The late afternoon sun lent warmth to the four would-be companions in the otherwise abandoned street. The majority of the denizens had sheltered inside while the raid happened. The dragonborn and dwarf had the kobolds out of the tavern and in a pile by the time the guard had arrived, limping and bloody. He approached the four in a half-run and was clearly out of breath. “Good to...see that...somebody was here to help,” he said.
Balanor held up a hand. “Take a moment,” he said. The guard nodded and placed his hands on his knees. After almost a minute, Balanor raised his brow and turned to Adrik and Mikal. Mikal betrayed his amusement with a wide grin. “What’s the news?” Balanor asked with a hint of annoyance, getting impatient.
The guard took in one last large breath before righting himself. With barely taking a breath, he said, “Kobolds and Goblins have attacked the city. They have several Ogres as well. We’ve seen a couple bands of the creatures carrying bodies which I hope are unconscious. Why they would take anybody is beyond me, but I hope they’re alive at least. And I don’t ev--”
Balanor held up a hand, interrupting him. “Slow down, soldier.”
“I’m no bloody soldier,” the guard said. “I never expected the raids to reach Kylith. I never even expected to see fighting.”
“How wrong you were,” Mikal said from behind them.
Balanor turned his head and gave Mikal a warning look with a bit of amusement. He turned back to the guard. “I can’t speak for the others, but I will help where I can.” He turned to the other three questioningly. They all gave short nods. Mikal seemed reluctant. “What would you have us do?” he asked, turning back to the guard.
“The bridge,” he said. “On the north side of town. It’s defense could use help.”
“Very well,” Balanor said. “To the bridge then.”
The guard told them some simple directions and then went on his way to help within the town.
The four made their way, jogging, following the guards directions. Around every corner were more kobolds, some alone, others in groups fighting guards. Buildings burned and smoke filled the sky.
Almost ten minutes after the party left the tavern, they rounded a corner to a main thoroughfare of the city and Balanor slowed them to a walk to conserve energy. Guards were scrambling in packs of six to ten men, fighting kobolds and other small, evil creatures. Beyond was the bridge.
“Damn,” Mikal said with a tone of surprise and helplessness. The party stopped, taking in the sight and finding where best they could be of help.
A curse came from the mouth of the dwarf in his own tongue. Balanor turned to him in question to find him wide-eyed, staring down the street. He followed his eyes.
Two blocks down the street, turning the corner, was a massive ogre. It stood the height of several men, with green skin. It’s round head and flat face sat upon sinewy shoulders with virtually no neck connecting the two. The creature was fat, nearly four arm spans around at its midsection. In one hand it held a tree trunk in three bony fingers, and in the other a large barrel, covered in tar and lit on fire. The ogre was lashed to a large cart on which were two kobolds.
The ogre let loose a bellow as it lifted the barrel over its head and heaved it at the closest group of guardsmen locked in combat with the attacking creatures. The barrel impacted in an explosion of fire and force, knocking out or killing every individual within a ten foot area. The resounding boom echoed through the street and into the city. The kobolds lit another barrel and struggled to lift it to the ogre’s shoulder. The ogre took it in its hand as it scanned the street for its next potential target.
“Balanor,” Adrik said, his accent heavy. “With me. Let’s take this thing down. Peren, aim for the barrel. Hit it before we get there, see if you can get it to detonate. And Mikal, keep our path clear.”
The four sprang into action, not questioning leadership. Adrenaline coursed through their bodies as Balanor and Adrik closed the distance. Kobolds fell to magical arrows as they sprinted for the ogre. A shower of cosmic fire flew over Balanor’s left shoulder, impacting the barrel and causing a fiery detonation, the concussion resounding through the city. The ogre staggered to the left, the cart listing with it.
The ogre recovered as Adrik and Balanor reached it. The ogre raised its club and swung down onto Balanor, missing completely. It’s tree trunk club rebounded off of the street, leaving a small divot filled with shattered cobbles. One of the kobolds lit another cask, while the second fired an arrow at Peren, striking him in the shoulder. The two then hefted the burning barrel to hand to the ogre.
Balanar responded with a full swing, infused with searing diving energy. His glowing blade slashed across the ogre’s massive belly, transferring the radiant energy into the creature and lending a divine aura to the surrounding area. The ogre reared back away from the blade, awkwardly, still yoked to the wagon it was pulling.
A shower of crystalline shards battered the ogre and kobolds from an arrow that Mikal had shot. As the ogre lifted a thick arm to catch most of the shards, it took a step back, narrowly avoiding a swing from Adrik’s warhammer. As the ogre brought its shielding arm down, a swirl of cosmic energy spun around the ogre’s head before converging on the beast, sparkling like stars in the sky.
The Ogre let loose a roar of anger, shouted words that were ineligible to Balanor’s ears, and took the flaming cask from the kobolds struggling to keep it aloft. He let loose another roar and slammed it into the ground between Adrik and Balanor. The street resounded with another cacophonous boom, and Adrik and Balanor stumbled backwards, away from the ogre.
The two kobolds jumped off of the cart, shouting in their draconian language. Balanor was able to make out a few words in their awkward dialect, “Fire,” and “Cart.” Balanor smiled in realization as the two shot their bows, one at Adrik and another at Balanor. The arrow meant for Balanor zoomed past, missing completely, while the arrow meant for Adrik struck the dwarf in his calf.
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“Get out of here,” Balanor shouted at Adrik. Adrik shook his head, reeling for another attack. Balanor grabbed the dwarf’s arm and drug him backwards in time to shield him from the remaining explosive barrels, which detonated. He turned to shield the dwarf from the blast, and the two were flung twenty feet, rolling another ten, and stopping at the feet of Peren and Mikal.
Balanor’s ears rang. He groaned and rolled to his hands and knees, coughing up blood with the action. He looked back towards where the ogre should be, not believing at the distance he had travelled. The cart that had once been now laid scattered about the wide street in burning splinters. In its place was a crater at least three armspans in diameter. The kobolds had been thrown back, killed by the blast. The ogre lay flat on his face, half inside the crater. Rocks and rubble now laid strewn across the street. Most of the fighting stopped, distracted by the explosion, and the attacking creatures began to flee.
Balanor looked to Adrik, who laid on his side unmoving. “Adrik!” he shouted, hearing himself muffled through his head, as if he had cotton stuffed in his ears, the ringing beginning to ebb. He rolled the dwarf over as Mikal loosed another arrow from his right.
“Not breathing,” Balanor said. “I’m no healer. We need a doctor. Guards!”
Peren slid to a stop on his side next to Adrik, half of an arrow still sticking out of his shoulder. “A healer won’t make it in time,” he said. “That blast should have killed the both of you.” He produced a vial of red liquid from seemingly nowhere. “Luckily it didn’t. Hopefully this will help bring him back. At least to consciousness.” The elf pulled the cork from the vial’s mouth. “Lift his head?” he asked.
Balanor did as he was asked, as Mikal joined the three. “The ogre is good and dead,” he said, oblivious to the situation at hand. “Oh,” he said, looking at the dwarf. The elf gingerly poured the contents of his vial into the dwarf’s mouth. After a few moments, the dwarf coughed and sputtered the remains of the liquid onto his lips and into his beard. It was unclear if it was the potion or blood.
“What happened?” Adrik asked after the coughing subsided.
“Explosion,” Peren said. “Nasty one. Killed the ogre and the kobolds.”
Mikal took a step backwards. “I was wrong,” he said. The three looked over and saw the ogre beginning to stand.
“How in the Gods’ names is he still alive?” Peren asked.
“Finish it,” Adrik said. “I don’t think I’ll be of much help. Hurts to breath.”
“We can handle it,” Mikal said.
Balanor and Peren gave a curt nod, both dripping blood onto the ground. Looking around, the dragonborn found his sword to be nearby and gathered it before the ogre finished standing. He wiped the side of his face and found more blood. He spat.
The ogre wobbled, smoke rising from its back. It was very clear that the ogre was badly injured. It looked around, confused at what had just happened and why it was in so much pain.
Mikal drew his bow and loosed an arrow, missing, while Peren made a small gesture with his right hand. Another thunderous boom resounded through the street and staggered the ogre, but still it stood. The spell gave the ogre direction and began to charge the group. Balanor met its charge, shifting to the side and swinging into the ogre’s legs. His side-step was too much, and he missed the ogre entirely. It was enough, though, to draw the ogre’s attention from his companions.
The ogre swung his fists down towards Balanor, striking him on the shoulder with a loud crack. Balanor shouted in pain and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
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Balanor awoke on a soft mattress in a large room. He was covered in a linen blanket. A small lantern lit the otherwise dark room. A human female in white clothes folded sheets next to a cupboard. “Ah,” she said in a light, cheery tone, turning. “You’re awake. Great!” She moved over to him as he sat up in his bed. He grunted in pain at the motion. “Here,” she said, “have some breakfast.” The woman was short with young eyes and long auburn hair.
“Breakfast?” Balanor asked.
She nodded. “You’ve been out since that fight with the ogre.”
“Not dead, then,” he said, looking down at the small loaf of bread and salted pork.
“Nope!” she said with a bounce, oblivious to the droll humor. “I’ll go get your companions. They’ll want to know you’re awake.” She smiled and tilted her head slightly before turning and leaving the room.
A few minutes later, she returned with Peren and left them alone. Balanor nodded at the elf. “The others?”
“Alive and well,” he said with a calm, slightly accented voice. “Adrik recovered quite quickly. Mikal and I helped through the night dousing fires and helping the wounded.”
“I’m surprised Mikal helped. He doesn’t seem the type. What happened?”
Peren sat in a nearby chair before going through the night’s activities. Mikal and Peren finished off the ogre with the help of some archers down the street. By the end of the fight, most of the attackers had fled the city, save for a select few who had apparently not completed the task they had come to do and died trying.
The kobolds that attacked the tavern were there for the banner. Others had targeted random establishments in an attempt to distract the guards while a local museum had been pilfered of some historic artifacts. Several prisoners were also taken.
Balanor grunted after the elf had finished his recounting, then spoke. “Now what?”
“Well,” the elf said, slouching in the wooden chair. “Because we were so instrumental in the fall of the ogre, which before we had found it had killed numerous fighters and civilians alike, the Town Council has asked the four of us to track the war party back to wherever it makes camp and rescue the captives. I did not give them an answer. Mikal seems okay with it, as long as he gets paid properly. Adrik has a vendetta against the kobolds for killing his friends, so he is willing. I thought I would wait to see if you would be going.”
“I can’t travel in my condition,” Balanor said. “It hurts just sitting in this bed,” he gestured at his general situation.
“You would be healed, if you chose to. Magically. The healing would be almost instantaneous, and most of the pain would be relieved. What pain remains can be taken away with a proper tincture.”
“Do we have time to prepare?”
“Not too much, I wouldn’t think. The safety of the captives are of utmost importance to the council.”
“Hm,” Balanor grunted. “People I’ve never met before and hold no loyalty to, save for the decency of my own morals. They can wait. I will agree, if only to rid myself of this pain. We should leave this evening. Travel through the night, into the morning and rest shortly in the afternoon, before continuing on and camping in the evening.”
“Oh,” another voice said from the doorway. Adrik stood, leaning against the railing. “I’ve got all that figured out. Rafelor told me he’ll provide horses.”
“Rafelor?”
“Erathin Rafelor,” Peren said. “He is the one who came to us about this employment. He is the newest member of the Council of Kylith.”
“We meet him this afternoon,” Adrik said, pushing off of the doorway. “I’ll get Mikal, too.” He turned and walked out of view.
Peren stood as well. “I’ll bring a healer so we can get you on your feet.”
“Thank you.” Balanor gave a deep nod, a common elven gesture of respect. Peren smiled slightly at the gesture and gave a bow in return before turning and leaving the room.