The Road to Tinwe had been silent for months.

The trade into the Empire from beyond the Forgewall had slowed to a trickle, and then ceased. The last travelers from beyond the wall spoke in hushed tones of the growing power of Vaul, warchief of a grand alliance of orc and goblinkind, who commanded a thousand tribes of the Steppe and lead them on a war of conquest. Molkh had burned, some said. Qepren had been set ablaze with dragonflame and sorcery, said others. Vaul marches on Tinwe, said the last travelers west. No more followed after them.

The lords of Orzamar, those minor noble families on the fringe of the Empire, dismissed these concerns. The orcs of the Steppe had not crossed over from the Forgewall into the Empire in centuries. The walled cities beyond the Forgewall had stood strong for five thousand years and more. The primitive savages of the Steppe could not hope to challenge ordered and lawful societies with the undisciplined rabble they called armies.

But the traders had stopped coming, that was undeniable. The Road to Tinwe was silent, until the Voice of Vaul spoke.

A lone orc, a hulking, brown skinned brute, hair in a black topknot, with a heavy bearded axe slung through his saddle, arrived on the back of a great brown wolf of the steppes. A black banner, unadorned by symbol or color, fluttered in the wind as he came. He brought his canine steed to a halt outside Orzamar’s Eastern Gate. The town guard, perched on the walls of the fortress-town, bid the orc that he state his business at Orzamar and in the Empire.

“I am the Voice of Vaul,” the orc answered, his words a booming thunder, a challenge, “Khan of Khans, Warchief of the Steppe, who razed Tinwe and burned the cities of Molkh and Qepren. All cities are ash in his wake, all enemies are broken before him. This city was of the orcs. Its bones are orcish, its wood and stone are orcish. It will belong to the orcs again. This, Vaul demands of his armies, and his command is your devastation. Abandon this fortress, scatter yourself to the winds, and Vaul will show you mercy. Remain, and you will receive no quarter. This is the word of Vaul.”

And with that, the orc, the first of his kind to cross the Forgewall in centuries, departed, back on the winding, mountainous path into the Gap of the Forgewall, and across Durand’s Bridge to the Eastern Steppe beyond.

By the rising of the twin moons over Arann that evening, ravens had flown for Khazadram and Valador, conveying the news and carrying a single request, that the Empire and her allies come to the defense of Orzamar.

It had been nearly a week and a half since the Voice of Vaul had come, spoken, and departed, and though rumors of the coming invasion traveled like wildfire through the town, all was quiet on the Empire’s eastern front. As quiet as it ever was, of course.

Though the forest goblins and orcs of the Caegwenn, the northernmost stretch of the Great Adean Forest, had always been a problem, the occasional raids on farms and caravans took on new, graver import in light of the Voice’s proclamation. Panicked citizens reported goblin highwaymen as advance scouts of an invading army, and the guard was spread thin as they responded to calls for aid that grew wilder and more panicked as the days drew on and the story of the Voice spread. To keep order and assuage the fearful citizenry, Lord-Mayor Duridan Hillhame dispatched a significant portion of the guard north into the forested foothills to combat the Mosswolf Clan, long standing enemies of Orzamar responsible for many a raid on a trader and murder of an Imperial citizen.

Though this act pacified the people, tragedy struck as goblins of the White Skull Tribe launched a large-scale attack on a caravan of traders, coming east from Hillcross. The few survivors arrived at Wayfarer’s Rest, at the western gate of the fortress-town, and described the butchering of the Imperial and dwarvish citizens, and how the goblins had taken a dozen or more of the travelers captive as they escaped south. Desperate to keep the peace and to protect his people, Lord-Mayor Hillhame requested that his captain of the guard, Emmanuel Harrad, recruit mercenaries to assist in the rescue and return of the kidnapped citizens.

Fortunately for the Lord-Mayor, Orzamar lacked not for such adventurers. Many came to Orzamar in search of work as mercenaries and adventurers, for there was mystery beyond the eaves of the forest, loot to be found, and monsters to be killed, for gold or thrill as a man may please.

Emmanuel Harrad and a company of guardsmen had no difficulty recruiting a party of adventurers to aid them in the rescue attempt.

At the same time, Pelial Skadden, a professor of magic working at the Imperial College of Orzamar, had developed grave concerns for the safety of his students.

The Imperial College of Orzamar, called the Observatory, was not a college in the same vein as the Colleges of Teres, Valador, and Crowngarden. It was a small set of buildings on the northern side of the fortress-town where professors of magic brought their students for academic courses in astrological analysis, divination, and herbology in the field. Skadden, a professor of enchantment and herbology at the Imperial College of Valador, had brought a few students to Orzamar to study the powerful leylines beneath the Forgewall, the curious potency of the Caegwenn Forest’s herbs, and the properties of orichalcum, a metal similar to gold with powerful magical applications, the ore of which was extracted from veins under the Forgewall.

Tinwarren was a kobold mine northwest of Orzamar which extracted tin ore from the earth and sold it in Orzamar to be smelted and refined. Tin from Tinwarren was one of Orzamar’s chief exports to the Empire. In addition, however, the kobolds of Tinwarren often extracted orichalcum as well. Recently, the kobolds had struck a peculiar vein of red orichalcum, and Professor Skadden dispatched several of his students, accompanied by assistant professor Fillion Flexner, to investigate.

A week and a half after the Voice of Vaul had come and gone, Skadden had not yet heard from his students. Concerned for their safety, he petitioned Captain Harrad to dispatch a company of guardsmen to investigate, but the town guard was stretched too thin to assist. Fortunately, he found another avenue by which he might assist his wayward charges.

A group of adventurers headed east on the Road to Tinwe toward Tinwarren.

An old stone priory, a church of Gyaal, sat still in the wood. Half a stained-glass sheet, depicting the crucifixion of Saint Nimriel by the river, remained in one of the two windows on the front. The afternoon light, piercing the dense forest canopy above, shown on the pale blues and reds of the broken shards that still hung in the window.

This priory had once sat in a clearing, it seemed, but the growth of the forest had overtaken it after years of neglect. The priory consisted of two grey stone buildings, one a larger church, the other a smaller building, connected by a ten to fifteen-foot hall lined with stain glass windows. What had once been a garden, set neatly before the hall between the buildings, complete with benches and what looked to have once been a complete statue of one of the saints, had seen the growth of wild shrubs, brush, and trees. The statue’s head was removed, leaving only a white marble body, arms outstretched.

The party, concealed in the underbrush behind the tree line, considered their options.

The goblins had made no effort to conceal their tracks, and though they could not discern the number of the savages that had treaded through the undergrowth, their path through the brush suggested that there were more than enough of them to make this rescue a daunting task. They would be handsomely rewarded by the Lord-Mayor, though, the captain of the guard reminded them.

Captain Emmanuel Harrad, a dark-skinned native of Ghirducania who had served for years as a legionnaire during the Yvenlond campaign, crouched in the brush with the adventurers, his guardsmen behind them. The plan Captain Harrad proposed was straightforward. The adventurers would enter the priory, eliminate the goblins therein, rescue the citizens in distress, as many as they could, and return before nightfall. The guardsmen, meanwhile, would hold the rear, ensuring that the way back to the Stone Road was clear and that the adventurers wouldn’t be ambushed from behind.

Easier said than done, surely.

Some seventy feet from their position, two goblins, one armed with shield and spear, the other a shortbow and longknife, stood guard outside the entrance to the priory. The short, lanky greenskins did not seem terribly attentive. The one with the spear leaned idly against the stone construction, while his bow toting companion crouched down to investigate something in the dirt.

The great wooden doors that served as the entrance were slightly ajar, but the adventurers could not see beyond them at their angle and distance.

What do you do?



The Road to Tinwe was quiet.

East of Orzamar, the forest closed in on the road, and the path through the foothills became more winding and rockier with each league. Songbirds, perched on the pine branches, sang eerily cheerful songs that pierced the silence. As the party moved, they passed a tall black stone, some nine feet in height and carved from a single slab of rock. It was one of the so-called Waystones built by the Vieric Empire. The rock, which appeared slick to the touch, almost as if freshly oiled, shone in the afternoon light.

They were common throughout the Empire, marking safe passageways, or so the old tales told. Most travelers avoided stopping to rest by them, though. It was bad luck to sleep in the shadow of a Waystone. That the tales also told.

Tinwarren, Pelial Skadden had told the party, was located half a day’s journey east, at which point they’d come to a well-worn path through the woods, marked by a sign. The kobolds were quite friendly, he had added, the civilized sort of monster most folk in the Empire wouldn’t believe existed. They were not used to receiving visitors, however. Usually, they would load up a cart, pulled by the mountain rams native to the Forgewall, and drive the ore in to Orzamar to the local smithy. What use for Adean coinage the kobolds had, the gnome did not pretend to know.

Pelial had not accompanied the adventurers on their journey to Tinwarren, sending instead one of his research assistants in his stead. Devrah Coie (“Devie for short,” she’d told them), a tiny chatterbox of a gnome wizard with energy to spare, had talked their ears off about her studies at the College and her love of enchantment and how Professor Skadden was such an incredible potionmaster and so on. If any of this nervous energy came from the fact that she was journeying with a group of armed mercenaries to search for her missing peers, she made no mention of it.

As she stopped to collect a few white flowers, petals streaked with yellow veins, the adventurers noticed a signpost hammered into the ground. A crude directional sign pointed to the left—north—off the road. Unfamiliar characters lettered the signpost, and underneath them, in very roughly scrawled Adean script, was the word “Tinwarren.” A worn dirt path, just as Pelial described, snaked its way off the Road to Tinwe north, through the stout oaks and pines, beckoning them to journey deeper into the wood.

Tayronus's knees ached as lay crouching near the rear of the group, his monochrome red eyes narrowing on the old priory. His heart hammering in his chest, and a small sheen of sweat beginning to form on the front of his head. As an inquisitor, he was trained to handle situations like these, in fact he was trained to handle situations of sorcerous nature which sometimes tended to be even more troublesome than the problem that currently faced them. And yet, he was still nervous. There were people inside, innocents and he didn't know what the goblins wanted with them. Ransom perhaps? It made the most sense, but who knew with those savages? Any potential mistake they made could come with a heavy cost and he didn’t want that on his conscious.

A black raven landed on his shoulder moments later. A shrill, hiss-like voice rang in his head. "I can't see much beyond those two guards out front," the raven said in Infernal.

"That’s not very good," he responded aloud in the same tongue. Tayronus then moved up, keeping himself low and stopped beside Captain Harrad, a hand going to his forehead to wipe the sweat as he reverted back to Common. “My familiar has the ability to go invisible. I can let it go inside and scout around before we do anything, give us a possible fighting chance to save these people.”

Squinting eyes, narrower even than usual, trained on the decrepit building's door and the sentries at its sides, Naraug quietly shifted his bent arms and legs in small motions. It was a hunter's trick that he had found useful more than once: if one kept too still when lying in ambush, their limbs would grow sore, and their joints would snap when next they moved. With his hefty armament weighing on him, the half-orc was less concerned about moving stealthily, but he would rather have had his muscles fresh when it would come to blows. Which, by the looks of it, would be soon.

As the tiefling in the back spoke, Naraug nodded his assent with a low grunt. "'s no good to go in blind." His harsh, guttural accent was fully audible despite his whispered tone. "But I'll wager ya that there's more of the vermins right behind. We make a wrong move, and the lot of them 'ull come pouring out here." Or they would think of something else to do, but whatever it was, it would not be good for the party. Nor for the goblins' captives, if the brutes had not already picked their bones clean.

"I say ya send it to go see." The orc turned his head towards Harrad, sweeping his gaze over his companions. "If there's not too many of 'em close by, we lure those two to the side and strike 'em dead. Else we'll have to draw 'em out a few at a time. What'd you say?"

Captain Harrad, crouched at the base of an ancient oak, eyes on the goblins ahead, nodded in agreement. "I think it is a sound idea," he said. "It would be useful to know what we're up against before charging in. Even so," he continued, "we're here for our captured citizens, if they yet live. Be swift in your scouting, if that is your course of action. Every minute we waste is precious time lost."

He thumbed the crossbow at his side as he watched the goblins. The veteran captain looked back to his men, the four guardsmen who had accompanied them to the priory, each of whom carried the same. "As for the watch, we could take them at a range, too. All of my men are proficient with their crossbows. Dwarven make, reliable, lethal. If we coordinated our shots we could kill them where they stand, I'm sure. Per the Lord-Mayor's command, we are here to support you and the tactical choices are yours to make, but say as much and I will give the order."

Harrad was clearly a soldier at heart, chain of command and orders his bread and butter, and from the look of it he had impressed that attitude on his guardsmen as well. He made a quick sign with his hands, and the guardsmen lay down their spears and readied their crossbows, prepared to fire a volley.

Eldred had already regretted coming this far, but his gut assured him this was more than a few air-headed magic types losing themselves in the forest. If the recent greenskin unrest and the existence of these supposedly civilized cobolds were anything to go by, these students could very well be in grave danger, if not already beyond aid. Still suffering a mild headache from the gnome's incessant babbling, the monster hunter found the opportunity to distance himself from her immediate vicinity and took some time to regain his composure. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose, noticing a shoddy sign just as he opened them. He focused on the inscription, briefly squinting as he went over the foreign characters, and then regarded the path that lay ahead.

He was not especially thrilled with the remoteness of their end destination, since it meant that ambushes among other risks were more probable the deeper they went. But they had to press on, what with the current group being all the manpower Orzamar could muster. He wasn't terribly amused by that either. Dismissing some paranoid thoughts, he checked his surroundings, scanning the terrain around him for anything unusual. A procedure performed out of habit by that point, but for good reason.

"Should this place have a way in from behind, I might have a plan" Vanguard said in hushed tones. "If Tayronus's... raven locates such an entrance, I suggest we divide our number into two groups. One containing those who are strong and could last in extended combat or possess healing magic, and the other holding those who are stealthy or less able in open combat. While the first group engages the goblins here, the second group could slip in though the back and free the captives while the foe is distracted. This plan, however, assumes among other factors that there is a way in from behind. So this plan may not be viable should scouting efforts turn up no back entrance."

Tayronus looked over at Vanguard as he gave a slow nod as he thought about it. "I like the idea," he said as Rake turned from a raven to a spider and jumped to the ground, turning invisible as it crawled towards the building. "But I think one or two of our stealthiest would be sufficient to herd the civilians out while the rest of us cause a distraction. I fear a route if we're stretched too thin."

"A fair point," Vanguard agreed. "If our attacking force is routed too soon, the captives would be more likely to come under fire as they're led to safety."

Harold crept forward towards the conversing members. "I could probably sneak around if an alternate entrance is found. The problem I possibly see is if the savages know of that entrance and are guarding it as well."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Vanguard said. "So long as the distraction is loud enough, we'll most likely have the goblins' full attention, leaving you a clear path to the captives."

Tayronus turned towards Herald, his form shifting slightly to keep the ache from his knees, wincing when he heard small pops along the joint. “My familiar can look for an entrance for you,” he returned in a hush tone, “if it finds something I’ll let you know. But, for the moment, I’ll be seeing through my familiar’s senses so I’ll be effectively blind and deaf while with you.”

Then, turning towards the priory, he felt something tug on his conscious. A small pull that slowly got stronger, like a tidal wave increasingly threatening to overwhelm him. Then, he was gone, his mind tumbling through a vast empty space of darkness before opening his eyes.

“Glad you could join me for the party,” Rake said.

“I’m not. Let’s try to get inside the building with the broken window without drawing attention to ourselves, yeah?”

“I’m an invisible spider, what attention could I possibly draw from goblins?”

“Just go,” he said as they climbed over the wall, and stopped just inside of the broken window.

The imp found itself in a vestibule, empty. Another pair of double doors, sealed, marked the entrance to the church proper. Crawling under the door, Rake was able to make his way inside. A quick glance around revealed that the interior doors were barred with a heavy wooden beam. From there, it was a simple task for the imp to scale the wall, and at ten feet above the floor he was able to gain a clear view of the church.

There was nothing particularly unusual about the church. The central aisle, flanked by a dozen pews on either side, ran up to an altar, which sat before a great white marble statue of Gyaal-as-Man, weathered by the years of neglect. Behind the statue, great panes of stained glass presented the story of Saint Neymour and his knights, the first members of the White Brotherhood, receiving the Nine Blessed Blades from the smith Ainthwe and the Moon Elves of Luthin, the Citadel.

A closer inspection would have to wait, however. Gyaal-as-Man stood in silent watch over a gruesome scene below.

Four bodies of men and dwarves lay strewn down the central aisle, laid in seeping pools of their own blood. Before the altar, two goblins were at work on a fifth, an elderly man. His throat was slit, and the two greenskins were making a point to bleed him out before the altar. The crimson blood flowed, spilling out over the stone steps before the altar. A third goblin, armored in chain and armed with a fine crossbow leaned on his shoulder, seemed to oversee the work being done. He pointed a finger and barked a harsh Or'cat word, and the last two goblins, on the far right side of the church, went to work.

The last two captives, an auburn haired woman and a moon elf, knelt before them, hands bound and faces caked with blood. The goblins, each bearing a crude iron scimitar in hand, seized the woman. She gave no resistance. If she feared their blades, she did not show it. Whether she had steeled herself in the face of death or had merely consigned herself to her fate could not be said.

Back at the treeline, some ten minutes had passed. Captain Harrad waited expectantly. "Well?" he asked. "What's going on in there?"

---

"... I'm honestly worried."

Pyrrhus looked at the old sign pointing out that their destination is close, his face paling just a bit. It was an odd sight for the brute of a man to look afraid, especially for one such as Pyrrhus. The Etrycan sellswod had braved many different jobs from across the world, but Orzamar was a new land to him. Perhaps the unfamiliarity of these lands scared him? Whatever the reason, Pyrrhus crossed his arms and grunted, looking to the rest of his party.

"Has anyone else been in a mine before? Because I have not."

"It's not so bad. The kobolds are quite civilized," Devie answers, stuffing a reagent bag full of what looks to be a growing collection petals and weeds. "It's a little damp, though, which is not to my liking."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of kobolds. They are small and easy to crush under my boot, like you, little gnome. What I am more afraid of is if my muscles are too big to fit in such a cramped space." Pyrrhus replied as he stroked his chin in deep thought.

Devie pursed her lips. “Hmph.” She jammed her hands in her pockets. “Maybe you ought to focus on earning the coin we’re paying you instead of your muscles.” She looked up the winding path. “Lead the way, big man.”

Pyrrhus nodded as he marched forward, though the expression on the barbarian’s face conveyed that he was genuinely concerned. “If I am too big to fit in the little mines, I guess I will just carve my way through...” Pyrrhus resolved to himself, patting the large axe strapped to his back.

How Pyrrhus intended to cut through solid rock with a mere axe is just one of the many mysteries of the multiverse.

Rultay quietly bit her lip, resisting the urge to refer to the gnome as 'little woman'. "So, li-Devie, was it? How far do you think we are to the mines proper?"

"Maybe an hour? It's a short way. I've only been to Tinwarren once, nearly a year ago now," she answered the half-orc. "I was studying the properties of orichalcum with Professor Newtman at the time. It's quite incredible, actually. With the right chemicals you can create a compound that can substitute for a wide range of reagents. The College is on the verge of some incredible breakthroughs in the study of arcana because of our work here," she said, the words spilling out of her mouth at a rapid clip.

"We think there's a huge orichalcum vein under the mountains in this area, so the College awarded Tinwarren a large grant in tools and money this past winter to help them get at it," she continued. "We were hoping the red orichalcum they found recently might be the results we were hoping for. I'm sure Professor Flexner will have an exciting report for us once we find him."

"An exciting report, huh?" Rultay almost regretted asking, the words entering one ear and out the other. "That's certainly quite... interesting." Turning to the large man in front of her, she decided to mess with him a little. "Why are you going to carve through the mines? Why not just get everybody in the mines to push down on the floor hard enough to make it go down so you can fit in?"

Pyrrhus took a glance at Rultay and the rest of the party before laughing loudly.
"Please, even with everyone else's combined might, there's no way you all can bend the earth to your will! Only I am strong enough to accomplish such a fea-..."

A metaphorical lightbulb appeared over Pyrrhus's head, a glint in his eyes revealing that he had just made an amazing revelation.

"Interesting," Rultay dryly replied. "I certainly hope this legendary strength of yours can be put to good use saving these students. Speaking of, what reason do you think might cause them to go quiet all of a sudden?" Rultay presented the question openly, curious to hear the opinion of anybody who had one.

Tayronus watched the scene in shocked, and stilled silence.

After a few moments, he spoke aloud with his body, explaining the scene to those around him. “They’re slaughtering them,” he said, “there’s only two more left, and in a few more seconds there’s probably only going to be one.” Then, in Infernal he said, “Rake, while you’re there, go into the other building and see what you can find.”

Naraug's features twisted into a disgusted snarl. "Can't expect better from goblins. Bleed 'em still!"

"Then there it no time to be lost," Vanguard said as he pulled out his crossbow. "Captain, have your men take out the goblins." Vanguard then leveled his crossbow at the goblins, preparing to fire on either should the initial volley fail to kill one or both of them.

"Yes, sir," Harrad answered, and nodded to the guards. They leveled their crossbows, two aimed at each. Harrad readied his own crossbow, prepared to open fire if the first shots failed to fell them.

Harold turns to Vangaurd. "After they are down we still have the doors to deal with. Unless you can break then down."

Tayronus looked over at Vanguard, his eyes slightly wide, before returning his attention back to the goblins. The rage at seeing the innocents killed burned deep within him as his left hand weaved an arcane circle over his right. Within moments, fire bloomed in his palm and he hurled it at one of the goblins.

The party followed his lead.

The half elf drew his shortbow and took aim towards one of the two sentries waiting to hear the twang from the crossbows before loosing his own arrow. The goblin, leaned up against the wall, saw nothing but black as the projectile found his eye and punched through the back of his skull. In a motion, Naraugh readied the javelin he had unslung from his back in preparation, carefully moving out of the crossbowmen's line of fire as he did. The very next instant he was on his feet, mouth open in an inarticulate war cry, and the weapon whistled through the air towards the other goblin, alight with the flames from Tayronus's spell, standing guard.

The greenskin did not have the time to scream as the fire ate away from his flesh before the javelin took him in the chest, killing it instantly.

Both goblins dead, the guardsmen held their fire, conserving ammunition.

"Let's move forward, swiftly," Harrad ordered. "And put another bolt in each of them once we get closer."



Eldred swiftly responded to the Half-Orc, but not before casting a somewhat loaded glance at her general direction: "No word of ransom yet, so they're either dead or lost. Or so I reckon. -Hold on." As he spoke, the man was regarding the immediate locale, and something had just caught his attention. "We have fresh tracks." He approached a spot in the mud and knelt over it. "Could be from the locals. But look here." He gently pinched a black, oversized feather and held it aloft for the rest to see. "What manner of Kobold flies?"

Looking at the feather and scratching his head, Pyrrhus shrugged. It surely looked strange to the man, but regardless, Eldred did raise a good point.

"If you would like to see a Kobold fly, then I should have brought a club, instead."

Despite his quip, Pyrrhus hefted his greataxe, stretching his neck as he prepared himself for an imminent confrontation.

Rultay took a look at the feather, placing a hand on her chin as she squinted to get a better look. Though she wasn't too familiar with most of the beasts that populated the local area, she was sure that she had seen a similar feather before. After a brief moment spent in thought, the answer struck her, and she gave an informed nod to Eldred.

"Close, but I'm afraid not," she explained, "I can say with absolute certainty that this feather belongs to a Kenku." Though she wasn't much of a reader, she had heard about the strange creatures that lived in the local area from her parents long ago. Easing her stance, she nodded forward. "They usually mill around the hills, I've heard. They won't cause us any trouble, so long as we don't cause them any, that is."

Rultay was about to suggest they continue, before she realized something. Perhaps they might be helpful in finding out the fate of the missing students? "I wonder if they would have any information about the missing people," Rultay added after a brief pause. Once more, she turned to the others, looking for their thoughts on the suggestion.

“Kenku, huh?” Pyrrhus scratched his head. “Hah, they’ve got a funny sounding name...”

"Crow-folk," Devie said. "They'll be hard to talk to. They speak through mimicry, using sounds they've heard before. If we run into them, it might be difficult to--oh." She cut herself off as they turned a bend in the road, around a dense thicket of pines, and lo, there they were. Three kenku, dressed in hooded rags, seemingly traveling south from Tinwarren. They stopped in their tracks as they caught sight of the party, and after a moment, one of them waved.

"Hello, and welcome to the Fox & Lute," it said in a familiar voice. No, not just in a familiar voice. It was a perfect replica of the voice of Rugen, the half-orc owner of the Fox & Lute outside Orzamar's eastern gate. "Hello, and welcome to the Fox & Lute," the other two kenku echoed.

Seeing the goblins fall, Tayronus takes out a piece of cured leather from his pack and begins chanting another incantation, causing it to levitate within a whirl of arcane energy. Grabbing the leather, he slammed it on his chest and a flow of arcane covered his body, strangely looking like armour before it disappeared.

Then, putting a hand on one of the guard's shoulder, he said, "I'll take another look inside the priory," then jumped back into Rake's mind as he made his towards the long hall to the other building.

Inside, the two goblins had led the woman to the altar, leaning her over it. An argument broke about between the two goblin underlings, and as their crossbow-armed leader attempted to reconcile them, the shouting escalated into what sounded like Or'cat threats and curses.

Rake and Tayronus watched the scene for a few more seconds. "I wonder if I can get the goblins to kill each other," Rake said with a small snigger.

"What do you mean?" Tayronus asked.

Suddenly, Rake changed forms from a spider to an imp and flew down to the one arguing with the leader. "He means to kill you," he said in common, "he summoned me, a demon, to bring ruin to you all once this mess is done!" Rake then appeared suddenly beside the goblin he was speaking to and flared his wings.

The goblins blinked, considering the imp. They looked to each other, and the leader spoke in stilted, but capable, Adean. "Did Valeerya send you to make bad jokes or check on our progress, imp? Tell her we are almost done, she will not have to wait long," he growled, and then switched back to Or'cat. He barked an order at the two goblins, who acquiesced and bent the woman over the altar, pressing her face to the white marble surface.

Suddenly, there was a bang on the door, and the goblins looked up.

Soon after Tayronus had left for his familiar's mind again, Vanguard picked up the tiefling's vacant body and slung it over his shoulder. "Advance," Vanguard said before leading the way into the vestibule.

Once he reached the barred door, Vanguard placed Tayronus down next to it and turned to those who had followed him in. "As this place has been abandoned for so long, the door will be weak from a lack of proper maintenance," Vanguard stated. "If we throw our combined strength against the door, it should break with relative ease." Vanguard put away his crossbow and pulled out his maul. "Lives are at stake," Vanguard said, "bring down this door!"

Striding up to join the warforged in his attempt at battering the portal open, Naraug took but a moment to retrieve his somewhat charred javelin from the goblin's corpse, grumbling something about spits and fires in Or'cat. The state of the haft was quickly forgotten, though, as the orc replaced it behind his back and hoisted his warhammer. He nodded at Vanguard - "With ya." - as he readied a concerted blow.

With that said, Vanguard and Naraug threw his shoulder against the barricaded double doors. The beam across the inside doors creaked mightily. And then, with a second bang, the wooden beam broke and doors swung inward, revealing the heroic adventurers, ready to rescue the captured citizens.

As soon as they were in, they felt tremors under them. Four chandeliers above swung with the rocking, and the wooden pews creaked. While not particularly dangerous to the combatants, the straggling tiefling had certainly set the mood. Unfortunately this did not distract the goblin captain for less than a moment, and as Vanguard and Naraug led the charge down the church's central aisle, he aimed his crossbow and took a shot.

"CHARGE!" Vanguard bellowed, charging the goblin archer at the end of the aisle and swinging at it with his maul. A crossbow bolt skkippd off his shoulder, and the goblin captain cursed aloud as the bolt failed to pierce the warforged's armor. The doors had scarcely come to rest when Naraug rushed through the portal, howling something unclear, but certainly loud and dire-sounding. Hammer and shield in hand, he bore down upon the nearest sword-wielding goblin and swung his weapon at it without breaking stride.

Seeing that his plan had failed and the combat had begun, Rake hissed in frustration. "You did what you could, now get back," Tayronus said telepathically. Rake flew back to him and landed on his shoulder. Something snapped, and Tayronus was in his own mind again, somehow on the floor in front of the priory. He stood and took a few steps back.

Vanguard and Naraug reached their targets, swinging their weapons. The swordgoblin was ready for them, and braced himself to engage, however, and with a mighty swing of his shield caught the warhammer on its sturdy wooden frame and turned it aside. As Naraug felt the warhammer driven into the ground, he knew he was open. He attempted to bring his shield to bear, but too late. The goblin swung the scimitar upward, the cruel iron raking against the interlinked chains of the half-orc's armor (-6). Lightning lept down the the blade as it connected, and the goblin took a shock. Even so, he stood fast, dangerous, and proved capable of killing.

Vanguard, meanwhile, was luckier. The bowgoblin was nimble, but even as the maul's head found the priory floor, cracking the stone with the strength of the swing, it lingered too close. Vanguard, with swift ferocity, found the side of the goblin's head with his maul as he returned to his readied stance.

The bowgoblin, bloodied but hardly dead, moved with swift agility, backed up a few feet from the warforged, bow in hand. As he moved, he lined up a shot and loosed an arrow, but again, the warforged's armor held. Behind the altar, the goblin on the left readied an arrow, aimed directly at the warforged's head. An arrow found his throat. The bow fell from his hand and he clutched his wound before collapsing to the floor, gurgling. Harold had slid to the right hand side of the party taking up position behind one of the pews, knocked an arrow, and found his kill.

The woman screamed, and the swordgoblin to her right bolted for the door at the end. The moon elf stood to his feet, attempting to get in the way, but the swordgoblin thrust his blade through the elf's stomach and went for the door.

"Tag him!" Harrad shouted to his men. Before taking the door, Harrad had stationed two of his men, spears and shields ready, outside the outer doors to the church, ready to repel enemies, while Harrad and his two crossbowmen supported the party. The goblin released his grip on the door handle and took cover behind his shield. Crossbow bolts rained on him, two embedding themselves in his shield, but he remained alive and unbloodied.

The fight raged on.

Harold watched the other goblin flee towards the door and stab the moon elf as it passed by. He also watched as the guardsmen fired at the goblin and failed to injure it.

“I thought you lot were trained to use those things!” he jeered, nocking another arrow and firing it. His aim was true, and as the goblin shielded his head he took the half-elf’s arrow to the gut, falling to the stone floor.

Outside, Luna moved along the side of the church to gain line of sight on the hall connecting the church to the secondary building. There she found a door, leading from the hall to the courtyard. With a quick whisper to the leylines, a wall formed in front of the door. A goblin, passing quickly and without thought, might be fooled into believing some solid impasse had been conjured before him, but in the truth the illusion had no such solid matter to constitute it. The only wall would be in the eye of the beholder.

Back inside, the goblin captain moved with incredible alacrity. He shouted an order in Or’cat and made for the door, bounding up the steps to the altar and hurtling over it, length wise, and touching down on the floor again. He side stepped his most recently fallen comrade, pulled the door on the right of the church open, and slipped through, leaving the battle behind.

Snarling in pain at the blow he had received, Naraug raised his hammer a second time and swung at the goblin with reckless brutality. Yet, though he struck with all the tremendous force of hi sarm and bulk, rage darkened his eyes, and the weapon’s arc was wide and predictable. Once again it was deflected by a swift motion of the goblin’s shield-arm and sent plunging downwards, its fearsome weight now more an encumbrance than else.

If the half-orc felt fear as the goblin swung the blade, a true strike that would take him in the throat, it was quickly put to rest. A bolt of flame caught the goblin in the head, and the greenskin stumbled back, reeling and shrieking, until he fell to the floor, expired.

Tayronus had paused when he felt the earth tremor beneath his feet, looking around to see if anyone felt it. He had been about to ask a question when he saw Naraug’s peril. He mumbled a hurried incantation, his hand weaving over the right, and within moments threw a bolt of fire at the goblin’s face. His aim was true, and his fire fierce.

“Captive down!” Vanguard shouted. The goblin responsible for stabbing the moon elf was taken by an arrow as soon as the words left his mouth. Vanguard caught sight of the fleeing goblin captain and moved with him. Holding his maul by the top of its haft, Vanguard gave chase, drawing his crossbow and firing a wild shot off at the bow goblin he’d wounded as he moved. His shot was not near enough to kill it, however, and the bolt whistled past the goblin’s ear without causing harm. Vanguard made it to the doors the goblin captain had entered, threw them open, and found the hall empty. At the opposite end, the door to the secondary building swung shut.

The corridor was lined with stain glass windows. Images depicted a story, though the meaning of it would have to wait. To the right and left, two doors to two courtyards, one to the north, the other south. The southern door was blocked by a massive slab of concrete. The other was guarded by two goblins, each armored in leather and bearing scimitars and shields, who were moving for the door to engage him.

The warforged readied himself for battle.

Inside the church, his exit cut off and his comrades dead, the last goblin, bleeding from the head, threw down his bow and fell to his knees, hands in the air in a sign of surrender.

Emmanuel Harrad and his guardsmen entered the room, crossbows up.

"Check for survivors," the captain ordered, keeping his own crossbow trained on the surrendered goblin.