Five years have passed since an army of demons turned the peaceful farming village of Port Roland into a killing field. Five grueling years of work have cleared the land of the blood and broken weapons, reverting the swampy farmland back to its prior glory. To celebrate the revival of the village, an annual Summer Festival was created.
On the fifth anniversary, four adventurers of Arsonists Anonymous arrived at the local inn. To prepare for the events of the following day, the adventurers decided to retire…
As the dwarven cleric in the group snored loudly, the elven mage’s weasel familiar crept into his room, rifling through the dwarf’s belongings; making off with a torch and leaving a hole in the dwarf’s pack and a bottle full of weasel liquid.
The rumbling from inside gradually gave way to a rumbling outside. A villager raced in screaming “The village is under attack! To Arms! To Arms!”
Reaching for liquid courage, the dwarf took a sip of the contents of the bottle. Commenting quickly that it tasted like weasel, he quickly downed the contents. The dwarf drew his battleaxe and slashed at the wall, trying to create a new doorway. Taking a few steps back, he charged at the wall; getting only a quick glance of the outside before being spring boarded back at the far wall.
The dragonborn left her room. Seeing the back of the dwarf’s head sticking through the wall she opened the door to see if the dwarf was alright. Shortly thereafter, the group tore out of the building, focusing on 2 nearby clusters of Bladelings across the moderate stream.
With everyone out of the inn, the wizard snuck back in, tossing a lit torch into the dwarf’s empty room. As the monk leapt across the stream to draw enemies away from a trapped citizen, the dwarf charged at the bladelings that were crossing the bridge. The dragonborn tried to assist the monk with her bow and the wizard turned to assist the cleric.
The Bladelings [for the most part] succeeded their saving throws, though the Cleric failed and took the brunt of a Sound Burst, falling suddenly unconscious. The dragonborn raced up to help bring the cleric back to consciousness. The villager who had charged into the inn to inform them of the attack appeared out of nowhere to use a healer’s kit on the fallen dwarf.
Raising back to his feet, the dwarf and dragonborn quickly dispatched of the bladelings. At the same time, the monk took out the last attacker the villager was facing. Quickly ordering the villager to run and hide, the monk quickly spotted another band of bladelings racing toward him from the fields.
The dwarf discovered a potion of healing, and using one of his own spells, restored his own hit points to almost full. Seeing a group of bladelings, in the center of a small cluster of houses, the dwarf charged at them, casting sacred flame, badly wounding one of the five, an arrow flying past from the dragonborn, striking another nearby bladeling.
In an attempt to assist once more, the mage cast another area of affect spell, once more dealing more damage to friend than foe. Becoming more and more surrounded, the monk leapt back across the banks of the stream. The dwarf and dragonborn retreated further into safety.
Getting close enough to the mage, the cleric cast Sacred Flame on the mage, barely missing his target. The mage raced for the stream, diving across and landing on the far banks. The cleric gained ground and cast Sacred Flame once more, knocking the mage unconscious.
With the remaining bladelings on the inn’s side of the bridge, the dragonborn, monk, and dwarf used what ranged attacks they could, while slowly staying ahead of the charging enemies.
The dwarf leapt, missing the far shore and ending up in the cool, two-foot deep, murky water. Dragging himself up the embankment, he stabilized the mage. Finding two more potions of healing, he grabbed both, throwing one at the mage in an attempt to revive his comrade. Successfully, the mage rose and began attacking the ever nearing bladelings. The monk leapt back across the stream to where he had defended the villager, and the dragonborn raced behind the dwarf, also falling into the murky waters.
The bladelings charged ever determined at the group, splitting off into smaller clusters and leaping into the stream and struggling to get close enough to the group members. Systematically, the last of the attacking bladelings were cut down, and all was safe once again.
Upon the conclusion of the battle, the monk walked up to the mage, knocking him unconscious once more with a swift blow. The mage’s weasel stared on in horror from its safe spot in the window of the burning inn. Seeing its master fall, it snuck out onto the battlefield, looting as many of the corpses as it could. Though the group gained little gold with this adventure, they gained the experience of a new foe and the promises that the Summer Festival and Port Roland would go on…