The "Our Group" Saga
Chapter 1: A Stolen Moment
Disclaimer: The characters and members of "Our Group" were created by myself as fourth edition characters. The land they live in, however, the Forgotten Realms, was sadly not my idea. It's owned by Wizards of the Coast. Whether that's a good thing or not is your own personal opinion.
The Grazing Goat was an unusual tavern even for the Sword Coast. The small, one-story bar and inn situated in a small hamlet 20 miles north of the Candlekeep temple rarely had customers other than members of the community, and the common room of only ten beds usually went unused save for those that had gotten extremely intoxicated or the occasional significant other forced out of the house after an argument.
Aramil Galanodel frowned heavily as he watched the tavern's namesake trot its way through the bar, followed closely by her needy kid. A harried waitress knelt on the floor a few yards away, scrubbing the floor with practiced precision, erasing the goat's latest misdeed from the floor. He munched softly on goatmilk cheese, glaring at the small woman sitting in front of him.
"You said we'd find work here, Callie..." the elf said, his eyes blue and gold daggers.
"How was I supposed to know that this season's usual goblin raids wouldn't happen?" the dark-skinned halfling answered back quickly. "They're certainly happy about it," she added, waving her arm around to indicate the customers.
"I am happy about that," Aramil replied, "but no coin means no new equipment and no lodging. I'm beginning to run low on arrows and Thorik's complaining about having to sleep out in tents for the majority of our journey is getting very annoying."
"Of course you'd say that, elf!" a black-bearded dwarf complained as he sat back down at the table. "You elves and your 'one-with-natureness'," he joked. "I say give me a nice comfortable bed under a nice manufactured ceiling, preferably stone."
"But Thorik, you haven't lived under a stone roof for 30 years, you said..." Callie Highhill interjected, earning a playful swipe from the dwarf.
"That doesn't mean I wouldn't like it," he replied. He took a sip of his ale and a glance at the bread on top of the table in front of him. Deciding against risking his teeth on the hard food, he took another sip. "May Moradin bless this ale, because they certainly didn't," the cleric joked as he sat the mug down on the table.
"It's just a small town," Aramil said as sat the rest of the meal down on the table. "A small town with no work in it for adventurers like us." He paused for a second, looking at the fourth and final member of the adventuring group at the table. Jess Ravenheart had paid no attention to the friendly banter going on around the table on this day, her complete attention on the ritual book in front of her. Aramil shook his head, completely distrustful of magic despite his elven heritage. She was a good person despite being a mage, he added.
"Help!" a cry came from outside of the tavern, causing the four adventurers to stand out of their chairs in alarm. "The goblins are here!" Aramil retrieved his bow and dwindling arrow supply from the end of the table and headed out the door, followed closely by his compatriots.
The scene out of the door was something from a nightmare: houses and sheds on the borders of the small hamlet were aflame, set alight by marauders. Small, greenish-brown humanoids ran through the carnage on their way to the main square of the town. Through his elfsight, Aramil could see short swords in the hands of the majority of the fifteen or so raiders, spears wielded by the rest.
"Seventeen of them," Aramil reported to the rest of the party as they made their way out of the tavern. Villagers ran away from the approaching band, making their way to nearest safe building that they could find. The warning bell began tolling, causing the members of the town's militia to scramble to their posts, crude polearms in hand. "Oh they're going to get slaughtered..." Aramil muttered, notching an arrow to his bowstring.
"Callie," Thorik ordered, slamming the pole of his warhammer into his free hand in anticipation of the attack, "you see that woodpile on the side of that building?" The halfling rogue nodded in confirmation. "Think you can climb up there and give us some cover with your crossbow?"
"I think so," Callie replied with a grin, running as fast as she could to reach the roof of the small building in time.
Villagers too slow to flee the rampaging goblins fell beneath their blades as house doors were sliced open and the contents looted. Aramil fired an arrow at the only open goblin at the moment, and watched as the arrow soared through the air, traveling the fifty feet in a brief period of time before burying itself in the goblin's chest. The goblins nearby their fallen comrade hissed in surprise and pointed at their new foe. They chattered that this one was needed to be killed right away as another member of their ranks fell to the elf's bow.
Jess watched in horror as the goblin raid continued, smelling the acrid smoke poisoning the air after rolling off of ruins that used to be houses. The mage leaned against her staff, wishing that she could be half as powerful as her master was and not just a new wizard out on her own. She raised her left hand as one of the rampaging goblins managed to get through the gauntlet of Aramil and Callie's barrage of arrows and bolts. Two arcane words formed on her lips as she felt the mystical power within her begin to flow through her fingers. She flexed her fingers and released a single pinkish-red missile of magical power. The bolt flew true, dodging small obstacles on its way to its target. It slammed into the goblin in the chest, swiftly burning its way through the leather armor before exploding, killing it without any pain. It fell to the ground, chest smoking in the autumn air.
Its fellows paid no heed, hoping to overrun the militia and mercenary adventurers with their numbers. Thorik and Aramil stood side to side along with the captain of the militia and his best soldiers, melee weapons drawn and at the ready. "Aramil," the dwarf said as he surveyed the charging goblins, another one falling to Callie's sniping. "I'll charge in first, you and the militia follow behind me shortly," he suggested.
Aramil brandished his longsword as the goblins reacted to the dwarf charging into the fray, warhammer swinging with precision. The elf cautiously walked into the melee, followed by the guards, his sword up in a good defensive position. Even though--as an elf--the art of the longsword was trained into him at an early age, his martial skill with one was not quite as good. The twelve remaining goblins against only nine warriors also made him cautious. He swung his blade at one of the small marauders, slipping past his enemy's defenses and inflicting a mortal wound.
Thorik's hammer smashed into the chest of the nearest goblin, cracking ribs and sending them into the very vital organs that they had been designed to protect. The dwarf continued his assault on the raiders, killing one of the foul-smelling invaders with each swing. Sweat beaded down from under his helmet, stinging his eyes.
Jess watched the combat from the distance, disappointment in her blue eyes that she couldn't be of any more help to both the city's militia and her friends. Unlike the others, Callie, Aramil and Thorik, she had no real martial training to fall back upon, only basic self-defense with her staff, as well as a dagger. She stood at the back lines, eyes staring at the melee in front of her. A goblin broke off from the main fighting, trying to find an advantageous position to strike at what appeared to be Aramil.
"Not this time," she muttered as she raised her staff like it was a bow. She notched an invisible arrow and spoke the words her master had taught her for this particular spell. An arrow formed inches from her left hand, green and bubbling. She released the imaginary bowstring and watched as the arrow soared into its target.
The raid turned into a rout minutes later, as the surviving goblins took what little that they had been able to grab from travelers' wagons and fled back to where they had come from. The day had been won.