Rise of the Runelords

Welcome to Rise of the Runelords
The Swallowtail Festival

Swallowtail_Festival.pngThe Swallowtail Festival
It was supposed to be a Festival, but it didn’t quite turn out that way. The day started out nicely with free food and drink, you can’t really beat that. The priests and nobles droned on about the new Cathedral and “new beginnings”, but I was more concerned about making sure I got to the mead before it was all gone. That Sheriff of ours could use a drink or two himself or maybe a cleric to remove that stick. Right as the Father was going to close the ceremony and the real party was going to start those damnable little goblin beasties attacked the town. They came out of nowhere killing dogs and horses, slashing anyone they could with those knives of theirs, and burning everything they could. People were screaming and crying, hell that might of been me, and running everywhere. Did you know goblins can sing? They can, horribly by the way and damn creepy. Suddenly an arrow flies and one of those goblin bards, Warchanters I think they are called, sprouts a fine feather shaft from his chest that knocks him off his wagon perch and onto his arse. Serves him right me thinks, that was fine ale and mead he was going to burn. I see this Elf holding a bow grinning like he’s having the time of his life. Next this Barbarian, big bastard, with an even bigger two handed hammer pounds a goblin like a nail into a plank. Of course, he misses more often then not and there are some paving stones in the square that will never be the same. Then I see the priest type I seen before – mumbles a lot to himself, but he aint a bad sort for a fella with orcish blood. Hells my missus swoons over the lad talking about how a good girl will take care of the mumbles. Anyhow, he does some prayer stuff and the goblins don’t seem to be as skilled as they once was with them dog stickers. At one point he conjures some water out of midair and puts out a goblin torch and the goblin at the same time as the dumb git had set himself on fire. Not sure if the goblin was angry or thankful but it didnt matter because this Half-Elf summoner with the tag along Plate Armor took care of him and his goblin buddies. Well the Plate Armor thingy did most of the work with a nasty bit of sword work, but the results were the same – more dead gobbies.

So it gets real quiet like in the square and I realize that one of the ale kegs is leaking due to an arrow sticking out from the side, thank you Archer. So I help myself to a drink to calm my nerves and all and suddenly I hear a scream coming from the North Gate (that did not help my nerves) and these fellas go running TOWARDS the scream. So I, of course, with ale in hand follow them. Right as I catch up I see Aldern Foxglove and that fine hound of his being attacked by a Goblin riding one of those ugly dog things they breed and three more little Gobbies all trying for a piece of that poor dog. Be honest I’d rather have seen them get Aldern than that dog, the dog at least had some redeeming value. That was unkind of me I know, but I’m not much for dandys. It was a rather short fight, some more smashed paving stones, arrows in walls, and dead goblins although that Goblin Commando I think they are called got away – both he and his goblin dog escaped out the North Gate.
Eventually, the town guard and militia FINALLY showed up and either killed or captured the remaining goblins. The town got lucky – goblins are stupid and we had some handy types around that I don’t think the little buggers expected.
- Unnamed Townsperson, Sandpoint
Chronicles of the Pathfinder

View
Goblins and Booze
Inago's Journal

Inago_Journal.jpg
I awoke before dawn this morn, already anticipating the vast array of comestibles that would be available at the festival. After my prayers to Desna and my morning ablutions, I adorned myself in my finest leathers, brushed and braided my hair and beard, holstered my hammer, and stepped out into the midday sun. It was a glorious chaos. I soon rendezvoused with my regular drinking group from the Rusty Dragon near the town square. After a brief exchange of greetings, it was agreed we should perambulate to the main festival area in search of alcoholic beverages.
The day stretched on, and while my companions attempted to inveigle themselves into the local political scene, I was content to admire the ladies of Sandpoint. The noise of the faire precluded all but the most rudimentary communications, so while I danced and drank with many a young lass I was unable to convince any to slip away to a quiet corner for intense philosophical discussion.
Finally, the time had arrived for the Bishop’s address and the release of the swallowtails. This was the moment I had waited for ever since being chased from my clan hold. The release of a mass butterflies, held so dear by we worshippers of Desna. It would have been an incredible sight.
Alas, before the Bishop could begin, goblins! Here? In Sandpoint? It was unthinkable. The first to fall was an unlucky cur-dog cowering beneath a nearby merchant’s cart.
“Vile goblins, prepare to meet your doom!” I ejaculated, hoisting my hammer high. With a rallying cry from me my band of brothers went to work. The goblins had a Warchanter leading them, but Azurethel’s steady bow gave us respite from the beast’s caterwauling. I slid smoothly up to the next goblin and swung the earthbreaker in earnest. Gore ejected from beneath the edges of my weapon as it sent the monster back to the fifth circle of Hell. We continued, mopping up the northern group before turning our attention to the southern group as they tried to set the merchant’s wagon ablaze. Osovar and his translucent companion did the lion’s share of damage and Ghostson doused the fire (and a goblin) with a summoned glob of water.
We had triumphed handily, and began roaming around the town, looking for stray groups and possibly the source of the invasion. We found Foxglove the Younger (I assume) beset by a goblin commando riding a hairless red atrocity. The goblins were attacking Foxglove’s dog, of all things. I was, naturally, outraged. I charged into the fray, intending to knock the commando away from Foxglove’s dog. My arms strained, my pulse raced, and my vision blurred as the red caul of battle fell over me. When the dust settled three more goblins had met their demise at our hands, but the commando had escaped. The attack seemed to be concluded and, while the young Foxglove fawned over our persons, we were invited back to the Rusty Dragon by the proprietor for some light refreshment.
The goblin attack is worrisome. Normally the little wretches would be too cowardly to attack a settlement of this magnitude without something else driving them. Interrogation of the survivors proved mostly fruitless, but we did glean a modicum of useable intelligence about our foe. A human hired the goblin clan to attack as a distraction while he pursued some other goal in the town cemetery.
Now begins a tale of high adventure!

View

I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.