable luck doesn't fail him here...

[Marullus]

[1d20] = 20

Syuun's miserable luck doesn't fail him here...

He needed at least an 8. He's good.