Sunrise. Our group is sluggish to leave their bedrolls. I have meditated, and I have already used a number of spells to heal up my companions.
To continue : Yesterday.
Ayreskin the Barbarian was the one to spot the hobgoblin camp, dangerously close to the small hill upon which the eight of us stood. And the hobgoblins, naturally, saw us. It was late afternoon and there was plenty of light. It was still warm. The other hobgoblins were freshly dead at our feet. I remember their smell, vividly.
The hobgoblin camp rushed us. My count is inexact, memories are confused. I believe there were eight of them. Eight, plus a Dwarf.
Spurred what I might posthumously diagnose as hubris, reckless abandon, a lack of tactical sense or just plain idiocy, my companions charged the hobgoblins. I followed.
Four hobgoblins and that Dwarf came straight for us. Two hobgoblins flanked us on the left and another pair flanked on the right.
I remember Pulp casting Bless. I remember Alex grimaced at receiving the spell. There was a hail of crossbow bolts against us. My heart raced. I didn’t know where to be. Their Dwarf cast what sounded like Protection from Good. It’s a much less pleasant version of the spell I know.
Battle met us on all sides. I felt like we were surrounded. Most of us are not the fighting type. All of them are the fighting type. I saw injuries sustained all around. I botched a Cure Light Wounds on Ayreskin; he received only minimal healing. Spiritz, Adiana, Pulp were casting spells quickly. I could smell Adiana’s soap. Even in the middle of that frenzy, the scent reached me, set itself in my memory. I smell it now and I tense up, remembering.
More violence, more healing needed. We were losing this fight from the start. I don’t know why we charged in as we did. It was a bad plan then and it’s a bad plan as I review it now.
Glimpses of memory come back. Adiana throwing a dagger at something. A Summoned scorpion, one from their side and one from our side, fighting like stray dogs. I healed the Barbarian again with a spell. He hit a hobgoblin with a shuddering blow. I recall hearing that impact and knowing which bones had broken. I healed Dax at some point. Then I saw that Pulp had been hit too many times and crashed to the ground. Someone engaged the hobgoblin that dropped him. I ran to Pulp, healed him. Don’t recall if I used a potion or a spell. He got back up.
I got hit. A crossbow bolt. One moment I was rushing around in a tempest of shouting and flashing weapons and thundering blows, next a sharp pain punched into my side. Staggering pain, registering only a moment then the moment was gone. I was adrenalized, charged, frantic and trying to retain control. Trying to regain control.
Ayreskin dropped. The terrible scout, Düd, went down. As I ran over and was restoring health to Ayreskin, I was aware of how fast I was using spells. I had potions and scrolls. In my head I remember developing an inventory, being aware of what I had and what I had to keep. Couldn’t waste a healing on myself. Crossbow bolt would have to wait. Was fascinated at the sight of my own blood.
That’s when Pulp dropped again. Do not know why he persisted in getting himself killed. I knew I had to get to him, and fast. He seemed miles away from where I was.
Every distance and every individual took on a curious aspect, seeming far removed from reality and disconnected from the concept of a fight and of our impending doom. Sounds grew horribly loud then ebbed to near silence; weapons froze then flashed then slowed again. Our side faltered, disorganized; some of theirs were down; our side shrank back, losing ground, momentum against us; they grew monstrously big and bore down upon us. We were out of our depth.
Journal of Dr. Marcus Grant
Healing Cleric of Pelor, Order of St-Jude Academy (Silabrek)
42nd Day, makeshift camp, territory of Ælim.