It is our fourth night here at the inn. I'm at the bar listening to the stories of Hammerhand, our landlord. He has lived through a lot, and has endured even more. Over his head I can see his great hammer hanging on the wall. Well-polished, but you can clearly see the scars from ancient battles. It has seen its share of blood and is probably responsible for the deaths of thousands. Just like "The Grandfather". Waiting for its next call to battle.
Vadania is having her beer next to me. Strange for an elf, but I guess that her ranger ways have taught her to be tough. Sonia is by the fireplace, constantly trying to struck up a conversation with the local sergeant, a dwarf. More muscles than brains it seems, always on the edge and careful of strangers. The halfling rogue makes him very itchy.
A group of mercenaries on the other side of the table have probably seen their share of war. Their armor is a map of hardship, and their faces the very image of suffering from lack of food. They are slowly regaining their strength.
The front door opens and two hooded figures enter. Their dump appearance the only clue to the light rain that has started a few minutes ago. Maces, shields, and heavy armor. Clerics. As they unhood and head towards the fireplace the sign of Pelor becomes clearly visible on their breastplates.
Time passes slowly as we are about to head to our rooms, when one of the guards rushes in the room.
- ALARM!! ATTACKERS!!
- BARRICADE THE DOOR AND WINDOWS! shouted Hammerhand. SOMEONE TO THE TOP FLOOR! he went on looking at us.
People started running around, taking place by the door; shutting windows; preparing for the onslaught. We rushed to the top floor accompanied by a guard. everything was in slow motion. We quickly shut the windows watching in the distance fires approaching. Cavalry it seems, but no horses. Something more sinister. We observed for a while until we saw the enemy clearly. They were upon some strange bipedal monsters. Definitely not horses. We shut the final window, placed the guard to stand watch in the corridor and headed for the window overlooking the front door.
The orcs were pounding with axes on the door. The perfect target. 3 meters right below us. Vadania showered them with arrows and Sonia with pebbles. Lacking anything weapon-like to throw them I improvised. First went a chair, and then a bed-side table. It crashed on the unfortunate head of an orc below us. When he woke up in the morning he never thought that the last thing he would see in this life would be the over-used, crumbling bed-side table of a derelict inn.
We certainly had their attention now. Axes came flying to the window, but nothing seem to touch us. I threw back a few of them with much more success than their previous owners had.
!!!CRASH!!!!
Something collapsed further in. A breach in one of the back rooms. At the same time the door below us started giving in.
I quickly rushed to the corridor, a couple of throwing axes on my hands. The first flew true to the orc that appeared on the other side of the corridor. Quickly drawing my sword I met them in battle. A scratch from one of them. I returned the favor by decapitating him and his two buddies.
But the horror had yet to come. A huge orc appeared in the corridor. Well over two meters, clad in scale mail; a huge barbed mace in his hands. There is only one way to fight a beast: You must embrace the beast within you.
The rage overtakes me and I charge the brute. I land a devastating blow on his breast, but I'm quickly faced with the wrong end of his mace. He throws me aside ignoring the pain and rushes the guard. Halfling stone and elf arrow do little to his attack, but luck is not at his side. A well placed spear thrust from the guard extinguishes his fire.
I on the floor; blood gushing from the huge wound. I can see hands being placed upon me and a warmth filling my mind and body. One of Pelor's priest has given me his blessing.
But there is no time to waste. We re-barricade the broken window and head down to help.
The ground floor is a puzzle of chaos. Humans, orcs, and a dwarf, all caught up in the strange ballet of death. C on the floor. The metallic smell of blood starts dwelling in my nostrils. We throw ourselves in the fray. Rugged dolls in a perfectly orchestrated play. Kord, our puppet master, is going to be pleased tonight. The sacrifice to his name is plentiful.
The end comes quickly. From the fifty plus orcs only half a dozen or so escape upon their monstrous beasts. But the toll is devastating. About half of us remain standing.
This is only the beginning...
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