For Sinruth! For the Hand!

Damakos, having just returned from Witchcross, burst enthusiastically into the Antler and Thistle, where he knew his new friends would be spending their afternoon. The saloon was half-full with customers, including three card players in the back corner. Gilda the barmaid was flowing effortlessly between tables and the bar, serving the drinks poured by Mohr the bartender. Damakos stashed his staff in the required corner (no weapons allowed, after all), and beamed as he approached his friends’ table.

“Mica! Mica! I learned that ‘fountain of flame’ spell you can do. I did it for the first time yesterday morning. I’m ready to burn some serious monsters. Dual fountains of flame! Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Myca arched her left eyebrow as she considered Damakos. “Fountain of flame? I’m sure I don’t have the foggiest idea what you mean.”

Damakos persisted. “What? Fountain of flame! You’re a fire mage. It’s your signature spell.”

Myca chuckled. “Dear boy, why would I waste my natural charms on arcane spells. I’m a warlock. My signature spell is ‘mist of madness’…” she said, as she weaved her fingers in an intricate pattern. Damakos turned and slapped Tahuu across the face.

“Hey,” Tahuu yelled, “keep it together, Damakos. You’d think a mage would have a tougher will than that.”

“But… I thought Charcol was our warlock, isn’t that right, Charc…” Damakos confusion increased as he looked toward Aramil. “Wait… you look a bit like Charcol… but not quite…”

“Damakos,” chided Aramil, “what did that mage trainer do to your brain? It’s surprising you have enough intelligence left to be a mage. Don’t you remember me? Aramil? Master of illusion?”

Damakos scratched his left tiefling horn. “What’s going on here, guys? What’s happened to Mica and Charcol?”

The dwarf Fargrim leaned over to Aramil. “Give ’im a little ’elp, won’t ya?”

“Fine,” Aramil replied, removing his necklace and holding it in front of him. “Damakos, check out this cool new necklace I got from those skeletons.” He allowed the gem on the end to swing back and forth slowly.

“Hey, that is pretty cool. It’s shiny. It’s… pretty… I… want… one… umm…” Damakos voice trailed off as his eyes locked on the motion of the gem.

“Damakos, listen very carefully,” cooed Aramil. “You remember now that Myca has always been a warlock.”

“…yes…of course…a warlock…” intoned Damakos.

“And there is no Charcol; there is only Aramil, Master of Illusion.”

“…no Charcol…only Aramil…” continued Damakos obediently, drawing quiet chuckles from Tahuu and Fargrim.

“And when I snap my fingers, you’ll wake up and order us a round of (root) beers.” Snap!

Damakos’ head jerked up. “Hey, guys! I’m so happy about my new spell. Why don’t I order us a round of (root) beers?” And he slapped a gold piece on the table.

“Excellent suggestion,” replied Aramil, nicking the gold piece from the table and heading for the bar. “I’ll get them for you.”

Just as he arrived at the bar, he heard Whenua howl outside the front entrance. Moments later, the wolf bounded in towards Tahuu, barking a warning. The bartender Mohr yelled out, “Get that wolf out of here! No animals in here!”

But the source of Whenua’s agitation was quickly apparent. Four hobgoblin grunts burst into the saloon, wielding crude swords and yelling, “For Sinruth! For the Hand!”. Two of them ran to the nearest table and struck down two unfortunate patrons. Another headed behind the bar, and the fourth toward the wall across from the bar.

Panic gripped the customers and they scattered from their tables. Most started to run toward the back door. A few shrank into the corners. The card players instinctively got up, but, thinking better of it when they realized how big their pot was, sat back down to take their chances.

Damakos sprang into action first. He darted for the corner where the weapons were stored and grabbed his staff. He also grabbed Aramil’s staff and tossed it to him. Aramil, still having the necklace in his other hand, caught the attention of the nearest grunt and attempted to hypnotize him, but to no avail. Tahuu and Fargrim ran to the weapon pile, grabbing their weapons and tossing Myca’s rod to her. Tahuu snapped off a bullet from his sling, missing, while Whenua ran in to harass the goblins.

Two more grunts came through the door, followed closely by a goblin blackblade brandishing a torch. He also yelled, “For Sinruth! For the Hand!” Turning to two of the grunts, he commanded, “Get the banner!” Those grunts headed toward the far wall.

The hobgoblin behind the bar took a slash at the bartender, cleaving deeply into his neck, killing him instantly. “Hey!” yelled Aramil. “He was serving my beer. You’re going to pay for that.” A ghostly hand appeared in front of the hobgoblin and grabbed his sword. As the grunt looked on in surprise, the ghostly hand returned the favor, killing the hobgoblin with a cut to the neck.

Damakos then ran up to the pack of enemies, positioned himself properly, and yelled out, “Eat fire, goblins!” Flames fanned out from his fingertips, engulfing six of the goblins and killing four of them instantly. “Nice,” he yelled out.

As Fargrim ran up, he said, “Great job, Damakos. But can I remind ye that this is a wood building?” noting that a table went up in flames.

“Do you mean…” stammered Damakos.

“That’s right, lad. No fountain of flame in here.”

“Rats!” cried Damakos, eager to try his new spell.

Tahuu ran up to join Fargrim and Whenua, and they all three attacked the blackblade, nearly killing him. The blackblade tossed his torch toward the bar, igniting the alcohol behind it in a fury of flame. Then he turned and ran from the saloon. They considered giving chase, but couldn’t as two more grunts and another torch-wielding blackblade entered.

Meanwhile, in the back, Myca tried to rally the fleeing customers. “Don’t be afraid. We can defeat them if we all stick together.” She flashed a smile at them, and a sparkle came off her teeth. They stopped, momentarily indecisive, then started mumbling, “Yeah… we can do it… there’s more of us than them.” They began grabbing bottles from the tables.

Aramil, pleased with his ghostly hand trick, attempted it again on one of the other grunts, but it could do no better than slow the grunt’s attack. No matter, though, because Fargrim, Tahuu, and Whenua dug into the goblins in front of them and kept them from advancing further into the saloon.

Damakos, taking a moment to consider all the fire spells that he couldn’t do anymore, finally had an inspiration. “Freezing burst!” he cried, as the doorway area exploded in frost and took down another of the grunts.

The bar patrons, encouraged by Myca’s speech, threw their bottles at a grunt reaching for a banner on the wall. Two missed, but the third caught him on the head, knocking him out cold. Seeing this, Myca found the cowering barmaid Gilda and asked her to fetch rope to tie up the grunt.

The battle continued at the entrance, with a few more grunts joining the fray, but it was soon over. The second blackblade was dispatched, another blast of frost took out two more grunts, and Fargrim wrestled the last grunt to the ground after it foolishly hacked its own sword into the table.

By then, town constables arrived at the bar and organized a bucket brigade to put out the fires in the saloon. The building was saved, but it took extensive damage, and its owner lay dead.