The Harbinger of Ferocity

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

I am not so confident with escaping with many prisoners as it were, let alone the army not getting up to pursue us as a whole. We know they have horses, which we should reasonably steal or let free if we can, but there is no plausible way we could free even a small throng of slaves. They could neither keep up or go unnoticed, let alone it greatly raises our chance we will be discovered taking the monk, even if we manage it before any of the dragon-cult notices. While I too think we would do well to free them, sadly now does not seem opportune; too many enemies.

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

Mountain Park Street

... all until a group of men loitering about a car caught sight of him. Three of the five figures, those kneeling beside one of the wheels, stood slowly. The other two, both by the trunk of the sedan, lookouts as they were, began speaking among one another. The interloper and stranger kept on his walk down the cracked sidewalk despite the glares and bolstering they did; a series of subtle metallic ringings striking out by the tire, the thieves picking up of their tools.

Song paused then in his stride and came to a halt, as of yet to look up at the quintet of young men. Some of them wore bandannas about the face, another a partial mask, and the last nothing more than the brim of his crisp hat, that which still bore a glinting sticker on its bill. The standoff was drawn-out, laden with a sense of understanding that they had been caught in the act. They spoke a bit among one another and fanned out on each side of the car, some brandishing tire irons, slim jims, another a ratchet. The tallest among them, the one with hat, lingered back a bit, seeming to size up something about all of this was off; his four cohorts however, did not.

"Not sure why you stopped, probably about to regret it."

"Wrong side of the street, man. You could'a left."

Those words, among others began, to fill the late night air though the black clad man interfering chose to do only one thing. He reached for the zipper of his coat and shed the black hoodie, casting it to the corner of a building, still keeping the white cowl over his head. The four aggressors paused - it was a strange gesture, perhaps just as strange as some random Asian man far out of his own neighbor hood showing up to pick a fight while wearing a fairly ornate jacket under another one. Song finally looked to them as they stood there, a bit delayed.

"First." The Golden Tiger commanded, to which they looked at one another in even more baffled gawking.

The "first" were two on the left, followed by the far right, and by the time the first swing of the metal pry bar came, the interloper had dropped into a low, wide set stance. He pivoted in on the leading foot, completely avoiding the blunt weapon's impact, and snapped the base of the leading fist into the attacker's throat, sending him heaving into a heap, gasping for air. The second attacker, seeing the back of their now intended victim, swung wide and wild the tire iron, two of its four rusted prongs rushing past the Golden Tiger who, with preternatural agility and insight, leaned back to the point he was almost a perfectly parallel with the ground before snapping back up.

Off balance from the weight and awkwardness of his own weapon, the second man stumbled and prepared another attack while the third man brought down an overhead blow with the slim jim, wielding it like a makeshift yet blunted sword. Song merely stepped into the attack, sending the man's forearms crashing into his shoulder. Instead of a scored hit against the Golden Tiger with a weapon, the martial artist delivered a flurry of some seven short, tight punches chambered from the waist to the other's abdomen, sending him staggering back. Not content to disorient the attacker, the Golden Tiger leapt and spun, the first of the bolley kick catching the man in the face, the second striking into his side before the recipient of the attack even hit the pavement; another attacker fell, truly unconscious.

The second man, wheeling around once more, swung with an uppercut, leading with the tire iron, only to have the target step back out of the way as his own weight and momentum carried him through and past. The last of the four attackers followed, charging in at what he saw for an opportunity, drawing back to punch mid-charge and only finding himself coming to roaring halt as the monk dropped low; a single, enormous strike of the tiger's paw to his sternum took all the wind from him - the blow amplified by literally running headlong into it. Song, his most recent attacker collapsed on the ground, pivoted again to catch the falling bite of the tire iron and chose to defend against the last standing attacker's blow at the wrist. The sudden jarring through the man's arm and up hiss shoulder, caught at a nerve through the counterattack, only made him howl in pain and twist his body in toward Song.

At this point the dubiously christened hero only twisted the man's arm and rolled under it, stepping in and behind him, pinning it to his back until it gave. Weapon dropped, clattering to the ground, the pair stood there for no longer than a thought; the man went to beg to spare his arm, but by then it was much too late. Twisting back around, once more in front of his attacker, the Golden Tiger swung the man forward until the arm gave and his opponent rolled over his back - Song leaning forward - ensuring the tire iron's bearer slammed into the concrete. Releasing the now limp, broken arm of the final felled figure, it dropped beside the groaning man, loomed over by the still standing white, gold, and black marauder.

The fifth man took a step back, lifting his hands in submission.

"'Ey man, like, you beat my boys to sh-"

Having wisely stayed out of the conflict, the Golden Tiger gave a single nod.

"Your money."

"My what?"

"Your money. Give it to me." Song said as he did not so much as flinch or twist, allowing the eerie stillness of his posture speak for him alongside the miserable sounds of four very broken thugs.

The man started to reach for his wallet, hesitating, but committed when he soon realized things were not going well. The Golden Tiger had more demands, his eyes beneath the white cowl sizing up the jacketed figure as he handed over his cash. There was no sense of danger or urgency, the other four were not going anywhere any time soon, but the last man had something else, something the martial artist was going to relieve him of other than his cash.

"The gun." His voice added, icy cold as he slowly closed his fist about the contents of the wallet.

Needless to say, the man complied as well, slowly lifting up his shirt and carefully withdrawing the smooth black metallic finish of a handgun. Looking away, ashamed he either hadn't the courage to have pulled it or that he was being robbed by a man with no weapons, he placed it in the other free hand Song had put forth while the original had gone to pocket the cash. The Beretta's metal grip fell into the Golden Tiger's palm and he ferreted it away into the sash under his jacket, that which rode tight against his abdomen.

"Leave. Take them."

Aghast, the hatted crook of the pair shuffled past, hands still up by his shoulders. All that the fighter did then was collect his jacket, layer it over himself, and disappear into the night before the storm.

D&D 5e -- The Lost Children

The woman was reasonably frustrated by this point, the hairy man utterly ignored that the man verbally attempted to kill him with as much rage as he could summon, casting high his blade and charging, before a sudden onset and swarm of fireflies disoriented him, sending him staggering around; it was almost as if the dwarf, or halfling, littlefolk, or whatever he was, had a blind death wish, one that she had well enough of. She whistled for Jamil of Azalorn, seeing that the roped, bound man was dashing off toward the rest of their group, to include where the huntress was - the same that aided her in binding him in the first place - making him much less a concern. Strangely there was a lot of flailing and yelling over there, but the druid was not about to let the other enemies have their free shots at their turned backs - suicidal little men or not!

Pointing out a finger to guide her pantherine ally to which target, she leveled it at the free bandit, yelling back at the same bug swarmed man, "Your choice, your loss!"

This time she delayed none in closing the gap, darting between the trees and shadows, the low lying plant life swaying slightly from her movement before she came to a sudden halt behind the trunk of yet another tree. Between the globe of upset insects harassing the man and probably the soon to be cry of an attacking jaguar, she could only hope her body's attunement to nature concealed her. She hadn't any real desire, without aid that is, to confront the sword bearing man. Then again, the great cats never fought all that fairly - why should she?
These men tried to kill all of the travelers and steal a girl!

She swallowed and prepared her next attack in silent, her knuckles tightening slightly.

Effects

Shaedra Galandoel continues her concentration on Entangle, but casts her Infestation cantrip again on the bandit. He needs make a Constitution saving throw (DC 13) or suffer 4 points of poison damage and be forced to move (1) North 5 feet. He will not provoke opportunity attacks for moving from this spell.

The elf also calls off Jamil of Azalorn with a whistle from escorting the captive due to just how close he is to her allies and that he isn't likely to get far if he did try to run - at least not fast enough to outrun two big cats. Her command to the jaguar is simple in gesture, "Do whatever.", but implies she means to disable or even kill the target.

She advances from around her current tree after, moving 20 feet closer to the bandit and then attempting to hide in the shadows using her Mask of the Wild racial by blending in with the forest foliage, moonlight, ample shadows, and again behind another closer tree. She rolls a 12 for a Stealth (Dexterity) check to attempt to seemingly vanish in the chaos and confusion of battle among the dark woods.

@Guardian Angel Haruki@JBRam2002@rush99999@ihinka@Cu Chulainn@0 Azzy 0

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

I have nothing to add for Brannor at the moment given I am quite limited in what I can overtly do, though I imagine during the escape someone will come find him and or use him to its ends.

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

I will have something up in a few hours, the only thing I imagine needing is some sort of landmark near or around Mountain Park street you deem important or interesting, @Metronome. My intent is to use that as the location to head off to.

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

@EchoicChamber, the "template" is mostly base your sheet off of their own, adding as needed. That seems to be the bare minimum, with the added stipulation that powers shouldn't be too overwhelming. That is what I have noted in consistency.

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

Mountain Park Street

Drifting between the meager dwellings of the transients, little cloth and metal tents, strewn about sleeping bags, passed out addicts, the third hood found them disinterested in him but back to their usual ways. They were unabashed in their drinking or the bit of gambling with worn-in dice against concrete, betting what little they had and putting it on the line. They ignored him for the most part, a few giving sidelong looks and a few others menacing the moment they felt the stranger was too close. Keeping attention from them, not so much as showing his eyes, the outsider of Douglas Song to their little community quietly vanished, rounding the corner and traveling further away from home.

Storm front moving in and free of his potential adversaries, Song at last trained his eyes to the distant sky, surveying the horizon that was the roofs of buildings. The wind was chill, dropping in temperature by the minute. A downpour was certain at some point, but the wandering bodily shadow cared none about it. If it were to rain, may it pour, if it were to blow over, might he be dry. What was on the man's mind now was finding someone in the act; he had success for the future, though the moment's ends were thin. Daylight was in a few hours and there was a bit more cash he would prefer in pocket than that of others.

Traversing further south in the city, now further than before, the wandering soul began to loop back around again, taking another street over and placing him deeper into the border between Glenn View and Mount Hush. While it was peaceful here, the odd sound of a gunshot or yelling was off in the distance. Most stores however, what few, low income ones there were, were locked as tight as one would think for their side of town; barred windows, reinforced shutters, riot grid anchored over the face of the building and locked tight to the ground. Some even had vehicle barriers, metal or cement pylons in front of them, all of which were in various stages of "artistic evolution" thanks to the the tagging they endured.

A few men having a smoke outside an idling car noted the stranger, eyeing him carefully, but then left him to be. Not because the average height of Song was anything impressive, the man himself somehow ominous, or any bodily threat clear, just that whatever business they had, if any other than boozing and smoking, wasn't with him. Now a few blocks over from Sanders Street, Mountain Park, having covered a fair bit of distance, things were "well" until...

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

News 41 Broadcast Station - Alleyways

There was no motion for Song to step forward, to so much as up the ante, and it seemed like it was appreciated. The mysterious masked figure reconsidered, seeming to realize his opponent was not as overt a foe as he first thought. That much was true, the apparent martial artist wasn't all too concerned about their minor crimes, really, truthfully, seeking an answer at the moment - after all, they seemed to be some larger web of activity or interest and as an old saying paraphrased went, "Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." More was to be gained at following up in another time and place than forcing a here and now.

Nodding slightly with tip of the chin, Song permitted the man to take his fallen companion away, sharing only one final glance before the two shadowy figures disappeared into the night, one in tow by the other. At least now he "knew" who they were, both distinct enough yet nondescript, just as his own disguise. The choice of a mask for one and a sack for the other were very specific, maybe evening meaningful. It would help in the time to come, although Song regretted he was unable to revive the man and perhaps earn a bit more information from them. All the same there was an understanding of why the other intervened as he did; they cared about one another enough to defend their own.

Just as the Golden Tiger suspected, the pair vanished in a puff of inky smoke the moment their feet met the end of the alley.

"Thank you." Song commented in reply, satisfied with what he had come to understand before turning in place and observing the darkened street he had followed to this place. The only illumination there, other than the yellowed bulbs of a few tiny lamps at the street itself, cast the shadows of the vagabonds and miscreants on to the walls. They all seemed to be mostly normal again, compared to whatever had happened prior.

While there was no desiring or looking for trouble, the fighter wouldn't stop himself short if they so happened to step in and intervene. After all, he was not opposed to liberating their dollars from their wallets if they were foolish enough to bother another strange figure to their grungy home on a night like this. Comfortable in such a decision, he adjusted the hood of his coat, glanced about where his attacker and the fallen figure had been, noting nothing, and returned the direction he came...

@Metronome

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

News 41 Broadcast Station - Alleyways

The ambusher had the advantage of surprise, materializing out of the veil of darkness that he had faded into, but Douglas Song was perhaps as much of a bewildering experience all his own too. This manifest as the moment the kick was launched, the blur of an attack in motion, the third man that had joined the earlier pair rolled backward, and from his supine position upon his back, staring up at the black clad attacker, he leapt to his feet and was standing already. The acrobatic display wasn't an exceptional feat, at least not superhuman despite being physically remarkable, though it were a fair indicator Song was no drunkard or streetperson.

There he stood idle for no longer than a breath, raising a brow, before breaking the clinch range with a push that sent them both sliding backward, shoes grinding against the ground as friction struggled against their unexpected movement. Following the space of a few feet being made, the outstretched arm and hand of the interloper, the so called "Golden Tiger" whose fingers were flexed in and thumb cocked back, dropped to his side and the other arm chambered at the hip fell to rest along with it. Strangely the motion hadn't much more a sensation than just being pushed despite the apparent force involved, that which was enough to send two grown men backward.

Either way, Song looked from the standing masked man, whose seeming "lack" of a face gave no obvious emotions, to the other limp on the ground. When he returned his attention to the conscious member he spoke plainly, fingers releasing their slight tension as he relaxed entirely.

"Your friend isn't well."

He expected no response, masked criminals either were tremendously vocal or not at all; it mattered little one way or another as it were.

@Metronome

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

News 41 Broadcast Station - Alleyways

The wait, just as the pursuit, proved all the worthwhile as a figure drifted so faintly to the window of the broadcast station. So they did manage to get inside, Song noted, but it was not long before the silhouette utterly vanished; apportation, perhaps some form of invisibility or phasing too. It had the man cross his arms, sleeves riding to his chest as his head canted to one side, pondering the events he bore witness to. At least his intuition was as keen as it ever had been, which only raised the question now of what to do with it; obviously their activity was criminal, trespassing, breaking and entering, probably some form of petty theft, but that wasn't the problem at its core, it was how to do something about it.

Walking across the street casually, the black clad figure maneuvered about with as little haste as he displayed before, happening to come upon an alleyway. As it were, his sense of direction was about right; the two men seemed to favor the side streets and anything that kept them out of the open. Not an unreasonable tactic if one was attempting to be somewhat subtle as they had been, although the running betrayed their activity. So by the time Song came down that same path, illuminated by the licking flames of the barrel fire, he soon noted the stoop people and vagrants minimally milling about.

Standing just between the two buildings that led down this way, the sense something was odd or off became more evident; people slunk off into alcoves, others down narrowed paths, some back into huddling among themselves, and then of course back to the warmth of the fire. Song adjusted his hood more and looked back toward the ground. Someone, rather two someones, had shunted these people back to their lives with a newfound sense of aimlessness, more than there already was. Walking past the drifters, turning a shoulder now and again to avoid a collision here and there despite not so much as laying eyes on them, the third hood kept on his way; just as he imagined, they ignored him for reasons inexplicable.

There was a novelty to the experience and it made the man's tailing of the duo easier, though things took an odd turn.

Some ways deeper down the narrow street, one made ever so faintly claustrophobic by the looming buildings, did their follower come upon a figure slumped on his side, seizing and convulsing, one who no less closely resembled a member of the two seen earlier. There wasn't much hesitation in Song, in fact none at all, as he then drew closer to the man and went to crouch beside him, reaching a hand out...

@Metronome