Night Out 2/4 (quiz 222)

Cammy Duskwind, the silver haired half-elf who tended the bar most nights, was first to the door. She jerked it open, and scanned the view. “Smoke to the south,” she reported to the room at large over the still clambering bells. “And it looks like a crowd’s formed on the square. I wonder-” Her words were cut short by the unmistakable thunk of arrows striking wood. Had she been a few inches to the left, she would have been in their path. Cammy hastily slammed the door; the tips of the arrowheads were visible in the wood.

The common room of the Harper’s Hand was seized in the grip of momentary shock. Its clientele – the eponymous Harpers, off-duty guards, and visiting adventurers – were no strangers to violence, but none of them expected to find it there that night. Maera looked down at herself, clad in her favorite red dress. Notably absent was her swordbelt, and the weapon that normally hung there upon. She made a face. “Well, this’ll be fun,” she muttered to herself, standing. “Cammy, did you get a look at the archer?” The barkeep shook her head. Maera’s dark eyes swept the room, appraising the double handful of patrons, all still firmly rooted to their chairs. “Are we going to sit around admiring each other all night, or are we going to get out there and figure out what’s going on?” she asked. Kelsey and Imoen shared a grin as they stood.

“An excellent question,” Drogan remarked mildly, giving his table full of young Harpers a placid gaze that left them squirming.

Maera arched a pale eyebrow at the mage; he gave her a small, knowing smile in return. She looked back at her table. “Im. Reconnaissance. Go. We’ll meet you on the square.”

Imoen tipped her sister a mocking salute as she faded from view, her invisibility spell shielding her from the eye. “I’m gone,” the empty air chirped, and the door opened and shut so quickly one might have missed the motion altogether.

Maera turned to her husband. “We’ll split up. I’ll meet you in back of Fergus Blackhammer’s shop. You go first; I’ll wait a twenty count.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Yes, ma’am.” Arrows thudded into the door again as he made his exit.

When Maera got to twelve, one of Drogan’s tablemates spoke. “M-mistress Coltrane,” said the young man, a nervous looking sort wearing a holy symbol of Mystra, and no older than twenty, “you’re not armed!”

She shrugged. “Kid, I’m always armed.” He blinked at her, and she sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll improvise.” She darted out the door, and disappeared into the increasingly smoky night.

“Now I think,” Drogan said, still as calm as if he were discussing his favorite pipe, “that it might be wise for us to see to the Twilight Hall. Wouldn’t you agree?”

--

Imoen had learned to wall climb on the slick stones of Candlekeep, and she’d had years to perfect her craft since. The timbered walls of Berdusk posed no challenge, so up she went, scouting from the rooftops. What she saw was not encouraging. There were armed bandits, orcs and hobgoblins to be exact, out in the streets, gathering up on a position in the market square. She couldn’t quite make out what was going on, and grumbled a curse. Farseeing didn’t work when the caster was invisible and that just wasn’t fair. Though maybe with a little tweaking, it might be possible to -

Her ruminations were cut short by a scream from below, and the sound of running feet. A young man and woman, barely sixteen if they were a day, were fleeing hand-in-hand, an orc hard on their heels. They’d probably just been out necking in some out of the way alley, Imoen thought, and now they were running for their lives. That wasn’t very nice. These were modern times, after all, and she was a staunch proponent of necking. She noiselessly descended the roof to the eaves, and as the orc passed beneath her, she pushed a loose roofing tile off the edge. The slate met his helmeted head with a resounding clang, and he dropped to his knees like a felled ox. The young lovers stopped short, staring first at the groaning orc and then at each other. Imoen grinned as the young man’s chest puffed slightly, as if he’d willed that tile into being solely to defend his girl. “Play your cards right and this could end well for you, my friend,” Imoen murmured with a smirk as she turned and set back off towards the square.

--

Kelsey took momentarily shelter on the porch of a narrow townhouse. He thought about cursing the fact he couldn’t cast a decent invisibility spell, but it wasn’t worth the effort. It hadn’t come to him in the past twenty years; it probably wasn’t going to now. He often bemoaned the fact that Imoen far outstripped him in defensive ability to Maera, and she always pointed out that his offensive capabilities were definitely superior. Such conversations tended to end with her providing him with a detailed demonstration of just how much she enjoyed watching him work, as it were.

Come to think of it, that was probably the only reason he still bothered to complain about it.

From between the slats of the porch railing, he could see them. Orc and hobgoblin bandits, roaming the streets. The townsfolk had taken to their homes, candles and lamps doused, doors locked, and Kelsey could hear the clash of arms over the bells, just a street or two over. The Watch was putting up a fight, at least, but he knew this was not their area of expertise. They were guards, not soldiers. That made it his job, and Maera and Imoen’s, to take the burden off them. There were far too many innocent people at risk not to end this as quickly as possible. As he watched the streets for his chance to duck into the nearest alley, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks for the three miles of countryside between this insanity and his daughter, and for Jaheira, who would shame a mother bear in Kylia’s defense.

His nose wrinkled at the scent of the smoke – there was an odor particular to the smell of burning buildings, an unpleasant acridness he’d smelled far too often in his time. The orange flicker at the corner of the block was growing brighter, and he had an idea. Maybe he couldn’t make himself invisible, but he could certainly do this.

He glanced about; the street was empty. He jogged up its length a short distance, eyes focused on the fire. Taking a deep breath, he raised his right fist, slowly uncurling his fingers as he exhaled. He could create spears of ice as thick as his leg and hurl them with such force they could crack stone, but this required a more delicate touch. The trick was to take all that cold and water and diffuse it, just so…

A two foot deep snowdrift appeared over the spreading fire, which whooshed out of existence with a hiss of disappointment. Kelsey nodded to himself with a half grin, but he couldn’t spare long to be impressed with himself; he could hear the heavy thudding footfalls of mailed feet behind him. He dove across the street, into the alley, and flattened himself against the wall. He didn’t have far to go now. He hoped Maera was all right.

--

“I’m always armed,” Maera muttered, rubbing her stinging hands together. “I’ll improvise.” She gave the unconscious hobgoblin at her feet a poke with her booted toe. “Me and my big mouth.” The hob lay in a heap, with the remains of the bit of building timber she had broken over his head in splinters around him. She felt a twinge of conscience; in the morning, she was going to have to find out who owned the house and explain to them why there was a hobgoblin-shaped hole in the framing of the new room they had apparently been in the process of adding on. One just didn’t expect that sort of thing in the midst of home renovation. She stared down at the inadvertent homewrecker and cocked her head, frowning. There was something familiar about the crest on the hobgoblin’s jerkin, but she couldn’t place it. “Where have I seen that before?” she asked him. He groaned in response, and she decided it was time to get moving.

She armed herself with another piece of wood and wished longingly for Daystar, hanging in oiled comfort on the training room rack at home. The poor sot at her feet hadn’t even been nice enough to carry a sword – the heavy bladed axe he’d borne was so far from her style it wasn’t even an option.

Looking about to get her bearings, she saw she was already nearly halfway to the square. Though the temple bells were still ringing, the fire bell on the square had stilled, and that was a bad sign. It meant the crowd Cammy had seen was not the fire brigade. She cut through someone’s back garden; the house was dark, but she thought for an instant she saw a child’s face in the window. Her heart pounded with panic until she reminded herself Kylia wasn’t there – she was safe, she would be fine.

The entire situation sawed on her nerves like a fork on glass, and her temper rose with every step she took. This was her town, by the gods. She liked it here. Who did these jackasses think they were? Glass shattered to her left, and her jaw set. She rounded a corner and saw a pair of orcs attempting to force the door of the house across the street. She hefted her piece of two by four and smirked darkly. Oh goody, she thought. Targets.

She caught the first one across the back, and immediately ducked to avoid the second’s swung fist. It was close quarters against the wall, and she dropped the wood as she fell into a crouch, bracing herself on her hands and sweeping a leg out in a circular kick. The feet of the nearer orc tangled on hers and she grinned as he went down in a flailing knot of limbs. Balthazar had taught her that move. She would have to tell him she had finally had a chance to use it.

She rolled hastily to avoid her fallen target and retrieved her improvised club. It was heavier than her sword, and she knew she would have to finish this quickly if she didn’t want to over-exert herself too soon. She aimed for the orc’s midsection; he moved to block and she swung upwards, clipping him across the face. He howled, clutching his nose, and that brought her the precious seconds she needed to seize him by the neck and slam his head into the wall. Eyes glazed, he slid down the wall, landing on top of his comrade, who was trying to regain his feet. Maera panted five quick breaths before sprinting down the next alley, grinning fiercely. A good workout was the best remedy for aggravation.

--

Imoen narrowed her eyes, judging the distance between rooftops. She took a running start and flung herself across the gap, landing lightly on the rough tiles. From the shadows near the chimney, she watched the square. The bandits had definitely set up some sort of barricade out there, and the Watch had positions in the streets feeding into the square from the south. Was there anyone on the north side? She pondered following the rooftops around to see, but sighed and nixed the idea. That was better done after rejoining Maera and Kelsey.

The bells had all stopped ringing – Imoen hoped that meant the priests and Harpers had joined the fight. If the Twilight Hall had been taken, that meant the bandits had managed to get around the Watch in numbers of more than one or two, and then they’d really have a problem. She heaved a sigh. All she had wanted had been a nice evening out with her sister and brother-in-law. She didn’t get to see them nearly often enough these days, what with one thing and another, and it just wasn’t fair. But then she brightened, realizing that if she was irritated, Maera must be furious, and it was always good fun to watch her sister take out her frustrations on the stupid.

In the alley below, she saw a flash of movement, but as she tensed to prepare a spell, she realized it was human, and moreover, she recognized the form. It was Kelsey, moving cautiously down the alley behind the next house over. If she hurried, she could head him off before he reached whatever rendezvous point he and Maera had chosen and just follow him there. She leapt for the next roof and clambered down the side of the house, only to be met by the sight of a hobgoblin in oddly familiar livery not three feet from her landing spot. She held her breath as his head turned…and then her stomach sank as his eyes fixed on her. Her invisibility spell had worn off. She swore by every deity she could think of and a few she had probably just made up as she inhaled quickly, a spell on her lips, but before she could utter a syllable, one large hand fastened about her throat. Crap, she thought.

--

Kelsey heard a disturbance in the alley ahead. He slowed his pace, moving as quietly as he could. There was a hobgoblin up there, and a human, it seemed. He caught sight of them, the enormous figure grasping a small female’s throat, and he drew in a horrified breath. A flame arrow could dispatch the hobgoblin without hurting the girl, he thought; then they turned enough for him to see the prisoner’s face, and his jaw dropped.

“Imoen?”

That was a stupid thing to do, but he was simply so shocked, he couldn’t help himself. She rolled her eyes, evidently well aware of the foolishness of her situation. The hobgoblin’s chest rumbled as it chuckled.

“She yours, little man? Gonna beg me not to hurt your woman?”

Kelsey blinked, and before he could stop himself, he answered honestly, “Well…no.”

--

Maera was almost there, and she had not seen anything of either Imoen or Kelsey yet. They could more than capable of handling themselves, she told herself, but that did not stop the whirring buzz of worry that had set up shop in her gut.

There were people up ahead, and she tightened her grip on her impromptu beating stick as she poked her head slowly around the corner, just far enough to see the three figures standing in the middle of the alley. She gave herself an instant to be surprised at the identities of the two humans in the scene, and then she had to fight not to laugh as Kelsey responded in the negative to the hobgoblin’s demand for pleading, if only because she could just imagine the look on Imoen’s face when he did it.

--

That was not the reaction the hobgoblin was expecting. “Huh?”

“Well, she’s not. My woman, I mean. Though she’s probably around here somewhere.” A length of wooden planking whistled as it sailed through the night air. The hobgoblin’s helmet rang like a bell as it struck, and the hobgoblin, getting a firsthand lesson in how a clapper feels, reeled. Imoen squirmed out of his loosened grasp, as Maera stepped around him, and leveled a blow to his torso, knocking the wind from him and leaving him sprawled on the ground, insensible. “Oh, there she is,” Kelsey said brightly. He smiled at Maera. “Hi, honey.”

“Well, it’s not Blackhammer’s, but this will do.” Maera kissed his cheek. “Run into any trouble on the way here?”

“Just this.”

Imoen coughed and rubbed her throat, her expression sour. “‘No’? Really, Kels? You couldn’t fake it for five minutes?”

Kelsey spread his hands. “What? He did ask. And besides, what was stopping you from fireballing the top of his head off or jabbing him with any one of the dozens of knives I know you’ve got on you right now?”

Imoen continued to glower at him. “I was about to! But then you came barreling in, throwing the whole thing off, and…NO? Of all the things to be a stickler about!”

He crossed his arms coolly. “Imoen. Are you the woman I’ve been married to for ten years, or are you the sister-in-law who picks my pocket for beer money?”

She pursed her lips, eyes furtive. “You noticed that, huh?”

“I paid for your last two rounds, didn’t I?”

“Three.”

“You two done yet?” Maera leaned down, lifting Imoen’s chin to get a closer look at her sister’s throat in the dim light. “Doesn’t look too bad. Hopefully we can get it looked at soon.” She rubbed her hands together, looking about the alleyway as she collected her thoughts. Another axe-wielder, she noticed sourly as she spared the hobgoblin a final glance. Didn’t anyone have the decency to carry a weapon she actually wanted to use? “We need to pool our information, and then we should see how the Watch are holding up. We may be able to accomplish more helping them than anything else.” She shot Imoen a pointed look. “And damn it, Im, pay for your own drinks.”

Imoen stuck out her tongue. “You’re mean, Mae.”

“Yes I am. No wonder you and Ky get along so well. You probably bond over your mutual suffering.”

“Among other things. She reminds me of me, sometimes.”

“I know. That’s why I worry about her.”

Imoen snickered, then pursed her lips thoughtfully, gazing down at the hobgoblin at their feet. “Is it just me, or does that crest look really familiar?”

“It’s not just you,” Maera replied. “I can’t place it either.” She glanced at Kelsey, who shrugged.

“This is killing me!” Imoen muttered. “Where have I seen this before?!” She chewed on the side of her thumb, staring intently at the crest. Then her eyes widened. “Oh my gods. Mae? This guy’s with the Chill.”

“The Chill?” Maera’s eyebrows climbed. “Wow, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I thought we’d pretty well put them down.”

Imoen shrugged. “That was twelve years ago. Plenty of time to rebuild if you really mean it.”

“Do you think it means something that they’re the ones doing this?” Kelsey asked, worried.

“You mean, are they here because of me?” Maera’s eyes grew distant as she followed the thought down its various probable courses. Her expression darkened. “I need a sword.”

Her words were cut short by the unmistakable thunk of arrows striking wood. Had she been a few inches to the left, she would have been in their path. Cammy hastily slammed the door; the tips of the arrowheads were visible in the wood.

And she is lucky someone is a lousy shot. Or aiming to miss, but most likely, just a lousy shot.

“An excellent question,” Drogan remarked mildly, giving his table full of young Harpers a placid gaze that left them squirming.

From the expansion of Neverwinter Nights, right?

Heh. Think I played a paladin in that one.

Imoen tipped her sister a mocking salute as she faded from view, her invisibility spell shielding her from the eye. “I’m gone,” the empty air chirped, and the door opened and shut so quickly one might have missed the motion altogether.

Raven: "Nice trick."

Harlequin: "Mmmm."

Raven: "You've got her on thermals, don't you?"

Harlequin: "Oh yeah."

These were modern times, after all, and she was a staunch proponent of necking.

Harlequin: "So am I, but there are better places than dimly lit alleyways."

Raven: "Like dimly lit nightclubs?"

Harlequin: "-Much- better."

He often bemoaned the fact that Imoen far outstripped him in defensive ability to Maera, and she always pointed out that his offensive capabilities were definitely superior.

Especially when it comes to "swordplay?"

(Headdesk.)

Gah, yeah, that was bad.

As he watched the streets for his chance to duck into the nearest alley, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks for the three miles of countryside between this insanity and his daughter, and for Jaheira, who would shame a mother bear in Kylia’s defense.

Well, she could turn into a bear and fight harder than an actual bear would in that form.

She armed herself with another piece of wood and wished longingly for Daystar, hanging in oiled comfort on the training room rack at home. The poor sot at her feet hadn’t even been nice enough to carry a sword – the heavy bladed axe he’d borne was so far from her style it wasn’t even an option.

Enara: "It's got a blade on it. Make do. It cuts. Sticks don't."

(Truth be told, Enara would be worse off. Kensai specializing in long blades? Trying to use an axe? Ick. )

This was her town, by the gods. She liked it here.

"This used to be a -nice- neighborhood!"

(Left 4 Dead 2 reference. The game's token "big guy," Coach, gets pissed off and clocks a zombie over the back of the head with the butt of his shotgun while yelling that line. )

Kelsey blinked, and before he could stop himself, he answered honestly, “Well…no.”

Raven: "Ha. Never going to live this down, is she?"

Harlequin: "Probably not."

There were people up ahead, and she tightened her grip on her impromptu beating stick as she poked her head slowly around the corner, just far enough to see the three figures standing in the middle of the alley.

I remember picking up a two-handed mace as a reward for a quest in Icecrown once. It was literally called a "Beatstick."

“Among other things. She reminds me of me, sometimes.”

“I know. That’s why I worry about her.”

Raven: "That's exactly what the universe doesn't need. More of you."

Harlequin:

“You mean, are they here because of me?” Maera’s eyes grew distant as she followed the thought down its various probable courses. Her expression darkened. “I need a sword.”

Cue Roaring Rampage of Revenge.

Her words were cut short by the unmistakable thunk of arrows striking wood. Had she been a few inches to the left, she would have been in their path. Cammy hastily slammed the door; the tips of the arrowheads were visible in the wood.

And she is lucky someone is a lousy shot. Or aiming to miss, but most likely, just a lousy shot.

We'll take that, though. Much has been avoided because the other guy was a bad shot.

“An excellent question,” Drogan remarked mildly, giving his table full of young Harpers a placid gaze that left them squirming.

From the expansion of Neverwinter Nights, right?

Heh. Think I played a paladin in that one.

Yep, borrowed Drogan from Shadows of Undrentide. He works well here, I think.

Imoen tipped her sister a mocking salute as she faded from view, her invisibility spell shielding her from the eye. “I’m gone,” the empty air chirped, and the door opened and shut so quickly one might have missed the motion altogether.

Raven: "Nice trick."

Harlequin: "Mmmm."

Raven: "You've got her on thermals, don't you?"

Harlequin: "Oh yeah."

Imoen: *snorts* "Cheater."

These were modern times, after all, and she was a staunch proponent of necking.

Harlequin: "So am I, but there are better places than dimly lit alleyways."

Raven: "Like dimly lit nightclubs?"

Harlequin: "-Much- better."

But when you're 16, you make do.

He often bemoaned the fact that Imoen far outstripped him in defensive ability to Maera, and she always pointed out that his offensive capabilities were definitely superior.

Especially when it comes to "swordplay?"

(Headdesk.)

Gah, yeah, that was bad.

Way worse than anything I could come up with. And that's pretty bad.

As he watched the streets for his chance to duck into the nearest alley, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks for the three miles of countryside between this insanity and his daughter, and for Jaheira, who would shame a mother bear in Kylia’s defense.

Well, she could turn into a bear and fight harder than an actual bear would in that form.

Exactly!

She armed herself with another piece of wood and wished longingly for Daystar, hanging in oiled comfort on the training room rack at home. The poor sot at her feet hadn’t even been nice enough to carry a sword – the heavy bladed axe he’d borne was so far from her style it wasn’t even an option.

Enara: "It's got a blade on it. Make do. It cuts. Sticks don't."

(Truth be told, Enara would be worse off. Kensai specializing in long blades? Trying to use an axe? Ick. )

Maera: "I mean, I know how to hold it, but...I'd probably just hurt myself."

This was her town, by the gods. She liked it here.

"This used to be a -nice- neighborhood!"

(Left 4 Dead 2 reference. The game's token "big guy," Coach, gets pissed off and clocks a zombie over the back of the head with the butt of his shotgun while yelling that line. )

Maera would have to agree with that sentiment.

Kelsey blinked, and before he could stop himself, he answered honestly, “Well…no.”

Raven: "Ha. Never going to live this down, is she?"

Harlequin: "Probably not."

And there are so few things you could say that of with Imoen. Gotta treasure the ones you have.

There were people up ahead, and she tightened her grip on her impromptu beating stick as she poked her head slowly around the corner, just far enough to see the three figures standing in the middle of the alley.

I remember picking up a two-handed mace as a reward for a quest in Icecrown once. It was literally called a "Beatstick."

Excellent.

“Among other things. She reminds me of me, sometimes.”

“I know. That’s why I worry about her.”

Raven: "That's exactly what the universe doesn't need. More of you."

Harlequin:

Maera: "No daughter of mine..."

“You mean, are they here because of me?” Maera’s eyes grew distant as she followed the thought down its various probable courses. Her expression darkened. “I need a sword.”

Cue Roaring Rampage of Revenge.

With many, many beatings!

(actually, not so many, but what are you gonna do?)

Cammy Duskwind, the silver haired half-elf who tended the bar most nights, was first to the door. She jerked it open, and scanned the view. “Smoke to the south,” she reported to the room at large over the still clambering bells. “And it looks like a crowd’s formed on the square. I wonder-” Her words were cut short by the unmistakable thunk of arrows striking wood. Had she been a few inches to the left, she would have been in their path. Cammy hastily slammed the door; the tips of the arrowheads were visible in the wood.

Is there anyone out there?

Don't know! But their bow is!

“An excellent question,” Drogan remarked mildly, giving his table full of young Harpers a placid gaze that left them squirming.

Bran: *chuckles* "Implied... there better be a -damn- good answer."

Imoen tipped her sister a mocking salute as she faded from view, her invisibility spell shielding her from the eye. “I’m gone,” the empty air chirped, and the door opened and shut so quickly one might have missed the motion altogether.

None can see me!

She shrugged. “Kid, I’m always armed.” He blinked at her, and she sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll improvise.” She darted out the door, and disappeared into the increasingly smoky night.

Bran: *arches an eyebrow* "Nothing like a good round of fisticuffs?"

Imoen had learned to wall climb on the slick stones of Candlekeep, and she’d had years to perfect her craft since. The timbered walls of Berdusk posed no challenge, so up she went, scouting from the rooftops. What she saw was not encouraging. There were armed bandits, orcs and hobgoblins to be exact, out in the streets, gathering up on a position in the market square. She couldn’t quite make out what was going on, and grumbled a curse. Farseeing didn’t work when the caster was invisible and that just wasn’t fair. Though maybe with a little tweaking, it might be possible to -

Sime: *grumbles* "Magic is such cheating. She can just stand up there, dancing a jig while real professionals actually have to work to remain unseen."

Her ruminations were cut short by a scream from below, and the sound of running feet. A young man and woman, barely sixteen if they were a day, were fleeing hand-in-hand, an orc hard on their heels. They’d probably just been out necking in some out of the way alley, Imoen thought, and now they were running for their lives. That wasn’t very nice. These were modern times, after all, and she was a staunch proponent of necking. She noiselessly descended the roof to the eaves, and as the orc passed beneath her, she pushed a loose roofing tile off the edge. The slate met his helmeted head with a resounding clang, and he dropped to his knees like a felled ox. The young lovers stopped short, staring first at the groaning orc and then at each other. Imoen grinned as the young man’s chest puffed slightly, as if he’d willed that tile into being solely to defend his girl. “Play your cards right and this could end well for you, my friend,” Imoen murmured with a smirk as she turned and set back off towards the square.

Imoen V: "Score one for makeouts!"

Nalia: *facepalms*

His nose wrinkled at the scent of the smoke – there was an odor particular to the smell of burning buildings, an unpleasant acridness he’d smelled far too often in his time. The orange flicker at the corner of the block was growing brighter, and he had an idea. Maybe he couldn’t make himself invisible, but he could certainly do this.

He glanced about; the street was empty. He jogged up its length a short distance, eyes focused on the fire. Taking a deep breath, he raised his right fist, slowly uncurling his fingers as he exhaled. He could create spears of ice as thick as his leg and hurl them with such force they could crack stone, but this required a more delicate touch. The trick was to take all that cold and water and diffuse it, just so…

A two foot deep snowdrift appeared over the spreading fire, which whooshed out of existence with a hiss of disappointment. Kelsey nodded to himself with a half grin, but he couldn’t spare long to be impressed with himself; he could hear the heavy thudding footfalls of mailed feet behind him. He dove across the street, into the alley, and flattened himself against the wall. He didn’t have far to go now. He hoped Maera was all right.

I love the applied magic. I just really do.

“I’m always armed,” Maera muttered, rubbing her stinging hands together. “I’ll improvise.” She gave the unconscious hobgoblin at her feet a poke with her booted toe. “Me and my big mouth.” The hob lay in a heap, with the remains of the bit of building timber she had broken over his head in splinters around him. She felt a twinge of conscience; in the morning, she was going to have to find out who owned the house and explain to them why there was a hobgoblin-shaped hole in the framing of the new room they had apparently been in the process of adding on. One just didn’t expect that sort of thing in the midst of home renovation. She stared down at the inadvertent homewrecker and cocked her head, frowning. There was something familiar about the crest on the hobgoblin’s jerkin, but she couldn’t place it. “Where have I seen that before?” she asked him. He groaned in response, and she decided it was time to get moving.

Sime: "This is exactly why I always make sure to carry multiple weapons. Because knuckles bruise horribly, and it's hard to open locks with fingers like sausages."

Aleria: "You can't always go armed."

Sime: "That statement just shows a complete lack of imagination."

She armed herself with another piece of wood and wished longingly for Daystar, hanging in oiled comfort on the training room rack at home. The poor sot at her feet hadn’t even been nice enough to carry a sword – the heavy bladed axe he’d borne was so far from her style it wasn’t even an option.

Aleria: *hefts the axe* "It still has an edge, even if the balance is pathetic." *shrugs* "But if the balance feels better with the cudgel, tis the wise choice."

Looking about to get her bearings, she saw she was already nearly halfway to the square. Though the temple bells were still ringing, the fire bell on the square had stilled, and that was a bad sign. It meant the crowd Cammy had seen was not the fire brigade. She cut through someone’s back garden; the house was dark, but she thought for an instant she saw a child’s face in the window. Her heart pounded with panic until she reminded herself Kylia wasn’t there – she was safe, she would be fine.

Bran: "Jaheira, defending a child..." *smiles faintly*

Aleria: "I'd rather charge Zhentil Keep in a formal gown wielding only a dull spoon."

Bran: "Seriously."

The entire situation sawed on her nerves like a fork on glass, and her temper rose with every step she took. This was her town, by the gods. She liked it here. Who did these jackasses think they were? Glass shattered to her left, and her jaw set. She rounded a corner and saw a pair of orcs attempting to force the door of the house across the street. She hefted her piece of two by four and smirked darkly. Oh goody, she thought. Targets.

She caught the first one across the back, and immediately ducked to avoid the second’s swung fist. It was close quarters against the wall, and she dropped the wood as she fell into a crouch, bracing herself on her hands and sweeping a leg out in a circular kick. The feet of the nearer orc tangled on hers and she grinned as he went down in a flailing knot of limbs. Balthazar had taught her that move. She would have to tell him she had finally had a chance to use it.

Aleria: "Thumping evil-doers can be most therapeutic."

She rolled hastily to avoid her fallen target and retrieved her improvised club. It was heavier than her sword, and she knew she would have to finish this quickly if she didn’t want to over-exert herself too soon. She aimed for the orc’s midsection; he moved to block and she swung upwards, clipping him across the face. He howled, clutching his nose, and that brought her the precious seconds she needed to seize him by the neck and slam his head into the wall. Eyes glazed, he slid down the wall, landing on top of his comrade, who was trying to regain his feet. Maera panted five quick breaths before sprinting down the next alley, grinning fiercely. A good workout was the best remedy for aggravation.

Aleria: "See? Just what I said."

Kelsey heard a disturbance in the alley ahead. He slowed his pace, moving as quietly as he could. There was a hobgoblin up there, and a human, it seemed. He caught sight of them, the enormous figure grasping a small female’s throat, and he drew in a horrified breath. A flame arrow could dispatch the hobgoblin without hurting the girl, he thought; then they turned enough for him to see the prisoner’s face, and his jaw dropped.

“Imoen?”

That was a stupid thing to do, but he was simply so shocked, he couldn’t help himself. She rolled her eyes, evidently well aware of the foolishness of her situation. The hobgoblin’s chest rumbled as it chuckled.

“She yours, little man? Gonna beg me not to hurt your woman?”

Kelsey blinked, and before he could stop himself, he answered honestly, “Well…no.”

I LOVE IT.

Bran: *sniggers* "She's my sister, but... nice one Kelsey!"

There were people up ahead, and she tightened her grip on her impromptu beating stick as she poked her head slowly around the corner, just far enough to see the three figures standing in the middle of the alley. She gave herself an instant to be surprised at the identities of the two humans in the scene, and then she had to fight not to laugh as Kelsey responded in the negative to the hobgoblin’s demand for pleading, if only because she could just imagine the look on Imoen’s face when he did it.

Tis made of win, me thinks.

That was not the reaction the hobgoblin was expecting. “Huh?”

“Well, she’s not. My woman, I mean. Though she’s probably around here somewhere.” A length of wooden planking whistled as it sailed through the night air. The hobgoblin’s helmet rang like a bell as it struck, and the hobgoblin, getting a firsthand lesson in how a clapper feels, reeled. Imoen squirmed out of his loosened grasp, as Maera stepped around him, and leveled a blow to his torso, knocking the wind from him and leaving him sprawled on the ground, insensible. “Oh, there she is,” Kelsey said brightly. He smiled at Maera. “Hi, honey.”

Great setup and execution.

Imoen coughed and rubbed her throat, her expression sour. “‘No’? Really, Kels? You couldn’t fake it for five minutes?”

Kelsey spread his hands. “What? He did ask. And besides, what was stopping you from fireballing the top of his head off or jabbing him with any one of the dozens of knives I know you’ve got on you right now?”

Imoen continued to glower at him. “I was about to! But then you came barreling in, throwing the whole thing off, and…NO? Of all the things to be a stickler about!”

I was going to escape in my idiom! I just couldn't remember it.

He crossed his arms coolly. “Imoen. Are you the woman I’ve been married to for ten years, or are you the sister-in-law who picks my pocket for beer money?”

She pursed her lips, eyes furtive. “You noticed that, huh?”

“I paid for your last two rounds, didn’t I?”

“Three.”

“You two done yet?” Maera leaned down, lifting Imoen’s chin to get a closer look at her sister’s throat in the dim light. “Doesn’t look too bad. Hopefully we can get it looked at soon.” She rubbed her hands together, looking about the alleyway as she collected her thoughts. Another axe-wielder, she noticed sourly as she spared the hobgoblin a final glance. Didn’t anyone have the decency to carry a weapon she actually wanted to use? “We need to pool our information, and then we should see how the Watch are holding up. We may be able to accomplish more helping them than anything else.” She shot Imoen a pointed look. “And damn it, Im, pay for your own drinks.”

This exchange is awesome.

Bran: "That'd be a nice start. Paying for your own drinks, I mean."

Imoen: "I haven't. Not for six years. Not starting now."

Bran: "But think of the fewer attempts at being arrested."

Imoen:

Imoen stuck out her tongue. “You’re mean, Mae.”

“Yes I am. No wonder you and Ky get along so well. You probably bond over your mutual suffering.”

“Among other things. She reminds me of me, sometimes.”

“I know. That’s why I worry about her.”

A phrase that sends spears of fear into any parent's heart... that you're like Imoen.

“The Chill?” Maera’s eyebrows climbed. “Wow, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I thought we’d pretty well put them down.”

Imoen shrugged. “That was twelve years ago. Plenty of time to rebuild if you really mean it.”

“Do you think it means something that they’re the ones doing this?” Kelsey asked, worried.

“You mean, are they here because of me?” Maera’s eyes grew distant as she followed the thought down its various probable courses. Her expression darkened. “I need a sword.”

To quote Bad Boys:

Shit's about to get real.



Great fun! Right Boo!?

VH

Cammy Duskwind, the silver haired half-elf who tended the bar most nights, was first to the door. She jerked it open, and scanned the view. “Smoke to the south,” she reported to the room at large over the still clambering bells. “And it looks like a crowd’s formed on the square. I wonder-” Her words were cut short by the unmistakable thunk of arrows striking wood. Had she been a few inches to the left, she would have been in their path. Cammy hastily slammed the door; the tips of the arrowheads were visible in the wood.

Is there anyone out there?

Don't know! But their bow is!

Shooting at the bartender...this used to be a nice bar!

“An excellent question,” Drogan remarked mildly, giving his table full of young Harpers a placid gaze that left them squirming.

Bran: *chuckles* "Implied... there better be a -damn- good answer."

Drogan: *cheesy grin*

Imoen tipped her sister a mocking salute as she faded from view, her invisibility spell shielding her from the eye. “I’m gone,” the empty air chirped, and the door opened and shut so quickly one might have missed the motion altogether.

None can see me!

She shrugged. “Kid, I’m always armed.” He blinked at her, and she sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll improvise.” She darted out the door, and disappeared into the increasingly smoky night.

Bran: *arches an eyebrow* "Nothing like a good round of fisticuffs?"

Exactly!

Imoen had learned to wall climb on the slick stones of Candlekeep, and she’d had years to perfect her craft since. The timbered walls of Berdusk posed no challenge, so up she went, scouting from the rooftops. What she saw was not encouraging. There were armed bandits, orcs and hobgoblins to be exact, out in the streets, gathering up on a position in the market square. She couldn’t quite make out what was going on, and grumbled a curse. Farseeing didn’t work when the caster was invisible and that just wasn’t fair. Though maybe with a little tweaking, it might be possible to -

Sime: *grumbles* "Magic is such cheating. She can just stand up there, dancing a jig while real professionals actually have to work to remain unseen."

Imoen: *snorts* "Of course it's cheating. That's what it's FOR."

Her ruminations were cut short by a scream from below, and the sound of running feet. A young man and woman, barely sixteen if they were a day, were fleeing hand-in-hand, an orc hard on their heels. They’d probably just been out necking in some out of the way alley, Imoen thought, and now they were running for their lives. That wasn’t very nice. These were modern times, after all, and she was a staunch proponent of necking. She noiselessly descended the roof to the eaves, and as the orc passed beneath her, she pushed a loose roofing tile off the edge. The slate met his helmeted head with a resounding clang, and he dropped to his knees like a felled ox. The young lovers stopped short, staring first at the groaning orc and then at each other. Imoen grinned as the young man’s chest puffed slightly, as if he’d willed that tile into being solely to defend his girl. “Play your cards right and this could end well for you, my friend,” Imoen murmured with a smirk as she turned and set back off towards the square.

Imoen V: "Score one for makeouts!"

Nalia: *facepalms*

Imoen: "High five!"

His nose wrinkled at the scent of the smoke – there was an odor particular to the smell of burning buildings, an unpleasant acridness he’d smelled far too often in his time. The orange flicker at the corner of the block was growing brighter, and he had an idea. Maybe he couldn’t make himself invisible, but he could certainly do this.

He glanced about; the street was empty. He jogged up its length a short distance, eyes focused on the fire. Taking a deep breath, he raised his right fist, slowly uncurling his fingers as he exhaled. He could create spears of ice as thick as his leg and hurl them with such force they could crack stone, but this required a more delicate touch. The trick was to take all that cold and water and diffuse it, just so…

A two foot deep snowdrift appeared over the spreading fire, which whooshed out of existence with a hiss of disappointment. Kelsey nodded to himself with a half grin, but he couldn’t spare long to be impressed with himself; he could hear the heavy thudding footfalls of mailed feet behind him. He dove across the street, into the alley, and flattened himself against the wall. He didn’t have far to go now. He hoped Maera was all right.

I love the applied magic. I just really do.

And since I've gone with the sort of mutant elementalist approach with Kelsey, I can have him do just about anything.

“I’m always armed,” Maera muttered, rubbing her stinging hands together. “I’ll improvise.” She gave the unconscious hobgoblin at her feet a poke with her booted toe. “Me and my big mouth.” The hob lay in a heap, with the remains of the bit of building timber she had broken over his head in splinters around him. She felt a twinge of conscience; in the morning, she was going to have to find out who owned the house and explain to them why there was a hobgoblin-shaped hole in the framing of the new room they had apparently been in the process of adding on. One just didn’t expect that sort of thing in the midst of home renovation. She stared down at the inadvertent homewrecker and cocked her head, frowning. There was something familiar about the crest on the hobgoblin’s jerkin, but she couldn’t place it. “Where have I seen that before?” she asked him. He groaned in response, and she decided it was time to get moving.

Sime: "This is exactly why I always make sure to carry multiple weapons. Because knuckles bruise horribly, and it's hard to open locks with fingers like sausages."

Aleria: "You can't always go armed."

Sime: "That statement just shows a complete lack of imagination."

Maera: "My weapon of choice is a yard long, and I don't do knives. Knife fighting is for sneaky people."

She armed herself with another piece of wood and wished longingly for Daystar, hanging in oiled comfort on the training room rack at home. The poor sot at her feet hadn’t even been nice enough to carry a sword – the heavy bladed axe he’d borne was so far from her style it wasn’t even an option.

Aleria: *hefts the axe* "It still has an edge, even if the balance is pathetic." *shrugs* "But if the balance feels better with the cudgel, tis the wise choice."

Maera: "Bleah. If I need some firewood chopped, I'll be back for it."

Looking about to get her bearings, she saw she was already nearly halfway to the square. Though the temple bells were still ringing, the fire bell on the square had stilled, and that was a bad sign. It meant the crowd Cammy had seen was not the fire brigade. She cut through someone’s back garden; the house was dark, but she thought for an instant she saw a child’s face in the window. Her heart pounded with panic until she reminded herself Kylia wasn’t there – she was safe, she would be fine.

Bran: "Jaheira, defending a child..." *smiles faintly*

Aleria: "I'd rather charge Zhentil Keep in a formal gown wielding only a dull spoon."

Bran: "Seriously."

You'd never stand a chance.

The entire situation sawed on her nerves like a fork on glass, and her temper rose with every step she took. This was her town, by the gods. She liked it here. Who did these jackasses think they were? Glass shattered to her left, and her jaw set. She rounded a corner and saw a pair of orcs attempting to force the door of the house across the street. She hefted her piece of two by four and smirked darkly. Oh goody, she thought. Targets.

She caught the first one across the back, and immediately ducked to avoid the second’s swung fist. It was close quarters against the wall, and she dropped the wood as she fell into a crouch, bracing herself on her hands and sweeping a leg out in a circular kick. The feet of the nearer orc tangled on hers and she grinned as he went down in a flailing knot of limbs. Balthazar had taught her that move. She would have to tell him she had finally had a chance to use it.

Aleria: "Thumping evil-doers can be most therapeutic."

Maera: "Oh, yes it can."

She rolled hastily to avoid her fallen target and retrieved her improvised club. It was heavier than her sword, and she knew she would have to finish this quickly if she didn’t want to over-exert herself too soon. She aimed for the orc’s midsection; he moved to block and she swung upwards, clipping him across the face. He howled, clutching his nose, and that brought her the precious seconds she needed to seize him by the neck and slam his head into the wall. Eyes glazed, he slid down the wall, landing on top of his comrade, who was trying to regain his feet. Maera panted five quick breaths before sprinting down the next alley, grinning fiercely. A good workout was the best remedy for aggravation.

Aleria: "See? Just what I said."

Maera: *stretches* "That felt good."

Kelsey heard a disturbance in the alley ahead. He slowed his pace, moving as quietly as he could. There was a hobgoblin up there, and a human, it seemed. He caught sight of them, the enormous figure grasping a small female’s throat, and he drew in a horrified breath. A flame arrow could dispatch the hobgoblin without hurting the girl, he thought; then they turned enough for him to see the prisoner’s face, and his jaw dropped.

“Imoen?”

That was a stupid thing to do, but he was simply so shocked, he couldn’t help himself. She rolled her eyes, evidently well aware of the foolishness of her situation. The hobgoblin’s chest rumbled as it chuckled.

“She yours, little man? Gonna beg me not to hurt your woman?”

Kelsey blinked, and before he could stop himself, he answered honestly, “Well…no.”

I LOVE IT.

Bran: *sniggers* "She's my sister, but... nice one Kelsey!"

Kelsey: "It's a simple question with a simple answer."

There were people up ahead, and she tightened her grip on her impromptu beating stick as she poked her head slowly around the corner, just far enough to see the three figures standing in the middle of the alley. She gave herself an instant to be surprised at the identities of the two humans in the scene, and then she had to fight not to laugh as Kelsey responded in the negative to the hobgoblin’s demand for pleading, if only because she could just imagine the look on Imoen’s face when he did it.

Tis made of win, me thinks.

Poor, poor Imoen.

That was not the reaction the hobgoblin was expecting. “Huh?”

“Well, she’s not. My woman, I mean. Though she’s probably around here somewhere.” A length of wooden planking whistled as it sailed through the night air. The hobgoblin’s helmet rang like a bell as it struck, and the hobgoblin, getting a firsthand lesson in how a clapper feels, reeled. Imoen squirmed out of his loosened grasp, as Maera stepped around him, and leveled a blow to his torso, knocking the wind from him and leaving him sprawled on the ground, insensible. “Oh, there she is,” Kelsey said brightly. He smiled at Maera. “Hi, honey.”

Great setup and execution.

Sometimes I get a good one in.

Imoen coughed and rubbed her throat, her expression sour. “‘No’? Really, Kels? You couldn’t fake it for five minutes?”

Kelsey spread his hands. “What? He did ask. And besides, what was stopping you from fireballing the top of his head off or jabbing him with any one of the dozens of knives I know you’ve got on you right now?”

Imoen continued to glower at him. “I was about to! But then you came barreling in, throwing the whole thing off, and…NO? Of all the things to be a stickler about!”

I was going to escape in my idiom! I just couldn't remember it.

My escape plan was in my other pants!

He crossed his arms coolly. “Imoen. Are you the woman I’ve been married to for ten years, or are you the sister-in-law who picks my pocket for beer money?”

She pursed her lips, eyes furtive. “You noticed that, huh?”

“I paid for your last two rounds, didn’t I?”

“Three.”

“You two done yet?” Maera leaned down, lifting Imoen’s chin to get a closer look at her sister’s throat in the dim light. “Doesn’t look too bad. Hopefully we can get it looked at soon.” She rubbed her hands together, looking about the alleyway as she collected her thoughts. Another axe-wielder, she noticed sourly as she spared the hobgoblin a final glance. Didn’t anyone have the decency to carry a weapon she actually wanted to use? “We need to pool our information, and then we should see how the Watch are holding up. We may be able to accomplish more helping them than anything else.” She shot Imoen a pointed look. “And damn it, Im, pay for your own drinks.”

This exchange is awesome.

Bran: "That'd be a nice start. Paying for your own drinks, I mean."

Imoen: "I haven't. Not for six years. Not starting now."

Bran: "But think of the fewer attempts at being arrested."

Imoen:

They've been having variations on this argument for a decade. Why stop now?

“Yes I am. No wonder you and Ky get along so well. You probably bond over your mutual suffering.”

“Among other things. She reminds me of me, sometimes.”

“I know. That’s why I worry about her.”

A phrase that sends spears of fear into any parent's heart... that you're like Imoen.

Maera and Kelsey: *simultaneous shudder*

“The Chill?” Maera’s eyebrows climbed. “Wow, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I thought we’d pretty well put them down.”

Imoen shrugged. “That was twelve years ago. Plenty of time to rebuild if you really mean it.”

“Do you think it means something that they’re the ones doing this?” Kelsey asked, worried.

“You mean, are they here because of me?” Maera’s eyes grew distant as she followed the thought down its various probable courses. Her expression darkened. “I need a sword.”

To quote Bad Boys:

Shit's about to get real.



Great fun! Right Boo!?

VH

Or at least sillier. Sillier is always an option.