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((Yes, Babel, It's an "# or better type roll system. You also posted that perfectly: Stating your action and intent, making the roll and leaving the result to me. Also: congrats on succeeding your first roll hehe.))

Revlis

Your blood rushed as you swung in upon the barrel, with a mild flourish and a modest amount of skill, your blades sliced cleanly through the practice target on both marks, leaving it topless and falling apart into pieces.

Both the trainees and the drill sergeant looked on in amazement as you displayed your skill. While the trainees remained wide-eyed, the sergeant regained his composure and huffed before turning back to his men.

"You see that boys? The elf's form was exceptional; if you move with the natural flow of your body, your strikes will be significantly more effective. Now, Private Fritz! Go get a new target barrel and we're starting over! The rest of you, take this time to use the practice weapons on each other! I swear to Balpheron if you mangy grunts get one drop of blood on my training floor, I will beat you senseless!"

The sergeant returned his seedy visage to you.

"Well, that was impressive. Thank you for showing these boys the proper way to kill an immobile target. I underestimated you I think. If you live through the next assault, be sure to enlist and I'll make sure you're given a decent set of armor that won't get you killed as easily the next time a spear gets shoved in your face."

Revlis gains a minor experience boost!

Azlok

The salt-and-pepper bearded captain turns about and looks down at you with an expression of mixed respect and surprise.

"A traveling dwarf here in Sun's Reach, and a priest no less! I recognize your symbols on your garb there. I wouldn't ask much of someone of your station, but I truly would appreciate you taking a look at some of my men. A few were injured in the last skirmish and while we've bandaged them as best we can, cloth and compression can only do so much."

He points to a small shed next to the main barracks where three men who are out of their armor are either leaning upon or lying next to the wall.

"I understand if your powers are limited, my ship's wizard Malbern has taught me a fair amount in the ways of both arcane and divine spellcasters. I know it can be a bit draining to use too much energy in a short span of time. If you feel you need to rest, I could still use someone to check on the west guardtower and report back, my sentry has yet to come back... Damned fool is probably flirting with one of the maidens of the town again."

Revlis shrugged off the drill sergeant's veiled insults.

"Not at all, Sergeant, it was my pleasure. I can't really recall the last time I was killed, but I will certainly keep your generous offer in mind. If there is no further use for me here, I was invited to see how the men upstairs are fairing."

Action: if there is no significant response from the drill sergeant, head for the ballistae team on the second floor

((why are all our military terms French?! seriously. my already bad spelling brain can't take this!! and if spellcheck can't fix it, i'm screwed... gonk my apologies for now and forever, on any misspelled military terms.))

(Sorry for not posting for a while--I had a boatload of stuff to do during the weekend.)

Litaria finished her stew and waited patiently until the elf had finished his as well before speaking.

"So, the way I see it, we have two options. One, we can head out to the village ourselves and try to find the right house and retrieve Matilda's locket. We'll have to be careful, though, because if we get overrun by goblins I can't see it ending well for either of us." She dug in her pouch as she spoke, taking out three more gold coins and placing them on the table as a tip for the waitress. "Alternatively, we can go join the defensive effort and hope whatever they're up to takes us near the right place."

She thought for a moment, then realized she didn't know the elf's name. "If we're working together, we may as well know each other's names. I'm Litaria. Who are you?"

"Who says I'm not a captain somewhere?" Revlis remarked eying the flask. "Two things. One," he held up a finger. "It's not particularly prudent to continue with illicit behaviors before you've actually sized up the people you're showing them to-- recognized authority or not. Two," he held up a second finger. "If you're not supposed to be drinking, there's probably a reason for that. I understand we're in a rather stressful position here, but that's all the more reason we need to be our sharpest, wouldn't you say?"

Walking over to the soldier, he held out a hand. "Now, if you'll just hand that over, I see no need for me to include this in my report to the captain. I may even be inclined to share it and a few more with you when this is finished," he concluded with a disarming smile.

Action: more or less politely demand the flask from the soldier. It's an attempt at some form of Diplomacy.

Azlok nodded to the captain. "Then lit us tern tae th' gods," Azlok replied softly as he closed his eyes and focused his palms on the martyr's gut.

"Drunken god ay wars unfooght, dunnae lit heem rot. Lit heem praise yer holy name, pit his enemies attacks tae shame. This man's battle isnae yit dain, lit heem once mair see th' sin(sun)! Plunge this knight in healin' divine. Please through me, lit yer light shine!"

Azlok chanted, starting soft, then increasing in volume til he was shouting. He ignored everything around him, reaching for Hrolnir's light from within himself. Azlok let his mind dwell on the bar, the ale, blessed to him by the God himself. He focused on the fire and bite of harsher tonics, and let his mind also recall the warm waves of softer amber beers. Azlok was almost able to taste Hrolnir's blessed drinks as they passed through his mind. Nothing around him mattered, the barracks themselves fell away from his thought til he could have been flying through the air, and he would have been oblivious. This martyr and Hrolfnir were the focus, or that's what he wished to pervay. Azlok, of himself, was nothing without the blessings divine, bestowed upon him in means of healing hands.


Action:Cure Light Wounds on the martyr that is unconscious.

Azlok feels the warmth flood his body, the sensation of Hrolfnir flowing through him. It was the only thing that cut through the focus. It was divine, an intensity not easily forgotten or dismissed. He sighed as he felt it leave his body through his hands. He opened his eyes to watch the miracle of his god. He then turned to the leader.

"Yer hurt also," he noted, focused on the leader's head. "May Hrolfnir bless yeh," he stated gently, as his pointer finger touched the man's chest. Azlok being too short to touch the man's head.

This man was still up and walking, he needed less godly intervention. Most of his injuries would probably wear off, given time and proper herbal treatment. Being a captain, with warriors below him that would sacrifice their lives for him, Azlok had a hard time believing that this man had any trouble financially. The officer would receive the herbs needed, Azlok would help the officer, but not out of immediate necessity. Azlok liked this man. He had men under him that were willing to Die for him. He was honorable. In some way or another, he was blessed with the gift of leadership. The Gods chose him, so Azlok would defend that choice.

Action: Cure Minor wounds on the officer.

Azlok

Corporal Jierdan breathed in deeply as he felt the healing magic work through him. As quickly as he could, he removed the bandages around his head and knew immediately that the wound was no more.

"Thank you greatly, Azlok. We--"

"'Ey! What about me!?" The rude Danik interrupted.

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Revlis

As you prepare to dart away, you hear the man call out something that forces you to face him and the horizon beyond the palisades:

"Sodding hell! Incoming! The hordes have returned!"

Immediately the ballistae stations sprung to life, launching their massive bolts into the throngs of goblinoid forces, skewering entire lines but their numbers barely seemed affected. They rumbled through the lower valley with a thunderous roar with their shoddy weapons and menacing teeth brandished wide as they cackled and whooped in their frantic approach.

You hear Captain Belgrath yell out below as he ascended the stairs.

"Alright men! Militia, form ranks on the walls, give our archers support and make sure not a damn one of those little bastards set foot in Sun's Reach! Archers! On my mark!"

The numerous marksmen along the wall instantly obeyed and set their bows to full draw, awaiting the command.

"Volley!"

A torrent of death was released from the walls as it rained down on the hordes. Yet still their charge persisted. This battle would not be won through strategy alone.

((Yes, he's back at his post, albeit operating at sub optimal efficiency given that he killed his partner and is still fairly sloshed.))