The War in Tarithnesti - First Skirmish

 06 - 07 Deepkolt 349 AC

THE PROTECTOR'S TOWER

Ornforithalas approaches the Protector's Tower. The sentries outside open the door to allow him entrance. "The commander is in her war room - fifth floor."

The newly reinstated captain nods, heads inside, and makes his way up the stairs. He finds Commander Parnitha inspecting the map spread across her table. She doesn't turn but takes a deep breath, "Ornforithalas. Report."

Ornforithalas speaks, his tone crisp and professional, “My scouts are organized and drilled. Two-rank volley discipline is improving. Morale is steady. We are ready for deployment.”

Parnitha continues to study the map. She picks up one the figures so he can see it, “Kysek himself is airborne scouting?”

“Yes, Commander," he replies.

She taps one of the markers near the outskirts of Tarithnesti. “We’ve already committed troops to forward ambush positions.”

Another tap marks the roads leading toward the caverns. “Evacuation routes and reserves are being prepared.”

Her fingers glide across the parchment. "That leaves us only lightly defended on our eastern flank." She turns to face him, "Take your platoon and establish a sentry line along these ridges. Observe, kill if you can do so without exposure. If a force larger than yours appears, fall back and report."

"Aye, Commander," Ornforithalas replies as he snaps a sharp salute before turning to depart.

"And Captain, congratulations on your promotion," she adds as he heads toward the door.

AT THE FIRST FARMSTEAD

Ra’ziir assigns shifts for the scouts to man the stonewall where Raven indicated. He teaches them a bird call and has each demonstrate their ability to make it, “Before you engage with anything, you make that call. Remember, signal first - arrows second."

The Bladesinger assists Groto with the butchering, “Set aside one of the rear flanks for Red and don’t worry with all the viscera there, I’m sure he’ll be happy to clean that up too… the rest should be plenty to keep us fed for a few days.”

Grotto strings up the fallen beast in the nearest tree. He places a handy bucket under the animal to catch its blood then slits its throat to drain its essence. Grotto looks to make blood sausage while using the intestines as casing. "Let nothing go to waste in times of war!" He says to Raz. The chef of the party then butchers the beast. "A shame we don't have much time. This animal gave its life to feed us. Thank the gods for the bounty we are to receive!" Grotto continues to butcher, leaving no offal. He makes a pile of brains, bones, offal, skin, and a nice flank for Redclaw. "A feast for your noble steed!" He motions to Raz.

The griffon eagerly digs in, gulping down chunks of meat with abandon.

Ra’ziir checks in with Raven, “Anything else we haven’t considered yet?” He asks scanning the site, “I could prep some illusory distractions if you think that may help draw in the enemy.”

Raven shakes his head, "No. The bait is solid. The plan is good. My only concern is a dragon showing up. If that happens, the scouts need to evacuate the buildings and fall back. You, me and Grotto will deal any wyrms, or spellcasters, who crash the party we have planned."

Grotto takes the rest of the deer and heads to the cabin. He begins cooking a great war time meal. He gets one meal started and begins curing the rest to feed his group of scouts while they are on the road.

He bows his head, "Thank you, Kiri-Jolith. Thank you, Hanseath! Vengeance and war will be glorious with your guidance. Bless our food so our troops can better serve you!" Grotto's muscles tense. The burning of the runes in his skin makes him shudder. He grabs the hot stove to steady his feet. The burning hearth on his hand only adds to his feeling that he knows he pleases his lord. "Thank you, my lords. Your will shall be done!" Grotto finished his cooking and curing. He lays the bounty in front of his troops. He stows what is left over for future excursions. "Let us meet our enemy with a full belly. Surely the aroma of this delicious meal will lure them to this trap!" Grotto says proudly.

Hours pass. Morning gives way to afternoon then evening then the depths of night. Late in the evening, the distant sound of lightning crashing and the detonation of a fireball several miles away echo through the trees.

"It sounds like the Dragonarmy found Romulus' farmhouse." Raven opines, "I suspect their scouts will locate this place by morning."

Ra'ziir instructs the scouts to take their reverie in shifts before walking the perimeter one last time. Raven douses the house lights and sits in the darkness, fiddling with one of the crystalline arrows.

Grotto, his belly full of warm venison, eventually drifts off to sleep.

At first, there is only darkness. The black of the night sky takes on the red hue of glowing metal. The broken bodies of slain enemies lie in heaps at his feet. He raises his eyes and looks into the distance.

Great shadowy figures stand in ranks extending out to the horizon. A massive figure steps out of the red haze. Towering, armored in black iron with a horned helm covering his face. An echoing voice emanates from within the metal shell.

"Why do you wait?"

Grotto grips his axe. "Because the enemy ain't here yet."

The ground trembles, the armor begins to glow.

"You are not made for waiting."

Cracks appear in the earth. Flames flicker deep below the earth.

"You are made to break your enemies."

Grotto scowls, "And I will when they show up."

The towering figure raises its hand. Visions flash through the dwarf’s field of vision. Burned forests ... shattered cities ... dead elves as far as the eye can see ... goblins scattered by his axe ... Draconians crumbling into dust ... dragons driven before him.

"Victory through relentless fury. Strike without mercy, let vengeance guide your hand."

Grotto pauses. "Vengeance?"

"They deserve only destruction. When battle comes, unleash the storm."

The crimson sky splits with lightning.

Grotto wakes with a start, the runes burning beneath his shoulders.

"None will live my lord, vengeance will be slow and painful. They will pay dearly for the crimes inflicted upon the innocent!" Grotto looks to Raven and Raz, "I'm going to to join the watch at the wall. I want to be in the initial ambush of those filth!" Grotto grabs some of the left over feast to share with those on watch.

AT THE CRYSTAL QUARRY

Cedron informs Shadow and Cassidy of his intention to follow the Wildrunners invisibly and flying most of the time ensuring they are swiftly moving as many elves to safety as possible. “I need some fresh air. A little recon will do me good. I plan following these routes.” He points to the maps so his companions are aware of his locations and timings. “ I will check in with both of you periodically.”

Cassidy, who was distracted by a broken piece of crystal that splits light like a prism and makes a pleasant "ding" when tapped with a spoon that he absolutely did not ask to borrow from anyone, looks up, "Oh! Are you going to be invisible the whole time? Because I tried that once—well, I wasn’t invisible, but I hid behind a curtain, and no one noticed me for almost ten minutes until I sneezed—”

Shadow sighs, “Cassidy, allergies kill more thieves than traps.  And hiding behind a curtain is never a good idea. They’re generally dusty and your feet stick out.” he then turns to Cedron and says, “Happy Hunting my friend.”

Cedron responds to Cassidy ”Maybe not the whole time, my friend. Anyway, it is my experience that a minstrel can learn as much from observing as they can from performing. On an unrelated note, did I ever teach you that song that can help close up wounds?” he asks the Kender.

By this point, Cassidy has arranged five crystals of varying lengths into something resembling a xylophone and is ting-tong-tinging them with that "borrowed" spoon. At first, he doesn't answer, enraptured by his... er... composition.

...ting...ting-tong...tiiiiiing....

And then, he stops - his spoon held at the ready. He turns slowly... "You mean the kind of song where people don’t die after getting stabbed? Because I feel like that’s a very important song to know. Also—if it works on other people, does it work on me? Hypothetically. Not that I’m planning anything. Just… you know… planning planning.”

He glances around, his voice dropping to a whisper, “…does it work on chickens? Because I once met a chicken who really could’ve used that song.”

Without waiting for an answer, he grabs Cedron’s sleeve.

“Show me. Right now. Before you go. What if I have to save someone? What if you get stabbed? What if I get stabbed? What if—”
He stops and thinks. “…okay, mostly what if I get stabbed?”

Shadow leans in and says to Cedron” What if you get stabbed in the tongue and cannot sing?” And he steps behind Cassidy knowing this will make him ask more questions and waves bye to Cedron blows him a kiss before making a stealthy exit to check on the scouts.

Cassidy blinks. “…wait.” His eyes widen to the size of saucers. “Wait wait WAIT— What happens if you do get stabbed in the tongue?! Can that happen? That feels like something that could definitely happen. People get stabbed all the time. Sometimes in the face! The tongue is right there in the face!”

He covers his mouth protectively.

Cedron realizes Cassidy has a very valid point, even if his manner of expression was a bit exuberant. “You know you’re right. You both are right. We could always use another healer.” Making sure Shadow overhears as he slips away.

“I think sharing this with you may be more urgent.” Cedron finds a quiet place to teach Cassidy the bardic magic of curing light wounds.

Cedron begins with a simple melody. A gentle rhythm that echoes softly through the mine. "Take your time, don't rush to copy it. It's the rhythm and intent that are important."

Cassidy nods and jumps right in.

Cedron continues, “Picture the wound closing. Picture the pain easing. Let the music follow that.”

Suddenly, a faint glow gathers around Cassidy’s hands. The kender blinks.

The light pulses stronger than Cedron expected. The energy gathers and then flows outward in a gentle surge.

Cedron’s brow furrows. “You’ve done that before.”

"I have?" Cassidy asks, confused.

Cedron nods, "Looks like."

Cassidy scratches his head, “Hmmm...."
He thinks hard. “…there was that time with the goat …and the time with the guy who fell off the cart.”

His eyes widen. “Oh! And the time I fixed my own arm!” He straightens proudly. "I am a healer now! Hey! Does anyone need fixing? Minor injuries! Moderate injuries! Emotionally questionable injuries?!”

Meanwhile, Shadow seeks out Cor. “Pick the best eight of our group to form a team that will teleport with me and you into the combat zone when needed. Will need ones that can shoot, move in close and cut a b****.  Your knack for taking care of spell effects will come in handy as I doubt we will be called for cannon fodder. Our group will have to identify the enemy spellcasters. Or, Myrkul forbid, one of the dragons. In that case, cover your comrades and let my friends and I tackle it. You must protect the others."

"Jensolyn and Thalanir, take the rest and divide them amongst you. Protect the civilians and train the ones that can fight to use anything, pointy sticks are plentiful. I hope they don’t need them but better to have and not need than the other way around.”

Shadow sees to these matters and addresses any questions before seeking out Cedron. He asks for a list of items needed by the group before seeing to the first group picked to return. He talks amongst them and sizes them up before picking out the ones he will take back. He waits till midday to see that no attacks have come before using his Mass Teleport back to the warehouse. He will take Cor with him so he can get used to teleport and to help carry back goods and any volunteers who join us.

Cassidy darts through the tunnels, getting into everything that isn't nailed shut and searching for a hammer so he can get into the things that are. He touches just about everything and when Jensolyn and Thalanir begin trying to train the refugees, the kender is there.

"Why don't these spears have ribbons on them? Dragons like ribbons, right? So when the dragon leans in to get a closer look, you can poke it in the eye!"

When no one is looking, he creeps up behind one of the scouts and yells orders in his best "Shadow" or "Raven" voice, giving bizarre commands like "recalibrate the horizon", "scrub the mizzenmast" or "avast those barnacles", "interrogate that cat", or "stand by to wait!"

Shadow pays the kender's shoulder. “Cassidy, see if you can find ribbons for the kids to tie onto the spears. Ask what colors they want and I will get some when I go back."

ABOVE THE SILVANESTI WOODS

Kysek steers Dusk toward the battlefield; he stays low, skimming the treetops until the trio is about a half mile away. He engages his invisibility ring; then casts greater invisibility on Dusk. They circle the field in an ever expanding almost triangular pattern. They look for any signs of enemy movement in the area.

Narrow paths cut through the forest like veins. Kysek studies the ground carefully, letting his eyes move not just across the trails but through the woods themselves—looking for the small disturbances that betray marching troops.

Then he sees it - the glint of sunlight on metal.

A thin line of figures threading their way along one of the forest tracks leading toward the farmstead where Romulus waits.

Kysek narrows his eyes. Even at this distance he can make out the differences in gait.

Short, hunched shapes; a few taller armored figures among them.

Goblins… and draconians, twenty, maybe two dozen of them.

Kysek urges Dusk higher for less of a chance to be heard. He calls on the power of his ring of sending and focuses on Romulus, “Two dozen goblins and draconians en route to your location, should be there within the hour, coming to assist.”

He then urges Dusk toward the farm where Romulus lies in wait.

ON THE THON-THALUS

Eilra and her two rowers continue to head upstream. They have already booby-trapped two bends in the river with spikes meant to slow a waterborne advance. In places where the bank slopes gently down to the water's edge, Eilra makes notes so scouts can be deployed to keep a watch on areas where the enemy could ford the river to circle around behind the city.

AT THE OTHER FARMHOUSE

Romulus listens to Kysek’s magical sending and thanks him. He tells his scouts that the enemy has been sighted and are headed in their direcrion.

The archmage casts a spell that gives his flesh the durability of stone. He makes his way to the second floor of the farmhouse and settles in, waiting for his illusions to funnel the enemy in his direction. Ra'ziir's scouts lay in wait, four in the house with Romulus - two watching from the upstairs bedrooms and two from the central room downstairs. Four were inside the barn, ready to burst forth at a moment's notice. Two were crouched behind a crumbled wall, one was laying low behind a row of berry bushes and the last was behind a haystack.

Kysek arrives a few minutes later. Dusk hunkers down out of sight and waits for her master.

About forty minutes after Kysek’s arrival, figures appear at the treeline. At first, there are just a few. Then a few more, then two dozen - a mixed force of goblins and draconians.

They stood in silence for several minutes, surveying the scene before them. A thin plume of smoke rose from the house's chimney. Footprints left shallow trails in the snow to and from the barn. The front door swung lazily, ajar on its hinges.

The Draconian pointed at the goblins and hissed a command. They started forward, edging along the trees toward the back of the house. The first illusion was triggered.

"The way is blocked," one goblin croaked.

"Go around," the draconian's voice rasped.

A ragged line of six goblins entered the yard, crude bows at the ready. Six more aimed their weapons, covering their comrades.

Another order sent everyone forward, cautiously making their approach. The second illusion funneled the enemy into a narrow path between the barn and the farmhouse.

Romulus raised his two fingers and began to draw in energy for a spell. "Just a little closer and we'll nail the coffin shut."

As the last of the creatures enter the yard, Romulus raises a screen of impenetrable force behind them, cutting off their escape route.

Kysek unleashes a bolt of lightning at the goblin in the center of the lead element. The blast incinerates him instantly. Secondary bolts burst from his shattered body, striking each of his companions and causing them to explode.

The Dragonarmy warriors at the tree line scatter. The goblins turn to run away but they bounce off of the mystic barrier.

The Draconians break into a run. Kysek watches as they split up. Eight of the creatures appear identical to the ones the party fought near Balifor Bay nearly four months ago. Seven of them charge toward the farmhouse while the last screams for them to take cover.

Ra'ziir's scouts open up with their bows. Each of the baaz are struck once, suffering wounds of varying degrees of injury. The one shouting orders is struck in the center of his chest and drops to one knee. He coughs up a gout of blood and rips the arrow free. He grabs the nearest goblin and shoves it, ordering its remaining troops to join the fight.

The final quartet of draconians are much sleeker, with coppery scales and glowing green eyes. Two race to take cover behind the crumbling wall and two run toward the berry bushes. Just as they duck down, Kysek sees them spitting green fluid onto their shortswords.

Romulus focuses on the single draconian and the remaining goblins hemmed in by the wall of force. His hands flow through a series of rapid eldritch gestures. The sky darkens and fist-sized hailstones begin falling from the sky with bone-crushing force. The trapped goblins and their wounded draconian commander are battered into a pulp beneath the onslaught. The Baaz turns to stone as it dies, leaving behind a chunk of rock.

Kysek raises both of his hands into the air and claps them together, interlacing his fingers as he hisses out the words of his spell. Layer upon layer of overlapping inch-thick strands appear, anchoring themselves to the wall, the ground, and the hidden draconians. They are immediately ensnared, pinned to their surroundings and unable to move.

The scouts pop back up, drawing and firing at the Baaz Draconians before dropping behind cover once again. Over half of their arrows hit their marks with one shot striking a Baaz in the center of its forehead, slaying it and turning it to stone in death.

Romulus continues chanting, his fingers flying through a rapid series of arcane gestures. He unleashes a burst of magical darts from his fingertips that streak toward the wounded Baaz Draconians. Each of his five darts pierce their scaly hide, dropping three where they stand. As their bodies fall, the dead turn to stone.

Kysek calls on his knowledge of the arcane once more and send a fireball to engulf the webbed draconians and ignite the webs themselves.

The blast incinerates the trapped dragonmen. Upon death, their bodies dissolve into puddles of acid that collect into a single large pool that begins eating into the ground.

With only three Draconians left standing, the scouts make quick work of them, piercing each with several arrows.

And with that, the skirmish is over as swiftly as it began.

MEANWHILE, IN SILVANOST

Alara opened the next door and stepped inside. She set her lamp down and lit two more, hanging them from hooks suspended overhead.

She pulled out a slim crowbar, took a breath, opened the first crate, and got to work inventorying its contents. Two crates later, she heard footsteps on the stairs.

The steps stopped a respectful distance away. "Lady Record-Keeper?"

The voice was young and one she did not recognize. She turned and saw five elves in the simple tunics of House Servitor. Two soldiers stood behind them with a pair of lanterns and a small cart.

The closest servant bowed slightly. "Councilor Cuinar Elar sends us. He said… you required hands.”

Alara blinked once, surprised despite herself. "He did?"

Alara allowed herself the faintest smile.
She looked up at the group.
“What are your names?”
They answered one by one.

"Well then,” she said, already moving toward a stack of crates, “you have arrived just in time to dig through three centuries of royal...junk.”

Their expressions shifted somewhere between confusion and alarm.

She pointed to a tall crate marked Court Festival Banners – Pre-Cataclysm.

“These go upstairs for sorting. If they’re silk, take them to the healers to be cut into bandages.”

She touched a different crate. "These toys go to the refugee hall. Give them to Serenel. There are children up there who have not stopped crying for two days.”

She gestured to the cart.

“And those ceremonial cloaks? Fold them carefully. They’ll make good blankets.”

The servants got to work. Alara smiled, more broadly this time and whispered a quiet thank you to Councilor Elar and the outlander god, Malazzarr. "Progress," she whispered quietly.