I totally did not expect that to work, but figured if he had to die he'd do it with a storybook hero's ending.
Irving, for a brief moment, seems to forget his usual clumsiness, totally absorbed by the enormity of what he is about to attempt. Half-surprised by the sudden turn of events, surprised to be alive for even a moment longer, sword in hand as it was always meant to be, he turns to one side and rises on to the balls of his feet, leaping to one side with a flash of steel as he greets the ogre's charge, the long shining blade seeking out the ogre's heart.
Trial by combat is in the Eyes of the Gods, and the Gods surely shine upon Irving at this moment. The lumbering brute charges towards the resplendent warrior, both hands gripping its club and raising it above its head. Irving leaps and thrusts, his blade aimed true towards the massive creature's chest. The ogre fumbles in its charge, falling not only into the sword thrust, but also then crashing to the ground at Irving's feet. Wounded deeply, it pushes back to its knees and struggles to regain its footing.
The kobolds fall abruptly silent, slackjawed and dumbfounded.
Irving attempts to get above the ogre's head as he struggles to rise, as much to keep the creature at a disadvantage as to wound, striking as forcefully as he can downward to pierce the creature's throat or chest.
The ogre rolls to the side, dodging Irving's downward thrust. It regains its feet, club in hand, and looks both furious and terrified as it faces the handsome hero, blood running down its woven-hair tunic.
Irving rushes the ogre, hoping to finish the fight quickly now that the monstrous beast is back on its feet, slashing forcefully over and over in order to keep his massive foe on the defensive and off-balance.
The ogre rolls aside from Irving's downward strike and regains his footing. It grabs its massive club and tries to bring it up to block as Irving comes at him with a flurry of powerful blows. The ogre is driven back before them, catching the first few with the club, but then Irving lands a sold blow, cleaving down through the ogre's shoulder, the club dropping to the ground as sinew and muscle separate from bone. The ogre teeters for a moment, shock on its dumbfounded face, then it falls forward and crashes to the ground face down with a heavy crash.
The kobolds panic, terror on their faces that Irving will next turn on them. They drop the reigns and leave the mounts and treasure, fleeing in all directions and disappearing into the brush.
Irving stands victorious on the battlefield - an ogre and two kobolds lie dead by his blade, the rest scattered by his heroic prowess. His companions all unconscious, however, leaves no witnesses to his daring feats. The mid-afternoon sun peaks through the overcast sky and the skittish mounts crowd together away from the carnage.
Irving, you get to wrap-up and dictate the next few hours. Make a post, then I'll advance the clock.
Bandy, Markd, and Olaf will wake at sunset (8:45pm).
Bremen needs to be stabilized overnight before he can be moved safely.
Irving takes a long moment for his accomplishment to set in, the sweat dripping in rivulets down his aquiline nose, his sword point buried with the unsteadiness of post-combat exhaustion in the dirt so that he won't fall immediately over.
Finally, he wipes the sweat from his face with one hand and surveys the battlefield. His unconscious companions, the dead ogre and kobolds--and the first thing he feels is pique that Olaf had questioned his courage or his strength, but that feeling is immediately replaced with a warmth toward his fallen allies, and an almost maternal concern for their well-being. This moment is why he chose to become a Hero of Legend. Not for glory; not for riches; but to serve a cause that is noble and just and no one else would have the will or strength to stand for. To say he feels self-satisfaction would be a bit of a stretch--he recognizes that it is luck as much as anything that brought him victory, and the long suffering his mentors and instructors of years prior had endured in trying to train him in anything at all that might be of use to society. Instead, he feels a kind of righteousness and approval from the universe: yes, the gods had seemed to say, this is the path you were meant to tread.
Putting on this knowledge like a mantle, he sheathes his blade and tends to the wounded, focusing his first efforts on Bremen to make sure he will recover and that he is in a place where he is not vulnerable to further hurt, though he's reluctant to move him further. Then, he will bring the animals to heel and get them oriented so that they are close by the fallen party members in case of danger, gather up all fallen goods, prepare a fire to warm his allies, and only then give thought to the fallen enemy and any spoils they might carry.
He starts first with the kobolds, rifling their pockets and other clothing looking for valuables but also some sign of their clan or tribal affiliation, an item bearing a visual motif or theme that is consistent between them. If he finds something like this, he will ghater it as well as the money, which he collects in a separate pouch, and any odd or unexpected items he finds on their persons. In addition, he'll have his eye open for weapons or armor pieces in good repair that could be claimed for himself or one of his companions.
Once he has done this, he turns to the ogre, rolling the body over so it lies on its back and staring into its face for a long time before he begins searching it for any valuables according to a similar process to what he followed for the kobolds. Finally, if the body is close to his resting companions, he rolls it some distance away (maybe 50 feet) and cuts off its head, lying it neck-down at the feet of the body so the blood can drain while his companions recover. He'll spend some time considering how to tie the ogre's unkempt hair into something that can be used to hang it from a mule's flank and return it to town, while he keeps a patrol of the area around the makeshift camp and waits for the first of his companions to regain consciousness.
Irving takes time for reverie and to make a campsite, setting conditions to warm his companions and gather the mounts. He bandages Bremen and treats the others. The tent remains stored for now on the mule, unsure how long they must stay.
He searches the bodies of the two kobolds, finding that each carries 15 copper coins, crudely wrought and without ornamentation. The ogre carried a mostly-empty large sack with 100gp bearing a closed fist sigil. Beyond these, there is nothing that unites these creatures but the clear appearance of poverty. They wield spears that are little more than pointed sticks, the ogre a club made of tree trunk and rocks he was prepared to throw. They wear roughly-tanned furs from a variety of wild animals, stitched crudely and smelling pungent. Despite its size, even the ogre looked underfed. Irving beheads the ogre and moves it further from the camp.
The sun is setting when Bandy, Markd, and Olaf begin to stir. They find, to their surprise, that they surround a campfire, their bedrolls spread over them, just outside the tomb archway. A campfire burns nearby, the mounts and all the treasure hobbled and eating grass contentedly. Irving sits, relaxing and braiding the hair of the ogre's severed head casually.
As the first of his companions comes awake, Irving smiles and stands from his macabre task. "Friends! I'm so happy to see your open eyes once more--I had feared the worst when those villains accosted us." He begins preparing some dinner for everyone.
"I must have hit a couple of them with that rock. Glad we won. "
Dandelion - female half-orc beautyqueen in training (The Lone City in the Wildlands) OSRIC Halfpint - female halfling badgirl wannabe (Lab Lord- The North Marches) LL Mark'd - charismatic human fighter (Lab Lord- The North Marches) LL
Irving looks around and is silent for a while. "It was pretty chaotic; I didn't really see much until the end. I'm just glad we made it through safely. Didn't even lose anyone!" He smiles.
Olaf wakes up and takes in the scene, scowling. "This ain't the Halls of Moradin," grouses the dwarf. "Not if the lot of ye be here. Hmph." He gets up, dusts himself off, and checks on Pony.
Irving points over at the ogre's head. "Once the ogre went down, the kobolds decided to run off. They're a cowardly lot." He points as well to the sack of coins he'd gathered off the corpses. "There's a bunch of gold and some coppers in that sack they were carrying. Probably from the last folks they decided to waylay."
"I don't think it's safe to move Bremen yet. Probably we can make a run for the fjord in the morning. It's dark now anyway, and I wouldn't want to run into another one of those things unexpectedly."
Captain Bremen lies silent and still, his breathing shallow from the near-mortal wounds he suffered. His dreams are filled with women prodding him with pointed sticks. His prone form wears a faint smile.
Olaf checks on Pony the mule, the others wonder at their predicaments and inspect their injuries. Everyone remains in rough shape, but bloody wounds are soon bandaged and Bandy's bruised ribs are salved. The sun sets upon them. The party establishes a watch, keeping Bremen near the fire and observing the night for spectres, wights, ogres, gargoyles, or worse. Gratefully, the dawn comes and nothing has happened. They inspect Bremen and his breathing has become more regular; with the mounts, a gurney seems more feasible.
(Final actions before you head for the river ford, please.)
Time: 13 May 7:00 am
Light source: Sunlight
Injuries: Bremen (mortally wounded) Bandy (grievously wounded) Markd (grievously wounded) Olaf (grievously wounded) Irving (lightly injured)
