Episode 1: Arrival at Greenest

The acolyte was in no position to effectively navigate the situation he had found himself in. Zarros, Halfdan, and Reaver formed quite the trio of intimidating factors, and even the seemingly most passive of the group, Theo, looked unlikely to intervene between the others. He tried to weigh his options, formulate a plan, or consider his words, but his head still swam from the blow that had fell him.

“Not that knowing will make any difference to you,” the acolyte finally replied through grit teeth. “But we’re members of the Cult of the Dragon. This town is just one of many that will serve to pay tribute to the great hoard of the Queen of Dragons.”

It would seem false bravado and answering their questions was the only recourse left to the acolyte for the moment.
 
"Very well, Cult-of-the-Dragon zealot. I've never taken much stock in gods; in fact, I did not know of them until I came to Faerun. It may shock you little to find that your answer did little to impress me. Given that I am new here, I can assure you that I am unfamiliar with your personal lost cause. And I am not interested to know it." Reaver leaned the haft of its battleaxe against the wall, propped up on the floor by the business end. The warforged then crouched down next to the acolyte, using its right hand to draw a handaxe from its hip. It flicked the head with the metallic tip of one of its fingers, causing the steel to sing at a high pitch. Still ringing, the barbarian brought the tool up in front of the acolyte's face, so close that, if it was its will, Reaver could easily have removed the man's nose with a flick of the wrist. As the sound faded, Reaver again addressed its quarry.

"What I am interested in, however, is what your psychotic little cult has done with the souls who inhabited this village." The metallic man pulled the axe from the man's face and suddenly grasped the acolyte's wrist with its left hand. Its crystalline eyes again tinged from blue to red, and Reaver brought its head up to the acolyte's. "You clearly fear my demonic friend here (or, rather, his patron). But I assure you, your immediate danger is here, with me and my spear-wielding comrade. You are going to tell us--right now--how many of you are in town, who and where your leaders are, and where the townsfolk have been taken."

It whacked the axe down, still about an inch past the end of the acolyte's fingers. The sharp blade embedded about a quarter-inch into the floor of the hovel, which the warrior had no trouble wrenching it free from. "And each time you make me ask, it will cost you one finger. This one is free, but do not test me." The intensity of the warforged's eyes continued to crescendo as it moved the blade of the axe down, barely grazing the skin at the base of the acolyte's little finger.

"I am not very good at waiting, either, so I suggest you begin now."

((History and Intimidation Checks))
 
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The color drained from the acolyte's face as Reaver's axe splintered the wood next to his hand and he closed his eyes his eyes tightly.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," the acolyte started to say.

Beads of sweat mingled with half-dried rivulets of blood as he seemed to be unhinging. Perhaps Reaver's threat had proven too much for the already addled acolyte. Or perhaps something else tormented the man as his breath quickened.

"Shit, shit, shit, burn in the nine hell's," the acolyte hissed.

His movements were limited with the shackles binding his wrists together, and the Warforged's grip on one of his wrists kept him largely immobilized, but fear it would seem could drive a man to extreme measures. A more complex spell may have proven difficult under the circumstances, but the cantrip he brought to bear upon himself needed minimal effort. A moment only was required. A moment to utter the incantation, a moment to twist his wrist and fingers of his other hand to direct the spell upon himself. With a scream that was quickly cut short, he self-immolated in flames of radiant energy.
 
What the fuck! Was the first thought Zarros had when the robed man began to burst into flames. He paused only for a second before he rushed across the room shoving people out of his way as he went. Zarros illusion dropped as he made his way to the screaming man “No no no no.” he exclaimed while desperately trying to put out the flames that now engulfed the man. At that point the flames had begun to burn his hands but he hardly noticed. He continued to try to render aid to the man however due to the magical nature of the flames there was nothing he could do to stop the man's life from ending.

The flames began to fade as the magic that produced them came to an end. It was then that Zarros realized the man was already too far gone. He sank back onto his knees just having started to feel the burning pain in his hands. He stared at the charred corpse in front of him. The corpse of the man he had hoped to save. You stupid fool. You could have walked away from this. ALL of this. Zarros slowly rose to his feet, turning to face his companions.

As they came into focus Zarros’ thoughts also drifted towards his companions. At first he felt angry, placing the blame on them for going too far. But the anger was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came. It is not their fault. They did nothing wrong. He reminded himself. Zarros took a deep breath to calm himself before speaking. “Well that was unpleasant. What shall we do now?” He asked in his ever persistent jovial tone. It was clear to everyone in the room that his cheerful attitude was being used as a facade to mask deeper feelings. An insightful mind might come to wonder how often that was the case.
 
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"Eesh..." Theo grimaced, looking away as the sickly radiance engulfed the cultist and burned him from the world. He was as uncomfortable thinking about the level of zealotry that would lead to a man self-immolating before he betrayed his cause as he was watching him burn. Some of the gods were alright enough by his reckoning, but you wouldn't catch him so much as shaving off a pinky finger for any divine, no matter how great.

"Think you may have laid it on a little thick there, big guy. Maybe we try my way next time we want answers." Theo walked over and patted Reaver on the arm in a conciliatory fashion. "If they'd rather die than keep chatting, I'd say that's a good benchmark for overdoing it a smidge. Live and learn though, eh?"

Not that he figured they'd have gotten much from the man anyway. If he was devoted enough to burn himself to a crisp, he was certainly devoted enough to not give up anything he thought could harm his god's cause. "We'd probably be better off nabbing one of the hired-thug looking types next time. Less loyal by a long shot, I'd guess." He nudged at the dead man's charred robe with his foot. "Shame about the clothes though. Kind of puts a damper on my costume plans. Either way-"

Theo turned around abruptly and paced back over toward his seat, "-someone mentioned something about introductions, right?"
 
Reaver had relinquished its grip on the acolyte's wrist after the flames appeared. Now, it stood over the smoldering remains, contemplating what it'd just witnessed. The red had gone from the warforged's eyes, and someone who was paying attention might few that they had dimmed considerably.

"I did not wish him actual harm, but in retrospect, taking a finger may have saved his life. Life is funny sometimes." A noise escaped its metal face which was almost, but not quite, a flat, dry chuckle. It shook its head soberly, replaced the hand axe at its hip, and hefted the battleaxe once more.

"He was just so..." Reaver began, more to itself than to anyone else. After a short bit tangible pause, it continued, "guarded and flippant, even though he was almost soiling himself. I thought I could loosen his tongue a bit more. I guess I leaned too hard upon him."

Reaver continued, a bit more assertively than before, addressing the room without meeting their eyes. Guilt. Guilt was the predominant feeling the naive warforged was experiencing at that moment.

"I apologize, comrades. Now yet another life is extinguished this night, and we did not even get anything particularly useful from him. Total failure, and the fault is mine.

"I shall make up for this error as best I can." The metal man lowered its head. "My designation is Warforged Seventy Six, for that was my serial number at my forging. A comrade once gave me the nickname Reaver, and since then, I have preferred that moniker.

"I hope that this unit can continue to function despite my failure. We work well as a team."
 
Halfdan's eyes narrowed as the acolyte began to issue a long hiss made up of muttering curses while rocking in place. He almost got to think that he had a bad feeling about it all, but events progressed too fast for even that. He had watched Reaver's display from barely a foot away. The warforged moved to lay it on the acolyte so fast Halfdan didn't have time to reposition much, so he'd mostly leaned against the wall and watched. It was a bit thick he felt, but the young paladin had no idea of the effect it would unleash on the already terrified man.

The flash of flames startled Halfdan, but he did no more than stand up straight away from the wall. By the time Zarros had swept in to try to beat the flames out, Halfdan knew it was done. He'd seen the effects magical flames left on a human body already. God fucking damn it, Halfdan thought as a chance to learn more evaporated. He felt absolutely nothing at the acolyte's death itself, but the loss of opportunity chafed at him.

Halfdan wrestled internally with his emotions as the other's talked out. He registered Zarros' question vaguely, and somewhat tuned in to Theo's commentary but it all sounded so far away. The sudden flaming death reminded him too much of the past, and for a moment his mind was elsewhere. He came to just as Reaver introduced himself. Halfdan walked off towards the big metal man, and gently patted him as high on the upper arm as he could reach. "Reaver's easier to say than Warforged Seventy Six, that;s for sure. You'll have to explain sometime what a Warforged is, but you can get into that when you want," Halfdan said as he cracked his neck both ways and exhaled.

"Personally, I see no reason we can't function just fine." Halfdan looked around the room at the trio, and bared a cold grin. "My name is Halfdan Windrivver, once erstwhile monk-in-training of Teldashain and now Paladin of Tempus," he said without humor as he turned to point towards the charred remains of the acolyte. "Two years ago, my monastery and almost all of it's occupants were burned down by an attack eerily familiar to tonight's events, dragon and all. I fully intended to sever the head of yonder zealot the moment I got confirmation they were involved. The promise my god elevated me for demands no less. Nice to meet you all."
 
Zarros' thoughts seemed to be elsewhere after the death of the cultist, However the introductions snapped him out of his daze. Giving a nod to Reaver and Halfdan, Zarros stepped forward and away from the corpse behind him. “I am Zarros, Just Zarros. First things first I want to assure you that in spite of what you just witnessed I am not a demon and I took no pleasure in what just happened. I was selling the role. I would have preferred that he lived and as weird as it sounds my actions were an attempt to save him from exactly that which you had planned Halfdan. I believe everyone deserves a second chance, no matter their crimes”

Zarros slowly walked over to the wall and leaned against it rubbing his chin before continuing. “As for the fire show I don’t think you are to blame Reaver. We all laid it on pretty thick there. In hindsight perhaps honey would have been better than vinegar. For those wondering about the horns the answer is rather simple. My mother was human, My father was a tiefling.” Zarros looked at each of them in turn offering them a warm smile. “It is good to meet you all with proper introductions. For now we have a problem to deal with but if we survive this I think we should talk about the possibility of traveling together. We seem to work pretty well together and I think as a group we could take on better work than escorting merchants and caravans.”
 
Theo had settled back in his chair while the others were making their introductions. He swung his pack around to sit it on his lap, his arms clasped around it and his chin resting on its top, watching the other three men speak with varying levels of interest. The 'warforged' (whatever one of those was, Theo still wasn't really clear on that) seemed surprisingly affected by the cultist's death, moreso than he would've expected after his menacing display both in combat and a moment before.

He supposed you never really could judge a book by its cover.

Halfdan's story about the cult particularly drew his interest. Theo had noticed he'd seemed a little far away after the cultist died, and had halfway put it down to shock over the death, but it seemed it was more than that. The cold hate in his voice when casually referring to taking the cultist's head unnerved Theo a little, but it sounded like there was enough reason for it. Zealotry and emotionally-charged vengeance... now there was a volatile mix.

By contrast, Zarros - the guy playing at being a demon - seemed almost underwhelmingly normal. But then, he didn't say a lot about himself when it came down to it. He could be sitting on any number of secrets. And it still definitely seemed like he'd enjoyed his illusion idea a little too much a minute ago.

All-in-all, he'd apparently ended up with quite an interesting bunch. He might have expected to run into someone like Zarros in his former line of work, but as far as the other two were concerned? This was new territory.

Well, he supposed he might've run away from people like Halfdan a few times in the past, but that hardly counted...

"Pleasure to meet all of you," he piped up once Zarros had finished speaking. "I'm Theo to my friends - or Teddy, if they're tryna be cute. Doesn't work very often on account of most of 'em not being cute. Gonna be honest, saving towns from cults isn't normally high on my list of ways to pass the time. Prefer avoiding fights than starting 'em, but..."

He sighed and shrugged. "Guess I'm here now. Might as well lend a hand. Speaking of... what's our next move?"
 
Reaver listened to everyone's introductions, nodding slightly as each concluded. That is, until Theo's. "Theo?" Reaver cocked its head slightly. "But... Cheeks? Shine--er, Halfdan called you Cheeks. I just kind of thought that was your name. But okay, Theo. Well met. And to you all." It gestured with its arm in a sweeping motion to the others.

Reaver responded to Theo's question next. "As for what we should do, I... I am not sure. I was hoping to get more intel out of..." Its head turned to the still-smoldering corpse. After a brief pause, the metal man continued. "But, supposing that the townsfolk are still alive and in the city, these cultists would need a place to house them all. Somewhere pretty big, like a town hall, jail, or other municipal building, I would wager. Those would probably located deeper in to the town center; we are still pretty well at the outskirts."

Then an idea occurred to the warforged, and it held up a metallic finger, turning its gaze to Zarros. "When I met you, you were on the roof, surveying. Did you see anything like that?"
 
Theo snorted at Reaver's comment on the nickname they'd been using for him. "Hah! I'm sure our rear-guarding friend just picked that as an affectionate nickname for me based on the quality of my derriere," he remarked with a smirk, before the warforged went on to begin discussing plans.
 
Zarros gave Theo a nod as he introduced himself. Zarros response to Reavers question was simple and short "Not that I noticed."

Zarros couldn't help feeling like he was a liability. He started them on the strategy that lead to the cultist suicide denying them any chance at information. Now he couldn't even recall just what he had seen from the rooftop. He had been so concerned about looking for movement and people that he didn't even think to scout the layout of the town.

Zarros pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning on standing up straight. He quickly glanced at the smoking carcass in the room as he rubbed his chin pondering the situation. It only took a moment for him to come to a decision on what to do. "I will go take another look while you all discuss our tactical options. Just fill me in on the plan after."

Zarros had barely finished his sentance before he simply walked out of the room heading for the exit to the house.

Zarros didn't much care what their plan was going to be. He had zero experience dealing with seige type situations. He was sure that he would just slow things down if he joined the discussion, at least this way he might see something useful by climbing back onto the roof for a second look.
 
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An infinitesimally small genuine grin cut through Halfdan's face at Theo's comment. Part of him would have had him reply, but that part was buried far far too deep for now. Halfdan nodded in thought at Reaver's insight however. It's what he would have done. He didn't miss that something was going on with the way Zarros' mood shifted. Sure, he didn't know the guy at all but the shift from his gleeful performance earlier was prominent. He made no move to stop him, though he disagreed with the exposure risk of his going outside.

Either he'd get them some more insight to work with, or screams would herald another fight. Instead he focused back on Reaver and Theo. "Let's hope it's town hall and not the jail. You don't put too many extra entrances in your jail," Halfdan said. He went to hoist his halberd and found that it wasn't in his arms. He'd gotten so used to carrying it, it seemed now it was possible to forget he even held it.

With an inward curse, Halfdan took a few steps towards where his halberd lay as he continued speaking. "I'm in agreement with seeking the townsfolk as the next step," he said. "Both because they don't deserve what's befell them, but also because it's likely whoever is leading this sack will be nearby. I expect it's the underlings that will be doing the...seeking of whatever it is they're seeking." He grabbed his halberd and laid it against his shoulder as he shot the house a quick glance. He had only briefly glanced at it before, too focused on the upcoming interrogation then. But the signs had been stewing in the back of his mind.

He pointed out the state of the house they found themselves in. "The dragon's not razing the whole town, though it would be trivial to do. Instead, look, the place has been ransacked," he ran his left hand over the scrabble of beard at his chin. "This Cult of the Dragon is clearly looking for something. You don't bring a damn dragon on a burglary. There's something specific they're after..." he trailed off before abruptly changing tack. "We definitely don't want the front entrance, but we're not likely to sneak our way past into freedom for the townsfolk. We'll have to plan as we move. Agreed?"
 
"Sounds like a plan. Or, the beginnings of one, at least. I find that's usually the best kind of plan. Gonna end up having to change the plan partway through anyway nine times out of ten, might as well include that in the plan to begin with." Theo flashed a grin over his bag, then hopped to his feet to join the others in getting ready to move. Before he took another step, though, he paused - something Halfdan had said lingered in his mind.

They're looking for something.

Unbidden, he glanced down at his backpack. Could they..?

Nah. Probably not. Probably a coincidence.

He slung the bag back around onto his back and nodded towards the door, dismissing the stray thought. "Right then, heading further in. Looked like there was some kind of big keep thing on the hill in the middle of town. That seems like as good a place as any to angle for."
 
"That seems reasonable to me, as well," Reaver said, its gently glowing eyes upon Halfdan. "Avoid unnecessary conflict, and CRUSH any we cannot." On the word "crush," the Warforged slammed its hand into the wall beside him, its eyes flaring to an intense crimson. After a moment, the seething anger faded a bit, and the gentle blue returned.

It stowed the handaxe it had threatened torture with, lifted the battle axe it had leaned against the wall, and reattached it to its shoulder mount.

It turned to Theo. "Admittedly, I've always been more of an on-the-fly person, anyway. In my world, I was a mercenary. Or... Perhaps you might better think of it as a gladiator. A slave for fighting. Made for fighting. Not so much for planning."

It took a step for the door. "This world is changing me, though. Freedom will do that."
 
Halfdan nodded at Reaver's comment and walked off towards the door, Halberd at the ready. Once outside, Halfdan took a moment to take stock of the situation. The night was still eerily still, with a few fires burning here and there. He looked to the shadowy sky, and didn't see any telltale winged lizard shaped shadows flying by. He then glanced first around the building they hid in, then across the way to the building closest to where they had entered the town. The other thing he didn't see was any sign of Zarros in the immediate vicinity. "Hey guys...do any of you see any signs of our—" Halfdan cut off as the cloud cover momentarily exposed a good amount of moonlight off in the distance towards where the caravan had arrived. Halfdan's visions wasn't good enough for a clear identification, and yet, he just knew. Off in the distance, seconds from being beyond his vision, a shadowy humanoid figure slunk at a rapid half-crouched run.

Away from the town.

"I do believe we might be down to three compatriots," Halfdan said as he pointed towards the fleeing figure. "Off to town then?".
 
"Freedom's a hell of a drug," Theo agreed with Reaver with a grin. "No idea what you're talking about with 'your world' there, but... leaving slavery behind can't be a bad thing."

He followed the other two outside, once more pulling his cloak closer about himself as they stepped into the cool night, before he followed Halfdan's gaze. "Huh..? Guess he had second thoughts."

Theo glanced around at their surroundings with a furrowed brow. "You think he saw something worth running from?" he murmured, an edge of concern in his voice. People didn't usually bolt like that unless there was something to bolt from.
 
"Can't rule it out. But he was obviously rattled by the suicide, and perhaps that was more than he could take. Honestly, there was a moment I considered putting as much distance between this place and myself as possible." Reaver's eyes scanned the horizon, not quite able to make out what the other two had. "But if I left, then what would happen to the rest of these people? It's hard to say, but the odds are definitely better with us together."

Reaver drew both of its weapons from their shoulder mounts, the axe extending from its right arm and the familiar weight of the hammer in its left hand.

"But yeah, let's head to town," the warforged stated as it stood beside its companions, looking to the west.
 
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After some discussion between the remaining trio they moved on deeper into town. Rampant signs of skirmishes and looting were far more prevalent and they began to see much of what Zarros had previously scouted from the rooftops. Doors to buildings and sheds stood open with belongings and goods strewn about the ground outside, and wagons lay overturned to spill whatever they carried out upon the ground.

At one point the main street ahead proved far too well lit with a gathering of cultists and acolytes seemingly caught up in a mixture of discussion and arguments over goods being heaped into a wagon by mercenaries. The side-route that detoured them around the commotion was poorly lit, but seemed devoid of cultists. As they moved hurriedly through the dark, the silence of the side street was broken by the thundering of hooves as a wayward horse bolted past them. Lost and confused no doubt as it ran recklessly through the streets.

As the hoofbeats faded back the direction they had come, they were replaced by the abrupt and audible sound of a crying child swiftly drawing closer. Up ahead numerous shadowy figures spilled out of the darkness between two buildings. Out in the open now, the moonlight offered some visibility. The figures appeared to be that of a man carrying a crying child no older than two, with two more young children at either side. One, maybe four or five years old, held onto the man's free hand, and the older one of maybe six or seven years of age ran alongside him. Behind them ran a woman who stopped and turned to face whatever pursued them. She wielded a round shield and a broken spear.

"Linan!" the man shouted as he realized she had stopped.

"Get the kids to the keep, Cuth!" she bit back with the hardened resolve of a mother protecting her children.

Cuth hesitated but broke and ran with the children as numerous kobolds spilled out from between the buildings. They where in a state of frenzy as they scrambling around each other, and over bushes and rocks in their clamor to reach the woman. The man's eyes went wide though as he was met with the sight of Halfdan and Reaver in the road, and presumably mistaking them for mercenaries, he turned and ran north instead. There were houses and cover to the north, but it would take him and the children back past Linan and the approaching kobolds, and away from the road that would take them further into town towards the aforementioned keep. He wasn't moving as quickly as one would expect - even with the extra burden of a child - and there was something off about his gait.
 
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The child's high-pitched wails reverberated in Reaver's steel chest. As Cuth's eyes grew wide at Reaver and Halfdan's form, Reaver's eyes grew intensely red, and it instantly sprung to motion. A woman--presumably the mother--was about to make a last stand against a group of kobolds, and outfitted as she was, she was almost certainly going to die.

The warforged replaced the warhammer into its shoulder mount as it charged forward, and placed its second hand on the haft of the battleaxe. It let out an angry, metallic roar as it planted its feet near the woman, in the midst of her pursuers. The barbarian lashed out angrily with its axe, driving through a crescent starting at the leading kobold and continuing to the left, striking second monster with the back end of the arc.

The first monster was cloven cleanly in two, and the trail of its blood that flowed down the beard of the battleaxe spattered its comrades, making a crimson trail between the two monsters.

Barely able to create intelligible thoughts through its rage any longer, Reaver addressed the woman with a single word, barely distinguishable from its earlier roar, "RUN!"
 
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