The blue-haired halfling didn't respond to the man's comments. She was still having a hard time accepting this situation. She was scared, none of this mad sense, and she desperately wanted to have a solution to this problem. She wiped the bile off her lips, stepping away from the stares to just take deep breaths. Soon Brannor came over to check up on Parum, and she felt a bit embarrassed letting him see her like this. "Hello Brannor. I'm sorry, I just... I just need some time alone." As she said that, the governor arrived flanked by two guards. He seemed to have a new task for her and the others, plus the cleric Kyra. Parum was starting to have second thoughts about accepting their request now, but she didn't say anything about it. Her mind was just a tornado of thoughts, concerns, and doubts. Without much else to say Parum headed up towards the top of the tower.

Watching the small woman intently the outlander paid no immediate mind to the familiar footfall and voice that arrived behind him while he stood low to the ground, attempting to understand the halfling's wounded person; there were two other sets of boots, metallic ones like the other guardsmen, that had accompanied the governor to his ascent here. While these added persons were new to what it was Brannor had witnessed previously in their meetings tonight, they were of no concern for the moment. As it was they all smelled of men, not a single one of them having that pungent, offensive odor the kobolds or the larger draconic beast they fought in the port carried.

So, as she was his focus, he paid her mind rather than diverting his attention. Parum's soft blue eyes appeared just as wide even now after their short reprieve, while the rest of her took deep breaths into her tiny chest and managed her internalized fears. Slinking away some she wiped her lips, speaking to him after as he remained not far and still undisturbed from his initial position.

"Hello Brannor. I'm sorry, I just... I just need some time alone."

"Parum, I..." Brannor trailed off, searching for his words when the governor spoke, shifting the man's glance back to the source of the sound.

"Ah, you are here. I was considering to send someone looking for you. Come with me onto the roof of this tower, if you would. And if you know where to look for the cleric that was with you, they are welcome as well."

The moment of outreach faded as duty called, or rather asked of them now again; Brannor was an outsider, not only to Greenest but the civilized world as a whole. It had been years, more than he could accurately recall as he tracked the passage of time by the moons, since he rested more than a few days in any one village or town. Never before had he so much as offered his assistance either, but tonight what else was he to have done? The deepest portions of what made up his essence, his very soul pulled him in this direction in compulsion he could not deny - all they had done had to have been for something, was that clear only to him? He needed to restore Parum's focus, really her hope and her heart.

Without another word however, before he could so much as hope to respond, the young woman turned and started her way up the stairs behind the entourage, leaving the hunter crouched upon the floor with his aged cloak draped across his shoulders. It was an uncomfortable, unwelcome feeling that came to him when she walked away. The anger within him found no hold upon his thoughts of her, but instead the invaders.

Parum was one small example, as was the mad half blood, the traveled elder, or the green priestess each in their own right. Yet, in comparison to them all, it was how they stole away her heart the most that drew his ire and caused the beast within to come alive; Brannor did not carry his distinct weapon just for the pleasure of swordplay, but because it allowed him a focus to channel that divine, primal wrath through as another conduit. It enabled him to characterize that fury into something and both in figurative and literal sense, cut down that which he instinctively loathed. That realization of seeing her so distraught, how she turned away from his willingness to understand her plight, added incentive to kill everyone and everything that dared consort with the dragon.

He rose unerringly to his natural posture after, now better understanding the effect this raid had on those even less hardened than her - why it was important for him to see the young woman this way.

"I understand now, Parum." Brannor's voice said in a softened tone.

Once he looked out the doorway to the ramparts, then to the winding path the others took to the area above. The hunter reached for the holy woman's name in memory, finding nothing to latch on upon at first; like a cliff face that had given away and now left bare stone in place of holds. It took him walking to the rampart again where he had initially set off to see her and call out to her in deep tone.

"Priestess, we have been summoned."

Kyra was her name, difficult as that was to recall having known her for less than an hour, as the most his mind thought of her in reflection was how her divine matron provided her blessing and the familiar yet strangely off the blessing she provided was. Putting a face to the name again outside the chaos of battle alleviated this issue some, but it would take effort to recall, more so now that the large knight the wild felt the longing for the hunt again already. The reinforcement of her and her person was what he thought of as he advanced up the steps and loomed not far from Governor Nighthill and the others as they overlooked the keep and the smoldering fires that dotted Greenest.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

The governor arrived amidst the chaotic suffering; his polished amygdala unphased and obsessed with a bigger vision, obligate onuses against the potential threats still cackling outside the keep. His face cracked with determination and hope, despite his likely swordhand nurtured in a makeshift sling. Torus was uncertain whether the fracture or sprain was from previous skirmishes or a mark left by an adult blue dragon. The same half of his head was also crudely mummified with the garnish of crimson dashed all upon his light blue tunic and peeling bandages; his faint limp, at times, almost betrayed his resolve and leadership.

”Ah, you are here. I was considering to send someone looking for you. Come with me onto the roof of this tower, if you would. And if you know where to look for the cleric that was with you, they are welcome as well.”

The pirate’s hazel irises continued to stray from his attentive duties, to note the accompanying guard, the precautionary political relics of import, as he haphazardly ascended the spiral staircase to the precipice of Orchid’s harrowing vault. His loose cape fluttering and beckoning the Orc, the Hin, the paladin and the cleric.

“Priestess, we have been summoned.” The nearby Sylvan warrior irked out as the boon became paramount.

It seemed the spent Kyra jerked from the depths of her surgical meditation. Patients were sprawled about around her; some moaned from encephalopathy, under her scalpel, with hidden biochemistries suggesting shock liver or kidney failure, from the uncleared hyperammonemia and uremic poisons. The jaundice and ascites from the resultant hepatorenal syndrome, portrayed pregnant male soldiers, carrying no child into this world, but a subsequent death of impending intracompartmental extravasation, intravascular collapse, and cardiogenic dyskinesis. Others were lucky, with their rigor mortis riddled bodies carried by family members and strangers to the next room, where Torus had forgotten his belongings, moments before the battle on the parapet.

The druid rose from the young, maimed soldier, no older than two decades; his aged fingers had cleansed and finished suturing a massive abrasion.

“There, son, take heart!” as he rested his stiff hand on the teenager’s forehead, “You will overcome. Uncertainty is a pain too forlorn to realize that faith is its twin. Remember this and doubt will melt away from your mind.”

As the elder hobbled, with his strapped tortoise shield, in the opposite direction, he voiced to the bestial eyed divine aspirant, “I must fetch my staff. Won’t be long. Take the bird with you, lad.” Torus maintained his mouth ajar, with soot dripping from the vermillion crevices. Before long, the familiar raven’s beak interjected away from his lips, then a head and torso, struggling, crowing and flapping its ashen wings, attempting to escape his master. The regurgitated fowl finally flocked to Brannor, resting on the green knight’s shoulder.

“He will be my ears until the occasion pardons my slothful legs.”

Turning about face, he oozed into the improvised morgue that smoldered a particular scent, ersatz of a witch’s cemetery. The corpses carried coins or blindfolds over their life bereft eyes, ceremoniously free of hardship or pain. Father Time and the Grim Reaper both remained undefeated, it seemed. The historic corner still huddled his untouched property, its space respected with no hint of thieves. Soon, the orb with Yorick’s skull, spell book, and brass brazier quickly became possessed by a black net alongside a conch horn and his full three waterskins.

After pocketing the remaining tinderbox with flint, taking in a sigh of disdain, and firmly grasping his dragon-fanged quarterstaff, he mumbled to himself, “Promises. Promises,” as he sluggishly arrowed, towards the stony helix, whose pinnacle housed the adjudicating roof where nightfall and Nighthill had already gathered.

Kyra knew, in the back of her mind, that these creatures were only driven by greed. If they had all the treasure they wanted to felt that this place was too much trouble to rob, they would leave. But deep inside of her Kyra didn't care why they're here or what they're after: she wanted them dead. Not gone, dead. Every last one of them, gutted and skewered like animals. These thoughts polluted he mind as filled her will with negative intent, but she had to take a deep, death-filled breath to remember her vows. Death was a part of life, and it is within the nature of man and beasts to kill one another. As much as Kyra wanted to hate these creatures, what they did was as natural for them as hunting a deer was for Kyra. She only considers it evil because she is the victim.

Pushing these thoughts away Kyra tried to focus on the morbid tasks of attending to the wounded. At this point some of the other soldiers came back to carry off the dead, allowing Kyra to try and heal those who still lived. Other healers arrived and Kyra did her best to assist them. She was given some basic supplies and medicine and told to stabilize as many people as she could. First she started with the most heavily wounded: those with missing limbs or on the cusp of death. Many begged her for mercy and to put them out of their misery, but she ignored their cries as she bandaged their wounds and could only ease their pain. The ones she couldn't save, the ones who were only a hare's breath from death, she could not stay and comfort either.

Kyra doesn't know how many lives she saved and frankly if asked, she would stay say it wasn't enough. She's been fighting and healing the people Greenest since the attack first began, and even before she's been on hand to cure those suffering from plague, natural disasters, or even bandit attacks. But this would be the first time ever that so many people were injured and she couldn't help any of them. The guilt weighed heavily on her mind but she had to ignore it. Guilt and doubt had no place when there was work to be done. As she was about to start on another patient, Brannor came and told her she's being hailed. Kyra was confused at first with who he was referring to as "Priestess" until she remembered that the others were only member of the clergy of Chauntea, and only Kyra was their official cleric. Granted, there was her teacher but... She hasn't seen him since the attack began. Knowing him however Kyra could say that he saved as many people as he could.

"Kyra Sherpard. You can just call me Kyra."

She hoped that this was important, because there were still many here who needed healing. The acolytes had some knowledge in medicine but none of them had the same skill as she did. She handed her healing kit to another and gave them as many directions as she could before she picked up her bow and sword, following the swordsman to the top of the tower. There was another spellcaster, the old man with the turtle shell shield, who was also coming along. Kyra doesn't recognize him but she was aware that his powers felt... Similar to hers. Divine, but the source was different. It didn't really matter but Kyra was somewhat wary. It didn't help that the old man spoke in riddles sometimes. When Greenest was under attack she didn't expect to see so many new, friendly faces.

Once she arrived Kyra noted that not only were the strangers from before here, but was so was the mayor. Kyra didn't concern herself with the politics of the village so she doesn't interact with the mayor, but current moods has made Kyra question his motives and intentions. Why hasn't he already out someone to find help? Why hole up in the fortress? And what exactly did he want now? Though Kyra remained stoic, she could feel her emotions brewing within.

On the roof of the tower, the wounded governor and his bodyguards waited. While people were still on their way, Nighthill kept his eyes on his town, taking in all the tactical information he could. Once all of the summoned had been gathered, the guard on governor's right side tapped the man's shoulder, prompting him to turn around. The governor did just so and took a few steps towards the group of adventurers. No matter his injuries, he still stood up straight and as he spoke, his voice did not even hint towards any pain.

"With the dragon gone, I expected the raiders to leave. But they are still going strong, which can only mean their commander was not the giant in the skies. And I believe I've seen the one they truly follow." Once that was said, Nighthill used his good hand to suggest the adventurers to follow as he approached the edge of the tower. "Can you see that person? That one with the purple robe and a dozen men guarding them? I think that's the real mastermind of the operation. I'd give anything to know what we're up against, and why. But for that, we need prisoners. Aiming for such a well guarded target would not be wise though. A commander, even a low ranking one would be for the best though."

The governor then walked back from the edge and and continued: "But while that is a nice tactical bonus if you can manage it, it is not exactly why I called you here. All guard officials have confirmed a fear of mine: There is no trace of Falconmoon anywhere to be seen. He is a priest of the temple of Chauntea here in Greenest, and I am afraid he has had to barricade himself and some of the people into the temple. And their walls are not as sturdy as ours." He kept a short pause and glanced at Kyra, who he knew knew the temple well.

While he let the adventurers think about his words for a moment, he soon continued: "We have found a safe way outside. Well, as safe as they come anyway. An old tunnel beneath the keep has been thoroughly secured for passage into the streambed. You should ask Escobert for details." With that, Governor Nighthill seemed to be done with his monologue, as he and his guard moved to the other side of the tower's roof and the man laid his sight onto the dragon-devastated battlements. Even up here, the smell of burnt flesh and a familiar tingly feeling like one that preceded a thunderstorm could be felt. Hopefully that terrible beast would not be returning.

@Norschtalen@Gordian Nought@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher

“I must fetch my staff. Won’t be long. Take the bird with you, lad.”

In stride as he was, the large man did not pause as he heard from behind him the flutter of ebon wings and soon the gentle resting of clawed feet perched upon his shoulder. Quietly, guided by its master, did the raven position itself as they together went up the steps, accompanied by the woman.

Repeating her name to him did the man nod visibly in reply, saying nothing more. It was not that he paid her little mind, but that his thoughts were elsewhere. Governor Nighthill's presence was always an omen that worse was to come still, but by divine favor, through no apparent fault of his own. It was bad enough the town had no defense to speak of, but what could a man of the wilderness expect? These were civil, tamed people. They needed to be taught resolve and ferocity again, to rediscover it.

Coming to idle atop the overlook, avian watcher accompanying him, Brannor listened intently as the official spoke, tracing his movements with a careful, watchful stare. Not that he distrusted the governor, at this point it was without doubt his motives were to protect his people and his town, but he trusted nothing of this battle for Greenest. Approaching the edge of the tower confirmed this more as the huntsman noted the quarry that was spoken of; some man of purple.

At this stage of the conflict and its escalation from but kobolds and their cohorts to an actual dragon, it was almost assured they had no credible means to kill the invaders' apparent leader. As despicable a fact that was, the man accepted this within his heart... but all the same did his great arms fold across the breast of his armor and his face scowl, mind attempting to forever etch the enemy into memory.

But above all else what changed their situation the most was that the temple, one the young woman Kyra belonged to, was lost. Brannor, as the cool, static charged air ran against the whiskers of his face, did turn to listen to the man more carefully now.

They might not have been able to stage an assault on the enemy, but a potential rescue from them would make for a reasonable substitute. If the "heroes" of Greenest could not strike back against the darkness, the very least they could do would be to deny it. Again and again, wherever it drew up its twisted visage. It was a task that had some promise.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the enemy would not have beaten them to the temple and its people. And if they did? The sole answer was obvious - to cut down any of the dragon's servants in fierce retribution. Getting there would prove difficult however, crossing a town filled with marauders...

For now though, he bide his tongue and only paid mind to the rest of his company at hand, offering Torus' familiar the slight stroke of a finger to the avian's dark, sleek, feathered head.

The elder buccaneer impetuously scaled the citadel’s flight of steps, with Masonic unease; his white, divine baton clattering upon the winding staircase, accompanying the sacred echoes of Nighthill encroaching through the auditory portals to his familiar’s cerebral sanctuary, where pseudonyms and pretense languish. Where an Immurk can be a Palaghard. Or a Kierkegaard likewise a Climacus. These reflections sublimated into the arthritic crunch of feeble knees and ankles that touted an invincible anaphora of ache, a nuisance to the tolls of his laconic ascent, crowded with the chimes of chondrocalcinosis and pseudogout from the fragmented range of motion delivered by his frail joints.

Exhausted and blind, the once sailor of the Sword Coast, now atop the keep, witnessed the maimed leader’s parting words erstwhile he paraded with his guard to scowl at the desolation of the departed flying terror.

"… Way outside. Well, as safe as they come anyway. An old tunnel beneath the keep has been thoroughly secured for passage into the streambed. You should ask Escobert for details."

No longer requiring avian ears, he regained his senses, in rhythm to enjoy the fierce Brannor’s gentle caress, cossetting the crown of his flock. The peril of Torus’ overdue mortality vented a Stygian stench, where his soul’s freedom from Xaron merited more worth than pursuing a continued existence in his measly flesh. The menace, nefariously embedded within the mind seed, pirated his youth and abolished his family, all whilst using his own caked hands. The liberty of a suicidal mission rang true to him, with his hopeful deathbed labeled as the shrine of Chauntea, fitting for the harvest of the scourge that has plagued his sanity and whispers.

The druid cracked his wiry neck and spindled his tongue ring, yet again, “We must repose not only in the cunning gesture of the Governor, but, like Kyra, advance with salvific passion towards the temple. All are required to seize this fleeting vision, for in them the gate of eternity is shrouded. Or lose forever the people behind its closed doors!”

At the final congregation of Torus’ lips, the charcoal fowl fluttered its wings, provided the nearby golden eyes a nod of love, and soared into the vantablack skies, to provide reconnaissance and conference of the devastated Greenest.

“What say you? Those with me, let us seek the dwarf within this stony giant.” With that, the descent of the rocky spiral into the inner chambers came with ease to the senior. He was not longing to reembrace the former Hades that kept the towns’ dead and infirm, but to seek one of great stature though his height had betrayed him, as he possessed an inkling he retired in that dreadful salle.

Glancing into the crude mortuary, next to Mr. Lake and Edward, assembled the shortest of the trio, covered in the dust of centuries, excruciatingly surveying his fallen brethren, many ornamented with copper pieces adjacent to either side of their noses. Closer inspection revealed rugged features with low cheekbones, though the distinct markings of his dwarven tribe and caste had long since faded into the now gaunt and rosy skin; two spikes of fur sat slightly above the two eyes, forming an orange macabre triangle. Staring deep into his gaze, the druid met and deciphered two pinpoint blue fiery wreathes; where an inferno had once roared at recuperating at the sally port now held only dying embers, entombed in a seemingly able body full with despair.

All due to a dragon.

There, stood Escobert, now a broken shell that hung, more out of habit to provide others with purpose, than out of desire or will to thrive. It was obvious that neither he, Mr. Lake, nor Edward could accompany the motley crew along the trek through the tunnel, due to losses already suffered.

The pirate paused slightly but then broke the pregnant silence, “Death is a seer who holds respect but no esteem. Once acquainted, you become a sojourner to this world but a child of the next.”

All things considered, this was a slight step up. There was no way Parum was going to take on a dragon, but defeating one man? Slightly more believable. Granted anyone who could somehow curry the alliance of an adult dragon was not one to be trifled with. But killing one man was a simpler task than killing a dragon. That being said, they knew very little beyond that this man may be leading the group here. He was well guarded, and it was highly likely that the rank-and-file minions would know nothing of importance about him. They'd have to go after someone higher in the chain of command as the Mayor suggested, perhaps a strike leader of some sort.

But this wasn't what the mayor wanted to talk about. Apparently a priest had to barricade himself inside his temple during the attack with other refugees. Parum was about to ask what the relevance was until the mayor paused and looked at Kyra. "Of course." Parum wasn't exactly excited about running through these ruined buildings, but at the same time she knew that there wasn't any other option. They would be very fortunate if the these raiders would give them the courtesy of rest, but Parum was intelligent to know that may not be an option. At any moment they may strike again, so they must strike out first.

But Parum was out of spells. She had used what little magic she was capable of on the forces that attacked the sallyport and on the dragon itself. All she had left was cantrips. While some like Brannor or Orchid could make due simply slashing their way through the opposition, Parum had only her spells, her rapier, and perhaps one more instance of inspiration left within her. She'd have to use it carefully. But all the more reason they needed to do something now. If Parum was certain they could last the night she would have demanded that everyone rest, but she simply couldn't be certain. So stepping forward Parum spoke towards the group. "We should leave soon then. With any luck maybe we could recover our energy at the temple... Or at least find supplies while we're out."

Parum honestly doubted that the chapel had held out for this long, but if Kyra was suppose to be a low level initiate, then perhaps this Falconmoon is a higher level cleric. If nothing else, surely the temple would have something the group could use to help them fight off the bandits. Parum hated to think so callously as to raid a temple, but this was no time for idealistic heroics. Yes they needed to act now, but no sense in hoping for the least expected. So walking with the others to Escobert, Parum spoke their intentions. "They mayor says you know a secure way out of the fortress. We'll need to know more about it so we can go and check on the temple of Chauntea for survivors."

It was about time they received some good news. All this time the only thing they were told to do was keep watch and survive these onslaughts. Now they have a target and an objective that doesn't involve sitting on their thumbs and praying to the gods. When they mayor glanced at Kyra he could see it in her eyes: she had the fury like a storm. A rage that could match the barbarians. Kyra's righteous anger would want her to smite these interlopers with arrows and blades, more so knowing that they attacked not just her village, but her chapel as well. Falconmoon was a good man and no doubt he would do everything in his power to protect everyone he could. But he was old, which was why he taught Kyra everything he knew so that she could replace him. In fact had this attack happened later in the week, it would have been Kyra who was the head priest defending the chapel instead of him. But now was not the time for such thoughts. Now was a time for action.

Everyone was on board with saving Falconmoon and checking on the chapel, even the halfling. Kyra still had a lot of mixed opinion about that girl. She could understand her fear, but Kyra was frustrated at the thought of someone so cowardly complaining about the dangers they're facing. If she wanted to do something to help Kyra wasn't going to say anything, but she really hopes that Parum wasn't going to keep screaming about all the enemies they'll be facing. Kyra has no illusion that they'd make it to the chapel without being spotted. She has even less hope that the chapel would be in one piece. Calling the place a temple would be giving it more credit that it does: while it's more fortified than other houses, as the mayor said the walls were weak and it was no grand building. It was a humble abode for worship and occasionally gathering, but Kyra remembered just last month that she had to go replace old roofing on that building. She never did finish the job.

Soon after everyone met with Escobert. Kyra hasn't really been able to talk to him much due to all the things they both had to do in the fortress: she was busy scouting when the sally port was attacked, which was the only reason why she wasn't present for that battle. "It's as she says. If this passage is secure, than hopefully we can reach the church and find survivors. We'll likely use the same tunnel to bring them back here to safety, so if you can spare a guard or two to watch this entrance that would be ideal. If we can't use this tunnel, then we'll need to find somewhere else for the survivors to stay. Or even better, some way to break this siege. I don't suppose you have a magic weapon or arrow we could use?"

As the group of outsiders (and one familiar face) approached, Escobert couldn't help but scoff under his beard. His last run in with the lot had not been to his liking and he still didn't understand what Nighthill saw in the people, but behind all hese thoughts he was still glad someone was willing to undertake this mission. "We'll finish tis later", he instructed sergeant Longwater, who did a quick salute and walked off to the right before the people had time to address him. Mr. Lake shook his sleeves and crossed his arms onto his chest. For him, it was no coincidence that he was here.

Out of Escobert and Mr. Lake, the latter was the first to speak: "Life in the next world, you say? As far as I know, the next world is no further than an astral travel away. My grandfather told stories of his days in those lands. But let that be a story for later, if we ever find the moment for it. I trust you sought us for a reason?" Of course, Mr. Lake knew well what these people were here for. He knew the same that Escobert did... and that was why he had stuck around. There was no way he'd leave this mission to a handful of spent adventurers without lifting a finger.

Escobert raised his hand, causing an immediate reaction in Mr. Lake. The man backed off, leaning against a nearby wall and letting the dwarf handle the talking. Soon enough, the adventurers shared the news the two were expecting: They had both been asked to undertake and accepted the mission to evacuate the temple before things went further south. The dwarf listened to the two women talk, occasionally nodding to show that he was both listening and agreeing. Finally, it was his turn to speak: "Aye, we 'ave a secure tunnel. As unfortunate as it is, we 'ad neglected tha upkeep an' 'ad ta drive off a whole nest o' rats. Not ta mention fixin' the iron door at tha end of tha tunnel, but those are taken care of. As for magic weapons, if I 'ad any, I'd give 'em out. Don't 'ave any though. Mr. Lake 'as said he wants ta come with ya though, so take that as you will. Now follow me, let's get tha job started." With the words confirming his participation, Lake pushed himself off the wall and walked with the rest of the people.

Their way led them to the lowest floor of the keep, where the smell of blood and death slowly faded away as nobody had any business dying here in the lower floors. A slight whiff of damp air and the smell of accompanying growth took it's place, but the smell of burning torches still kept it well hidden under themselves. "Just so you people are aware, I have the power to cast two spells left... one more potent than the other. Let's try and conserve them, yes?" Mr. Lake shared once they were nearly to final door before the tunnel itself. "I'll have to warn you though, as an enchanter I'm not the most powerful wizard in the offensive category", he added soon after. The man ruffled his messy goatee with his right hand, clearly nervous about the upcoming journey outside the walls of safety. He could at least find solace in the fact his Hypnotic Gaze was still armed for use.

As soon as things started getting really messy in the floors below ground, they could make out a shape in the dark, squatting on the floor next to a lantern. As soon as the shape saw them, it hopped onto two feet and threw their right hand onto the grip of a weapon. "Easy thar pal, Escobert comin' through", the castellan responded, prompting the person to stand up straight and relax their sword arm. From the shadows, two more of them rose, all masked and dressed in dark leathers, scimitars on their belts. One of them said something to another, but it was in some weird language most did not understand. The one that had been in the light pulled a key out of his chest armour and used it to open the door. He then raised his hand and knocked on the door twice, then slammed his fist on it as hard as he could. "The lad's tellin' ya how ta get back in. The door at the end of the tunnel 'ad it's lock busted so all it does is deter assault. We 'ave a few men set up there as well, but ye should hurry." Escobert accompanied these words with a hand gesture waving towards the door. The smell from the outside was not exactly inviting, but that was the way they'd have to move.



@Norschtalen@Ryonara@Gordian Nought@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Lucius Cypher

Descending into the bowels of the keep as a collective horde, the group maneuvered as best they could in following of the dwarf while he and the man they had seen before, the one at the port who helped in repair of the door, discussed plainly a number of topics. The minds of many were scattered, far and wide, but the hunter was not about to turn down another's aid, not at an hour like this. He was not fond of the dwarf, or this mage sort, but just as they viewed another able body the means to an end, so did he with them in turn. In fact, there was no reason not to do so as he followed along as the rear guard, shifting his shoulders to the side now and then to slip past in following. There was reason he always concerned himself with the company of common folk, a number actually, but perhaps all they had done this night would help ease those tensions... but Brannor was not about to humor himself with that notion.

The mustiness of the air and its underlying damp tones drew his attention some, as it became evident they were coming closer to water. Old, stagnant water at that, something it would regularly be wise to avoid, but the dwarf elaborated on this further, seeming to confirm what it was he believed by observation; the tunnel was some sort of draw into the fortress. Lit now only by smoldering torches and echoing with the faint trickle and drop of water, it did make a subtle approach. Subtle enough to hide swordsmen in its shadows, of whom spoke a language the outlander hadn't heard before.

Whatever it was, it was unpleasant to listen to and only raised his hackles more, other than their approach from hiding. From far back as he was, this was not so much an issue, especially not in these close quarters, but it was not a welcome surprise all the same.

"The lad's tellin' ya how ta get back in. The door at the end of the tunnel 'ad it's lock busted so all it does is deter assault. We 'ave a few men set up there as well, but ye should hurry."

Escobert motioned toward the door from which an underlying foul scent crept through into the tunnel. In tale the journey had a swathe of rats and a broken gate, but apparently those had been remedied, perhaps by Mr. Lake and the company they had at the moment, of who seemed to be sizing up the entourage. Brannor returned the gesture some, but only enough to not elicit any further suspicion on both their halves, drawing his hood more over his face to conceal the dim glow of his amber eyes.

"We will be as swift as we can whilst being subtle." The man responded, looking over his company from the furthest point back in the precession.

This was to be no easy task, not for any of them, but the elder with his silent winged fowl was their best chance. That and the priestess, who knew the grounds they were to approach intimately. Orchid, Parum, and himself? That was more difficult to contend with in concept, outsiders as they were even on this long night. The mage would need hold his own, at least best he could, but the man seemed reasonable enough that he was not about to charge blindly into battle and begin casting spells with wild abandon; he called himself an enchanter, so some level of guile and subtlety was involved, much more than that of an evoker's.

Magic was a complicated thing, to which the huntsman was pleased to know his was internalized... second nature.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Glad tidings from the castellan had finally arrived upon keen ears.

“Mr. Lake 'as said he wants ta come with ya though, so take that as you will. Now follow me, let's get tha job started.”

Mr. Lake had offered his hypnotizing services, in preparation for the daunting pilgrimage to one of the many houses dedicated to the Great Mother, where Falconmoon sheltered a portion of Greenest, confined within the temple against the darkness abroad. This sister of Sylvanus was formed alongside Toril, upon the forge of the ancient clashes between Selûne and Shar. She safeguarded the summer with the gardens that thrived beneath its hot sun, whether it be full of chaff or wheat.

Sinner or saint.

All deserved those rays of hope bestowed by Chauntea, including those incarcerated, against their will, within her sanctuary. Wanton destruction was antithetical to the cycle of life, preached by her followers. The sunrise was the demarcation where a cleric should make entreaties to discern the will of Jannath. Unfortunately, dawn would likely be too belated for those dwelling inside her shrine’s walls, bearing futile fruit for the arriving coalition emboldened to rescue them.

"We will be as swift as we can whilst being subtle." The divine aspirant bellowed at the entrance of the citadel’s burrow.

Despite the inebriating stench, the tunnel was less of a sewer, lacking the pumps in vogue of Joster Barbellow, a gnome king of marshwort and spadegrass. Water, in a streambed, splayed along and through the narrow passageway, beckoning fungus and gulguthra alike. The abandoned channel promised a latched gate at its goal, with a lock but no key. The faint chattering echoed slightly from the corroded shaft, suggesting the underpass was inherited by other tenants in its obvious negligence and lack of upkeep.

The pirate boomed, with palate arched, “Shillelagh,” whilst securing the shield on his decrepit forearm.

His dragon fang glimmered, but provided no actual radiance, its evanescence barely pervading the shadows within the stony strait before them. Lacking darkvision proved troublesome to Torus, especially with his failing eyes. His insipid palm retrieved a torch within his pack gingerly, as if calculating the occupancy of his hands, to thrust the makeshift lantern upon his dominant right or sinister, but feeble left. After some ambidextrous juggling, the flint and lamp congealed in one fell swoop along the wall, sparking and imbuing luminosity upon the fateful faction.

“Let us march on, and fear not the thorns in our path. Nor the stones, who shall chant along as we seek the goddess. Roses will soon blossom in the heart of this threshing as the raven shall guide us unto salvation.”

As he stepped inside, leading the way with his staff and flame, the brook effortlessly parted, as if a Nile had been commanded by a freed slave.

"Well, at least we'll have some help. That's better then nothing." Parum said dourly as Escobert explained the situation to them. Parum made sure to remember the signal they'd need to get back in if they didn't want to get pumped full of arrows and followed the others through the tunnel. Sure enough the place smelled damp and disgusting. Parum was no stranger to waste and rats but she certainly wouldn't tolerate it. She covered her nose as they moved through the tunnel, and she was careful not to step in anything wet and squishy. She still questioned why she was doing all of this in the first place, even if she had begrudgingly accepted that any other alternative was just going to be a slow death. Doubt still stewed in Parum's mind, and she wondered if she could possibly escape this madness while they were outside the village. Surely these kobolds and raiders were too busy looting the city to go after any runners. And Parum was skilled enough at hiding; she could easily use her Minor Illusions to disguise herself as a nondescript barrel or bush. If she could sneak through this town, then surely she could sneak out of it.

Once outside Parum took out her rapier and viol, readying her spell. They were near a dry riverbed and just up the hill was the rest of the village. She could hear roaring fire in the distance, but aside from that there wasn't much voices. Looking over to Kyra, Parum motioned her forward. "This is your turf. Lead us to the temple." While Parum could make an educated guess about the village's layout, it would be best to let the native guide them. The halfling just hoped Kyra wouldn't try to do anything stupid, like attack a group of kobolds just because they're carrying off treasure.

Orchid didn't really pay too close attention to everything going on around him. While he kept up a strong facade, he was tired, hungry, and somewhat bored. Yes, the green man who had just attempted hand-to-hand combat with the dragon was bored. But perhaps it was the adrenaline from after the fact that made him feel less than excited for what was to come. Normally stealthy operations like what was about to occur would not be new to him, and he would be eager to hunt. However like others, Orchid lacked certain resources to make the best out of the situation. He was certain that he couldn't call upon his animal fury anymore today as his body was simply too tired to work up such energy. And he only had one javelin left, and using it would remove his only reliable range option. And though it may seem odd for the half-orc, what Orchid was missing most was information. Simply too much about the village he doesn't know for him to trust going in right now. He was not a smart man, and for that reason Orchid tends to make sure he asks a lot of questions so he can know, instead of figure stuff out himself. He's not good at figuring stuff out himself, if it doesn't involve fighting something.

However as the group descended further into the bowels of the depths, these worries lessen. While Orchid wasn't the smartest of orcs, he could at least focus. The first order of business was to find that temple and see if anyone was alive. Simple enough. They passed through some of the defenders of Greenest who spoke in a garbled language that was only slightly familiar, but still incomprehensible to Orchid. Didn't really matter, he just followed the others out. Though he did take note of the new member of the party, some sort of spellcaster. Orchid didn't really have problems with that. This group has accepted a lot of new faces and helping hands as of late, so the more the merrier. Once outside Orchid was serious and started to crouch low to the ground, entering his pseudo sneak mode. Keeping low allowed him to have a small profile, but also made it slightly hard to walk. However it also put him in the perfect position to sprint out, either to cover or towards an enemy. However this was unfamiliar territory for him. While Orchid kept watch, he waited for Kyra to lead them. She knew these twists and turns better than he did.

"That's unfortunate, but I guess it can't be helped. We'll just have to make due with what we have." Kyra said when Escobert mentioned not having any magic weapons to help them. It was really just wishful thinking. Taking out her bow Kyra followed everyone through the tunnels and listened to what Escobert had to say. She also took note of this Mr. Lake, who Kyra wasn't familiar with. While there were still plenty of people in the village that Kyra didn't know, she doesn't remember if she's ever met Mr. Lake before. Perhaps they just never crossed paths. Given that he was a wizard, perhaps he had a cottage or something far from the village. While magic wasn't new or unusual to the village of Greenest, it wasn't exactly well known for it's mages or even alchemy. Not unless a mage wanted to alchemeically concoct mead or ale.

The tunnel itself was disgusting. Sure, Escobert and his men cleaned it up the best they could, but Kyra had smelled pig sty fresher than this. But she couldn't complain considering the circumstances. The sooner they left the better, and hopefully the smell wouldn't linger on their bodies. As they moved through the tunnel they met up with some of Escobert allies. However these were more people Kyra didn't recognize. They were figures wearing dark leather and masks, none of which seemed familiar with her. They had curved swords, which was a bit unusual since most of the militia preferred straight swords. Where these more adventurers that had come here earlier? And they spoke a language that Kyra couldn't place. Granted while common was the only language she's fluent in, she has heard words in elvish, dwarf, gnome, and even orc before. Nothing these people said sounded anything like that. It made her rather nervous.

Soon after Escobert led them to the door. The dark figures showed them how to come back in while Escobert mentioned that the lock was busted. Kyra had to keep a note of that in case they bring back any villagers. They may panic and try to get through the door without knocking, and get themselves cut down. That would be horrible. Everyone else moved up and got ready to sneak through the village but they were all waiting for Kyra. Even in this chaos she knew how to navigate the village since she was a youth. Before joining the chapel Kyra was a bit of a trouble maker, and knew how to run through the streets to avoid trouble. Once more she'll need to put those skills to use.

"Brannor, stay near me with your bow. If we run into lone enemies we will take them out one at a time. Parum, Torus, Mr. Lake, stay in the middle. If we encounter foes stay spread but don't go far. Orchid will be our rear. I do not want our enemies sneaking up on us."

Once everyone was in position Kyra took a deep breath, made a silent prayer to Chauntea, and started to make her way towards the chapel of Chauntea.

The hunter was not fond of the open and moving through it, the none too distant treeline was his goal after all. They needed to move the precession along beside the thicket where then their silhouettes in the darkness, from an insider looking out, would melt away into the indistinct shadows, effectively vanishing. Even if the enemy had noticed this approach, they'd either have to come looking or wait out the inevitable advance. Perhaps the faint haze of smoke and what surely was distracting embers within the city could only hopefully add to the effect, but there was no way of knowing. Brannor was not displeased with what approach they did have at least, only a short venture through what seemed like the river's depression, then back into the welcoming wood.

More south he watched than anything else, looking into the dark where small dwellings laid none too far beyond. The most likely avenue the raiders would approach from at this moment, enough to keep an arrow knocked upon the string and his bow at rest in his arms. If they were to be so attacked, his first instinct was to step into the wood and fight from tree to tree until the gap was closed. If they were to do the attacking, he prayed they could surprise their enemy. The bow wasn't his preferred weapon, more a tool to him that a thing to live and die by, but just as it did well to hunt unaware prey it did well to fell unaware foes.

Drinking the night air in a breath, here he could smell again and listen in to the most subtle of details; no more dust, decay or debris to foul the air. Only smoke tainted an otherwise calm night's atmosphere, just as ominous as it should be...


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

The rest followed Brannor's lead along the stream, approaching the temple in steady pace. Mr. Lake evidently was not the best at keeping quiet, given how he seemed to occasionally cause small things drop into the water, begetting a splashing sound. It didn't seem like he was doing it on purpose, but it did cause one close call with a nondescript group of raiders sighted on the southern side of the water. They almost caught the adventurers in their sights, but luckily even Torus managed to duck into the trees in time. There were just four of them, but they were all people, three of which appeared to have a bit heavier arms than those seen before.

Eventually the temple came into their non-familiar aided sight, under assault as they had been told. Multiple enemies surrounded the building, clearly too many for the group to handle in straight up combat. However, a moment of further inspection revealed something about how these people had set themselves here. On the front door, a mid sized group of two raiders, six kobolds and one really impressive looking man, like one plucked them out straight from a disciplined and well trained army unit, compared to those they were overseeing. The two less impressive men were handling a battering ram and smashing it against the front doors periodically. They wouldn't last infinitely.

There were still two other groups to address though... possibly the biggest threat in the area was the mob that was making rounds around the temple. Three raiders, ten kobolds and two of those drake things they had fought back at the sally port. These were scattered in a mob of no particular order, especially with the kobolds darting around all the time. The last group was apparently attempting to light a fire at the back of the temple, on the back door as Kyra could well tell. The smoke from the fire obscured them somewhat, but it was only a handful of people... two humans and some kobolds, probably no more than six. "So, what's the approach?" Mr. Lake whispered to Brannor, assuming the big man was in the lead.

The man observed first, taking time to settle into his decision to come, long before even issuing a response to their mage company. Not that the other man was not deserving an answer, but because the hunter had no real insight as to the best way to take the temple. By force was not a means to an end here, something which he grew tired of. This slinking and hiding to scratch meager victories or turn aside the enemy's offense... despicable. But there did seem to be some sort of vulnerability, that the fewest foes positioned themselves by the fire they struggled to light; less it appeared there than anywhere else and their attention seemed to be elsewhere. If there was going to be a place to attack, that would be it.

It was the closest, easiest approach and confronted the fewest foes. But was it the right one? The obvious answer was not always the correct one, this much even an uneducated man like Brannor knew through experience. It was then he looked back to their newest addition, that of Lake. The golden eyes, even under the hood that helped obscure his face, were not hidden in their expression as they narrowed in thought. Rather more, withheld reply, but soon the wordless message would be clear.

The priestess was the one to know this place better, if they were going to rush in as saviors of its people.

"The weakest of their lot gather near the fire. Those are the ones we could overwhelm... the others perhaps too numerous. Is that our best means to enter the temple, or is there another?"

Sincerely did Brannor doubt there to be some hidden shelter beneath the place of worship or an escape tunnel, but it was worthy to ask the one person who knew this place what they were to do. Otherwise, their options seemed ever so slim. Unless the elder's raven knew more and the old robed man had not yet voiced his observations, there did not appear to be any other route to success. There were some... finer points that Brannor could address, but now was not the time to play with what little advantage there was left. If the doors keeping the enemy at bay did fall, as they would here soon, the entire endeavor would be a bloodbath for all involved; not because Brannor thought these monsters to be cold killers, thus far seeming to take those alive if possible, but because there'd be no other option but to fight and kill everything or die trying.

"Either way, we need move soon before someone discovers us." The hunter spoke quietly in his deep, rough tone, keeping low throughout their brief exchange.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Orchid followed the others out quietly, uncharastically silent. But such was the way of the hunter: shouting and roaring was an intimidation tactic, and if he wanted to stalk prey and kill them he needed to be subtle, not fearsome. Fortunately the party had no trouble making it to the temple itself. But when they arrived they’d soon see that it was under heavy attack: a group attempting to break down the front door, a large patrol, and a small gang of kobolds trying to burn the backdoor down. Orchid’s instinct was to go after the smaller group; they could be easier to take out, not to mention easier to get inside the temple if Kyra could convince the people inside to let them in.

Brannor seemed to agree, mentioning that they should take out the raiders at the rear. Orchid spoke his thoughts on the matter. ”Orchid agree. Take out small group, Kyra tell temple people let us in. Then we fight in temple. Safer.” While this temple wasn’t nearly as defensible as a fortress, if they could get inside the temple itself they could at least tunnel their enemies at the entrance instead of an open area. This group lacked the sheer numbers to compete with them openly, as well as the resources and strength. With no magic and no fury left, they had to be more tactical.

Regardless what the other’s decisions were, Orchid put his shield away and took out a javelin instead. Orchid estimated that he was close enough that he could begin combat by throwing one of his last harpoon from his hidden location, and then rush towards the rest of the kobolds and ensure they cannot return with a ranged counter-attack. It was a high risk maneuver to be sure, but the only one he could think of. ”Hit hard, hit fast.”

Once at the temple, Parum’s body grew cold. Seeing so many enemies here just reminded Parum why she was so scared and why she wanted to leave this village as soon as possible. There was just no way they could take all of them on themselves! Putting side the fact most of the party was low on resources to fight against one encounter, there was well over twenty here; including two more drakes and one who looked like a professional warrior. These people with her are brave, but courage would not save them.

That being said, Parum did have an ethical debate with herself. All her senses was screaming at her to flee while she can, to run for her life and save herself. She could do so easily, as all the attention seemed to be focused on raiding this temple. But part of her knew she couldn’t. That innocent, heroic part of her mind that still believed in the fantasies of heroes who could fight against the odds and save the day. Parum doesn’t think they could take on this entire group, but perhaps they could distract part of it?

Looking over to Mr. Lake, Parum had an idea. ”Mr. Lake, what spells can you cast at the moment? I have only access to cantrips now, but I could use a Minor Illusion to create a disturbance for the patrolling group to investigate. That would give us some time to deal with the enemies at the rear without the patrol’s interference. And as long as we are relatively quiet, the banging from the battering ram should mask the sound of our attack.” It was a long shot. Parum wasn’t sure what would adequately distract these raiders. Perhaps a cry for help? Beating of war drums? An explosion? Parum wasn’t sure but she was willing to try anything.