Slain by Elf

It's the day of reckoning. Abandoning all pretence that we are here to solve the murder of a young girl, we have fortified the village and are watching a goblin army advance. Wolf riders and dozens of goblins are coming right for us! We're barricaded and protected, but there are lots of the little buggers.

Davor is concerned about the archers lagging a little behind the main group of goblins, and repositions himself to be right up against the barricade. 'Now I can shoot through it', he says.

'Over it, I hope you mean. This isn't Space Invaders.'

'On the plus side, I get my arrows back pretty much straight away.' Shoot, pluck. Shoot, pluck. Shoot, pluck. It's hours of fun for our half-orc.

Elementals attack! Periwinkle attacks back! Our cavalier is in his ele—um, well, he's comfortable with being out in the open, which gives his riding wolf room to charge. His lance strikes a vulnerable spot on the elemental and he scores a critical hit.

Because of feats and character traits, his D6+3 damage is tripled from the charging, and tripled because of the critical hit, becoming 9D6+27. The elemental explodes in to smithereens as Periwinkle's lance hits for 61 damage.

The noise alone strikes us all dumb, and we turn to look at the gnome in the middle of a cloud of dust. 'What? What's wrong with hitting for 61 points of damage?'

'What's wrong? You're 3rd level. And this isn't 4th Edition.'

In our efforts to find out more about the goblins and protect the village we learn about some witches that live out in the woods. One local knows quite a bit about them, including that one crone is blind and has a leopard.

Davor mishears this and is a little taken aback. 'She has a leper?'

'No', says Periwinkle, 'a leopard. Someone who herds lepers.'

The goblins have attacked the village, and catching one of their scouts reveals their plans to mount a larger attack in a few days' time. We talk to the villagers to help them prepare defences, and one of them offers some advice. 'You know who's a good fighter? Big Fred.'

'Big Fred?', says Periwinkle, 'is that the hill giant down the road?'

'No, Big Fred is the ogre who lives up the road. He does odd jobs occasionally for us, although he can be unreliable.'

'This adventuring is more complicated than I every imagined', Thamir says, somewhat out of the blue. 'Dealing with goblins, getting the help of ogres...'

'Who are you talking to? That sounds suspiciously like inner monologue. Keep it that way. We don't need your 'dear diary' moments'.

'Is there an inn in this village?'

Our little band of incompetence is joined by another adventurer. Well, I say joined, but it's more that he is driven in to the village in his own carriage. Great, a posh twerp on his gap year thinking that adventuring is all fun and games.

'Don't take it the wrong way, chaps. Mother and father spent a lot of gold getting me trained and ready for this. And those two fabulous beasts at the head of my carriage are combat-trained ponies', the halfling fighter tells us.

'Combat-trained ponies?', says Davor, being somewhat incredulous of this claim.

'Yes. They're about as effective as a combat-trained halfling', I say.

Thamir, our new companion, doesn't find this terribly amusing for some reason, but ignores the jab and sizes up the group he wants to join. 'So you're a barbarian, I would say. You with the lance and riding the wolf must be a cavalier, and you look to be a barbarian/rogueish type. And you're a straight gnome rogue, right?'

'Well, I have been boffing the goblin barmaid, if that's what you mean.' But it wasn't.

'I'm glad to meet you all. I am trained as a phalanx fighter myself.'

'But isn't a phalanx composed of many fighters?'

'Yes, but I've trained in using a shield and polearm together, bracing against frontal attacks, so that's what I do.'

'It's a very small phalanx', says Davor. That's a rumour I'll be happy to spread.

A goblin scouting party is spotted in the woods. We consider approaching them as a gesture of goodwill, as well as to see if we can get any information from them.

'Shall we go up to them?', asks Periwinkle.

'Shall we roll for initiative?', asks Davor, in his typical manner.

'Let's hog-tie the half-orc', Periwinkle suggests, 'cut out his tongue, and offer it as a delicacy to the goblins.'

'That won't work', says Davor. 'The tongue of a half-orc is the worst part.'

'I'm not only well aware, but reminded of that fact every time you open your mouth.'

The bar brawl behind us, and explained to the local magistrate, we're off looking for local goblin tribes, to see if we can get any information from them. We're scouting through the woods when we think we ought to see something, and are asked to make perception checks.

'I get +1 if the check is to see traps.'

'And I have a +1 bonus if it's for unusual stonework.'

'In a forest?'

'You have to admit, it would be rather unusual stonework.'

We're in a bar, it is almost inevitable that we get in to a bar fight. Four drunken men are hassling the goblin waitress and Brock steps up to calm them down a bit. He's planning to calm them down with a head butt or two, but thanks to one of them pouring a beer over Periwinkle and the vagaries of the initiative system he doesn't get to start the fight until it is already in progress.

Punches are traded, along with some camp slapping, but Davor being Davor brings his orcish double-axe to bear, much to our chagrin. 'This is a bar brawl, not a massacre of the villagers!'

'I'm using the flat of the blade', Davor says in his defence. Well that's alright then. He smacks a couple of them to cause some decent bruises, and they unsurprisingly gang up on the brutish half-orc who has the temerity to be attacking with a bloody big axe.

Brock has had enough. He picks up a chair that was knocked over at the start of the fight and slams it in to one of the drunkards. A little too hard, perhaps. The chair splinters as it cracks ribs, maybe punctures a lung, possibly dislodges a kidney. The recipient of the blow collapses, bleeding, to the floor. 'That'll teach him to bring a fist to a chair fight.'

'Oh, we're killing them now?', says Davor. 'Cool!' But, no, we're not killing them. The two left standing back off quickly and, along with the bar owner's appearance, the scuffle is calmed down.

We travel by coach for two days north, to the village where the crime occurred. We get most of the way there before being ambushed by goblins, which is pretty good going, and even the ambush is pretty half-hearted. It seems that there is a fairly peaceful coexistence of goblins and humans, and that these little fellows just shakedown passers-by for a bit of food occasionally. But not this time.

The goblins are more keen to take our gold and other possessions than a few food rations, although when the runts see that our possessions primarily consist of a rapier, greatsword, greataxe, and battleaxe they get nervous. They weren't expecting to hold up anyone who would fight back. And fight back we do.

Our cavalier readies for any attack that comes his way, whereas Davor, our brutish 'half'-orc, steams his way out of the coach and directly in to melee. Quite sensibly and without showing any lack of awareness as to the situation, Davor strikes the lead goblin with his massive axe, instead of perhaps aiming for the obviously bigger goblin at the back who has clearly been goading the other, more nervous goblins in to attacking. Good job, Davor!

The meeker goblins throw down their weapons when they see what one hit from such an axe can do to them. Unsurprisingly, the burley goblin doesn't give up and moves to attack, running straight in to our cavalier who uses his own axe to score a suitably timed critical hit. The big goblin drops dead.

'If I were the goblins', says Davor, 'this would be the best time to surrender'.

'Are you sure you're not half-orc, half-goblin? They have already surrendered, you buffoon.'

We make sure the big goblin is dead and then tend the wounds of the smaller one as best we can, after finding out that he's known to the locals and is little more than a scamp. He should be fine with some bed rest, and we try to convince his pals of that. Then we head on our way.

At the next waypoint we ask about any increased activity with the goblins, and are told about how the goblins seem to be getting more aggressive. 'Yes, we encountered one larger goblin that didn't appear to be part of a local tribe. We suspect he was a ringleader, probably one of many, perhaps coordinated by a separate boss who has larger plans for the goblins here.'

'A ringleader, you say? Did you arrest him?'

'In a certain sense of the word, yes.'