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-----Grunting irritably, Sol starts forward at a run, his sword pulled back in preparation for a thrust at the first crossbow wielder he comes across.
-----Coming up from behind, Jeilin points silently at the tripwire that Sol stepped on, and motions him to proceed more slowly. Then, bringing up her own crossbow, the small priestess follows behind the warrior and covers the other direction that they are moving away from.
-----Sol shakes his head, his face full of wry amusement. Once again he was the usual clearer of traps... the hard way. Nodding his thanks to the priestess, the Gorian then proceeds to the first door, opening it slowly and carefully.
-----As he does, Sol can hear whimpering noises. As he edges his head in for a quick look, he sees by the storm flashes from outside, the shadowy forms of people sitting along the edges of the walls. The room he looks into is the size of a regular guest room although it is devoid of furniture. Lightning gives glimpses of aged and lined faces and there must be about twenty old men cramped up here.
-----Sol removes his helmet slowly, in a gesture of good faith, nudging the door open wide with his foot. "Stay here fer safety's sake, at least till th' last o' Sintor's spawn is driven off, but tonight ye go free." The warrior nods his head respectfully, mindful of the sweat that cakes his brow and turns to the next closest door.
-----“Free?” comes an aged tinged voice from the room. “Free!” This is followed by murmurs of hope and cheer from the shadowed forms in the room. Sol and Jeilin realize that only old men occupy this room. As they continue their search of the upper level, they find a total of eight rooms filled with older men who greet them with caution at first followed by relief at the aspect of freedom.
-----At the end of the corridor, Jeilin and Sol find a rigged mechanism involving three crossbows. This was the trap that was sprung by the young warrior.
-----A few moments after the last hobgoblin soldier exited, Whisper flew out the back door. Pausing to take in his surroundings through the pouring rain and the frequent flashes of lightning, the elf sees many hobgoblins, but they seem intent on placing as much distance between themselves and the inn as they can. These soldiers appear to race around either end of the building perhaps to join their comrades out in the burning tent camp.
-----Whisper’s attention is immediately drawn to the wet ground. There, he begins to pick out the various tracks that stand newly made, but fading somewhat in the moisture. Among the chaotic tangle of man-sized footprints, he makes out the outlines of a squat shorter track. Another moment gives Whisper the recognition of the dwarf’s boot prints leading away from the back door with what must be the tracks of his human companions. As Whisper raises his head, he sees a lower long building that the villagers must have used to shelter their horses.
-----Quickly he reaches the edge of the building and finds it dark within, but his elven hearing detects hushed whispered voices, one of which is the unmistakable low gruff tone of a dwarf. Carefully he moves toward the stable side door which stands slightly ajar. He carefully moves within trying not to stir anything that would make a sound.
-----Across the way about thirty feet from his position, he sees them! The dwarf and four scruffy humans drenched from the dash in the rain stand in front of one of the stalls. The dwarf has his hand on the bridle of a wide-eyed dark coated pony.
-----“South we ride!” the dwarf orders, his quiet voice frenzied, “Get yer horses n’ stop fer none o’ th’ goblins here, they be done fer!”
-----Suddenly, a flash of lightning briefly illuminates the interior from the door behind Whisper. The dwarf points in Whisper’s direction as the elf ducks into some nearby shadows. “Somebody’s by the door!” The dwarf hisses and then in a louder voice, he calls, “Who goes there?!”
-----To Whisper’s left, he sees a ladder that leads to the hay loft above. To his right, he sees other stalls that open into the center walkway where the opponents stand.
-----Whisper moved towards the ladder, already sheathing his two bared blades. He needed to move quickly, and the thunderclap that was bound to come would hopefully cover the noise of his ascension.
-----Once in the loft, he removed his bow from its loops, and smoothly re-strung it by bending it across his shoulders. With luck, the damp and wet had not set into the bowstring.
-----Nocking an arrow, the Wood Elf moved forward to see what was going on below.
-----As the rumbling of the thunder dies, Whisper eases into the loft and sets his bow. All seems quiet below as if his prey was uncertain about the situation.
-----Peering over the edge, he sees the dwarf silently motion to the four humans to move forward as if to investigate near the door. The humans begin to spread out and as they do, their blades hiss from their sheaths.
-----Cold blue eyes took it all in.
-----So close.
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