As fast as the can, the Quick Reaction Strike Force hurries to where the "Troll Awakening" was going on.
 
It is a late December afternoon, and a soft, light snow has begun, and by the time they arrive, the ground has a crust of white.  At least there is no danger of burning any more of the Elven woods... but the destruction visible in this area is stunning.  The underbrush is burned away, and one of the great Elven Home Trees has fallen, with the wreckage of a tree top village strewn about.  It is a year old now.  For some reason the Elves have made no effort to remove the debris or replant the area.



The "troll awakener" has been busy- three trolls have already been awakened from their magical stasis, and the Orc shaman is working on a forth.  And there are a number of trolls around still in their inert forms.  They can be easily recognized, now that the party knows what to look for, but no one knows exactly how many have been scattered around the Beda area.  It could be dozens- which would mean the Huns intended to have a formidable force of trolls behind Elven lines when they attacked!


Heolstor's force has the trolls very outnumbered... but then, these are trolls.


 

         Whats the current range of the Troll shaman thats awakening his companions
from our advanced mounted contingent?

Heolstor took a moment to look more closely at the terrain as they came upon the inert trolls. He didn't like what he saw: debris, much and more of it, which meant it would be difficult for the cavalry to simply ride down the foe by the strength of their charge. The Saxon leaned back and whispered something, something curious - though barely audible it sounded like birdsong. Pwyll flitted from his place behind Heolstor to take up a post on the gargantuan tree to their fore. He hopped down its branch, bright black eye examining the closest sleeping troll. Then he flew farther afield: out of sight, towards the place the Huns had chosen for their battle position.

The Saxon Lord turned to the young Breton, wheeling his horse about to come closer to the scout and be heard over the chatter of soldiers and stomping of eager hooves. "Brannoc. Take command of the scouts and these elves among our number - guide them through the wreckage to our left." He pointed, to the downed tree and the winding paths that led through it.

"I will take the cavalry, both man and dwarf, to the right where there is room to maneuver. Then - I will assault their position, draw their ire, and force them to confront me or collapse. Make your way through the debris..." He paused, drawing back on his steed's reins to still his horse for a moment longer. Heolstor's gaze stayed fixed on Brannoc, intense and focused. "... And kill the sorceror before more of these things wake."

The Saxon's eyes didn't veer from Brannoc's still. "Kill the sorceror. Grind him to dust. Win your glory today, Breton, and I will remember it." There was a wildness to him as he spoke, a reminder that he was not like the lordlings to the South. He was a warlord, not a poet, not a gentle scholar.

Then, to Dunduin, Arctos, and the cavalry... "With me, riders! The trolls are ours!" His horse edged its way back to the front and center of the formation. Both man and horse grew tense, muscles tight with anticipation and nervousness. The last troll he had faced had been a trial. How many could him and his men overcome? How many did the orcs have on hand?... A thought occurred as his memory of that past encounter resurfaced, though. "Take fire to their flesh when they fall, or they'll only rise again!"

Heolstor's shield came easily into his left hand, falling from his shoulder as he pulled it loose to sit firmly gripped in his palm. Brand's edge slipped from its sheath loosely, ready in his right. His fingers wrapped themselves around the sword's leather handle familiarly. The Saxon looked to Dunduin, to confirm the other warrior was prepared. When he responded in the affirmative Heolstor signalled for the cavalry to follow him forward.

If the orcs or trolls closed the distance and moved into the debris itself he'd order the cavalry to dismount, as if they were dragoons, and close on foot. Without room to maneuver or charge a horse could be more a liability than a boon.

He had no orders for Petra, as he assumed she would not be able to hear him. The priestess' good judgment would have to suffice. Hopefully she'd harry their foe from above as battle joined.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:13, Mon 03 Dec 2012.

In reply to Arctos (msg # 2):

K1-12 is the Shaman. He's on the map... Sorry, just looking in and it's right there.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:33, Mon 03 Dec 2012.

In reply to Titus Mercator (msg # 4):

Demus has a confused expression as Heolstor begins to give commands and guesses that he should ask Brannoc's permission before trying to weaken the trolls with fire. Any objections a fireball Brannoc? I can try and aim it at the 2 trolls that are closest, or at the shaman and hopefully get another troll. his finger reach into a pouch on his belt as he speaks.

Callidus sneaks around the rubble and debris and stealthily attempts to get closer to the enemy shaman.

"Roight" Dunduin acknowledges Heolstor's command.

"Dwarves! We ride with the human cavalry to combat the trolls. Let's put to good use our combat expertise in battling giant sized creatures and trolls specifically." Unleashing his massive magical mace and swinging it above his head riding his pony he ends the mace swinging and points in the direction of their travel "Let's ride!"

Anything that Petra had been told of the decimation of Beda could not have prepared her for the sight. Aloft, borne upon Hermod's back, her aerial view of it conveyed the scope of what had been done here in heart-wracking detail.

Cleric was she, not Druid; but her love of the land was no less for that.  She had been brought up to respect and revere nature, by the uncle whose heart beat so similarly to her own.  It was a basic and essential part of who she was.  One reason why she'd gotten on better with Tugdual, than with some other clerics she'd met.

It was wholly abominable to look upon.  Of course, what was done to this land's people wasn't visible today. But, somehow, to her, Beda seemed to echo with their suffering and overwhelming despair.

And to both sides of her - German and Elf - this was a thing that demanded righteous retribution.  The trolls themselves were not the perpetrators of the holocaust here.  But, they were allies of those.  And all too willing to maim and murder in service of the same unholy cause. Yes; they would suffice.

In Petra's hand was the composite bow that had been finely crafted in her homeland - well wish gift from uncle and father on the day she had left.  Consecrated and blessed by a hunter-priest of Ullr. Over her shoulder, the quiver of Elvish enchantment, given by High-priestess Kandralde, when Petra had agreed to come and be part of Heolstor's campaign.

Thus, she would smite these enemies as both Elf and Daughter of the Vanir and Aesir.

Removing an arrow from the quiver, she guided faithful Hermod to lose some altitude, and bank off toward the north-east.  There were Huns on the field.  And one in particular was her own dark equivalent. She spotted the posturing and positionings of ritual even from up here.  Not to mention being amidst the wakening trolls.

Closer she flew, then abruptly nocked the arrow and drew aim.  Elvish magic permeated this shaft; enchanted to be specifically inimical to this priest of Demons and Death.

Petra accounted and adjusted for the headwind, then let the arrow fly.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:07, Mon 03 Dec 2012.

"Objections?" Brannoc raised a questioning brow. "No...try not to hit our friends, otherwise I don't care. More havoc you can bring upon them the better. Don't hold back." The Breton smiled and padded the wizard on the shoulder. "Come, lets get to a position before the cavalry steals all the fun."

The scout sprinted after Callidus through the foliage. Trolls, them he would gladly leave to the heavy armored dwarves, but orcs... he knew how to kill them. It would be satisfying to put an arrow or two at the enchanter or his guards. He could sneak to their right flank and give them hail of arrows...

The group rushes ahead to engage the enemy, moving to either side of the great fallen tree.  The trunk is quite wide- they cannot see over the top of it.  The force is quickly divided.

On the north flank, Demus finally gets his chance to Fireball a pair of approaching trolls.  There is a burst of flame, and Demus makes an astonishing discovery- if you set off a Fireball on snow, it seems you get "obscuring mist" as a free bonus.  A steamy fog now engulfs the Trolls and Demus can't really see what kind of damage he did!

(But the fireball, and the fog, in the dim late afternoon light in the winter woods does give dramatic cinematic appeal to the scene.)


The rest of the gang takes the other approach, on the south side of the fallen tree, where only one Troll has gone, and that Troll is about to have a "Oh, @*%$$&#!!!" moment when he realizes there's a whole cavalry troop charging his way.

The Shaman realizes the battle is on, but leaves himself exposed as he awakens one more troll!  Petra takes advantage of this, shoots at the shaman from above, and wounds him.  Cursing, the shaman retreats under the canopy of an evergreen, making it hard for her to target him again, but also making it harder for him to reach the next slumbering troll.
 

         With his Agnon and shield at the ready, the Dwarven Patre spurrs his mount into a
charge (if the path is clear) in order to engage the first live Ogre that his
stygian hued orbs fall upon . . .  (Arctos atop his mount charges the rock troll in
grid 23/G1 . . .  as Arctos Has Mounted Combat).  The dour Dwarf atop his mighty steed,
and with prejudice in the extreme in his heart, levels his lance at his declared foe in the
hopes of skewering him through and through!

        After having made his charge (attack) against the Troll, and having passed the vile
creature by afterwards, Arctos shall dismount and attack the closest adversary available
. . .
This message was last edited by the player at 07:50, Wed 05 Dec 2012.

In reply to Arctos (msg # 11):

Demus slams his staff on the snow and shouts "Serve me" as 3 wolves appear with dark streaks through their gray fur surrounding the summoner howling they lunge at the summoner and generally trying to distract him. A black cat by Demus' legs lets a hiss out as the wolves appears.
OOC: wolf sheet and fiendish template
Wolf

Size/Type: Medium Animal
Hit Dice: 2d8+4 (13 hp)
Initiative: +2
Speed: 50 ft. (10 squares)
Armor Class: 14 (+2 Dex, +2 natural), touch 12, flat-footed 12
Base Attack/Grapple: +1/+2
Attack: Bite +3 melee (1d6+1)
Full Attack: Bite +3 melee (1d6+1)
Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft.
Special Attacks: Trip
Special Qualities: Low-light vision, scent
Saves: Fort +5, Ref +5, Will +1
Abilities: Str 13, Dex 15, Con 15, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6
Skills: Hide +2, Listen +3, Move Silently +3, Spot +3, Survival +1*
Feats: TrackB, Weapon Focus (bite)
Environment: Temperate forests
Organization: Solitary, pair, or pack (7-16)
Challenge Rating: 1
Advancement: 3 HD (Medium); 4-6 HD (Large)
Level Adjustment: —

Fiendish abillitys link http://www.d20srd.org/srd/mons...fiendishCreature.htm

Callidus takes advantage of the obscuring fog and slides through the mist as stealthily as he can while shifting into his were-form, making his way through to the shaman awakening the trolls.

The mist makes it easier, as its harder to make him out as he dives between the available cover. He wishes he was invisible, as it would make him quite a degree more undetectable than sneaking would.

He wouldn't escape from the wrath of Callidus. None of them would. The elves of Beda need revenge, and he might as well be the one to deliver it for them. He makes his way through, using the wreckage as cover as he gets closer to his mark.

He also takes advantage of the mist and removes the mask he took from his last encounter with a shaman of this type, pulling the mask over his face.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:16, Tue 04 Dec 2012.

Having noticed a treehouse in the north-western direction just before the mist obscured visibility Brannoc sneaked to that direction, arrow ready on the string, using foliage and mist as cover. He planned to shoot at first humanoid shapes he would spot in that direction as they presumably would not be friendlies.

Debating whether to immediately pursue and further harry the shaman, Petra spotted an easier and more immediate target.  They all needed to be dealt with, so it was far from wasted time and effort.

The priestess shifted slightly in the saddle, and drew aim on the hulking troll. And then released the shaft.

Heolstor gripped the reins in his left hand, leather band held tightly between his fingers and the iron handle of his shield. He tucked his head low and replaced his blade in its sheath. Then he raised his empty sword arm high, poised as if to strike with his fist when his steed closed the distance. Heolstor's horse thundered onward, crunching crisp December grass with each stride. Chill winter air burned at his eyes as they rushed forward; it wrapped itself around his face, brushing across his cheeks and tossing his black locks wildly.

Then, when they grew close enough to see the troll a blade of red hot fire sprung from Heolstor's palm. It blossomed suddenly, going in an instant from a spark to a candle's flame to a beam of fire three feet in length. It blazed hungrily from high in Heolstor's hand, small embers falling from its edge to trail behind.

The Saxon would use it to burn the first troll that was unfortunate enough to meet their charge.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:48, Wed 05 Dec 2012.

Dunduin will cast some buffing spells before wading into battle. He will dismount after he gets close enough to battle a troll. Sounding off his rallying warcry to boost his troops morale he bravely leads the charge hopefully with Arctos at his side.

OOC: I'm sorry. It seems I somehow managed to entirely miss Heolstor’s post a bit earlier so I hope you all don’t mind if I attempt just a little bit of retconning here... Please assume this happens after msg #3.


Brannoc nodded at Heolstor in acknowledgement. If the Saxon's words had surprised him nothing in his demeanor betrayed it. "I will lead the scouts who wish to follow me into the battle and we WILL kill the sorcerer...or die trying. Good luck to you and your men, lord."

Arctos’s charge against the troll is blocked by a very large tree branch.  It is chest high to a Human, a log sturdy enough to support an Elven home, and it once did, but it is now a massive obstacle on the forest floor.  And the troll, seeing what is coming, is in no mood to leap over it himself.  The troll uses it as a fortification.

A Dwarf would be too short to stab across the top of the log.   But just when all seems lost, Arctos realizes… his boots are about two feet higher off the ground than they normally are!  These ponies are good for something after all!  With the long Agnon, he can actually reach across the top of the log!

Although he cannot charge, he engages the Troll in a furious round of pointy-stick poking.  The rock troll’s hide is hard, like, well, rock, but after some effort, Arctos actually wounds it.  And because no fight like this goes without Arctos taking a battering himself, the Troll also wounds Arctos.

The pony, shielded entirely by the mass of the log, is quite happy.

Arctos finds himself with an advantage few Dwarves ever have:  Close air support.  Petra starts plunking arrows into it from above.

* * * * *

For Demus’s next trick, he conjures up his a trio of wolves.  They go off to intercept the Trolls coming through the mist.

Callidus and Brannoc both bypass the trolls with stealth.  They are headed for the Shaman’s hiding place.But that leaves Demus sort of exposed…  Two trolls headed his way, and three wolves to protect him, and those are big, tough trolls.

Not entirely alone.  Erulian and another of the Elves are behind him, and they begin launching arrows at the trolls as they approach.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, on the southern front… Heolstor leads the troops around the fallen tree, with Dunduin assisting. In a moment, it is clear that Arctos’s troll is now trapped- the tree branches that were his cover are also a pen.  But there are two more trolls and a few Orcs on the way!

 
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:48, Thu 06 Dec 2012.

In reply to Ben (msg # 19):

Demus says to the two other elves who stayed with him. Lets try and get to the fighters so we can stay alive, for we are not supposed to take on trolls by ourselves. The wolves should hold them for a little. Then Demus heads around the giant tree trunk to see what mayhem he can create for these  other trolls. His cat runs under the trunk  if possible, or follows Demus if it is not.

        Arctos continues to attack the vile Troll with his Agnon in the hopes of keeping
its attention whilst his allies closed in to outflank his foe . . .

        With all of the strength that he could muster, the Dwarven Patre thrusts his Agnon
at his foe, and manages to find a weak spot betwixt troll flesh and bone.  The Patre's
mighty spear is now impaled deeply within both flesh and bone of his adversary.  Arctos
begin to twist his weapon in a clockwise fashion so as to wreak even more damage upon his
chosen adversary . . .

        After having sucessfully imbedded his Agnon into his foe, Arctos bellows . . .

        By the grace O' Mars, I hath shish-ka-bobed mine vile foe!  Die ye vile abomin-
ation!"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:56, Fri 07 Dec 2012.

Heolstor recognized two things: the first was that he was at the far side of this charge's flank, cut off from turning the corner til all others had gone through. The second was that Arctos was now facing a troll on his lonesome.

There was a choice to be made. Wait for the chance to rush forward and battle his way towards the sorceror?... Or assist the dwarven patre and trust Dunduin to do what must be done?

Heolstor wheeled his horse about, bringing it to face the flank of Arctos' troll. The abrupt stop earned an indignant snort from Heolstor's horse, but the horse complied perfectly. Strang took a moment to turn his head to the side and shout over his back, "Dunduin! Bring them around the tree's roots and take the charge home!" Then he kicked into his horse's side - sending it rushing forward to meet the troll waiting for him.

The Saxon struck out, his flaming blade seeking trollflesh, Tiw's name on his lips.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:19, Fri 07 Dec 2012.

"Aye sir" Dunduin acknowledges his new orders and leads the charge to the trolls bringing the pony forces around and into battle.


OOC: Quite frankly I don't know why we weren't in battle already but whatever. There should be forces on both sides of the trolls as we've got both number of troops and movement advantage. Units that become moderately to severely injured will be ordered to retreat since at this point they have plenty of fresh reinforcements.

Brannoc sneaked past a massive tree that was still standing and supporting structure he could only assume was once an elven tree-home, now burned, charred and broken. It stood there, black and menacing in the mist like an ancient giant monster. Or a demon. Biting his lip the scout ventured forward in the mist, desperate to find the quarry he was after: the orc enchanter.

The Breton bitterly noticed he was all alone on the far left flank... Should a troll spot him we would be doomed. "Arduinna guide my step..." He whispered a quiet prayer to the Mother of Hunt he so rarely remembered these days, trying to find again courage he seemed suddenly have lost.

Before the mist had gone up from the fireball, Petra's view had revealed that some of her allies were making their way toward the Hun's shaman.  Naturally someone would have been assigned to account for him -  Heolstor would not have overlooked it.

She had already put a shaft into the unholy one.  And she had a mind to spill yet more of his tainted blood.

Landing near and going after him with her sword wasn't a good idea just yet. There were a number of Orcs not far off -- assigned as his guards most likely - and she did not want to end up flanked by those.

But, if she could not reach him with arrows, because of his cover - there was another means.

Calling upon Freyja in her capacity as warrioress, a sword of a different sort was suddenly at Petra's beck and call.  The blade of pure, divine force sped toward the vile one.

Just to illustrate that hiding beneath trees wasn't quite going to stop justice.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:09, Fri 07 Dec 2012.

Callidus has stealthily made his way towards the shaman, but he has run into a problem.  The shaman's forces are headed right towards him.  They're not so stealthy, but still... if he's discovered, he's going to be badly outnumbered, so he stays low and watches the Rock Trolls and the Orcs joining them fight off a pack of wolves.  They look weak, though.  They've been badly injured by the fireball, and now the wolves.  Callidus can see it won't take much more.

The Trolls actually sweep right past Callidus, and the Orcs are all around him as he hides in the rubble of the Elven tree village.

As Petra prepares to attack the shaman from the air.. he breaks into a run!  He heads for the last of the mist, trying to use it to his advantage, even as it is dissipating.  Clearly, he's trying to get to the next sleeping Rock Troll, using his allies as a mobile shield in front of him.  She hits him.. but she's not the only one with magic.  She can see, even as he stumbles a little from the blow, that the wound begins to heal almost immediately.

Like a troll!


Brannoc also moves stealthily, coming in towards Callidus from the north.  He stays close to the trunk of another great tree, keeping to the underbrush.  The remaining mist blows away, and Brannoc gets a good view- the Shaman is very close, and the Rock Trolls have already gone past.

* * * * *

The Southern Front is a battle of an entirely different kind.  No stealth or magic, just straight out charging and bashing, and lots of it.  The cavalry sweeps around, but in and around the wreckage and tree limbs, movement is very constricted.  Some of them cut off the rear, and one of the Orcs quickly falls, skewered clean through with a horseman's spear.

Dunduin and Heolstor join the battle against the trolls, which are themselves pinned between the two great tree branches now, with escape cut off.  They take a tremendous battering from Arctos, Dunduin, and Heolstor, but then,  it takes four or five hammer blows to the head just to wake them up*, because these are Rock Trolls**.  They are surrounded and wounded, especially the one that's been fighting a weird Over The Log battle with Arctos, but they fight on, apparently not minding the hits they're taking.


*Or a quart of Starbucks.  That'll do it too.
** -100 experience points to anyone asking about Jazz, Country Western, or other genres of trolls.



 

It seemed the Goddess of the Forests had heard Brannoc's plea and it renewed his courage. The Trolls didn't spot him and the mist revealed the shaman very close to him. The Hun was moving towards the next rock to be awaken. No, this would not do, the scout couldn't allow him awaken new monster. Despite the wreckage between them the Breton moved closer to his prey, pulling his bow to maximum pull. Perhaps he could at least distract him...

OOC: Moving within 30' range for Point Blank Shot.

         Using all of his might that can possibly muster, Arctos pulls the Agnon from the
Troll with a great rending of flesh, accompanied by copious amounts of emerald blood . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 02:18, Sun 09 Dec 2012.

Callidus waits in the wreckage until the orcs pass his location. When he can see their backs he vaults over the tree using his knives as a pivot, coming up behind the shaman and attempting to slice ruby lines into his neck with both of his enchanted daggers.

In reply to Callidus (msg # 29):

Your service is no longer required wolves, may your travels be in peace. Demus then flings a fireball that glows red hot from some magical trickery that he had done at the two trolls that are quickly approaching.

"The sorceror!" The Saxon called out to his men. "Forget the trolls! Find him!" His voice was hot with the passion of the moment, its intensity demanding.

Heolstor slashed out at the troll to his right, the very same Arctos was striking out against. His blade of fire aimed to sear the creature's wound and negate its healing powers - a lesson he'd learned long ago, in the caves beneath Lingones. His other arm held his shield up stubbornly, painted with a brazen black raven, between himself and the troll that had rushed in to flank him. A weak defense, to be sure.

His best bet would be to end the first troll's existence as quickly as possible. Better that than to be between a rock troll and a hard place.

Dunduin works with Heolstor in combat "I got your back buddy" he says informally. And he does just that. When the second troll tries to score a flanking attack against Heolstor, Dunduin charges in with a large heavy mace attack powerful enough to give a headache to most rocks. At the least it should serve as a good distraction from having their leader get plastered from behind.

Petra gasped a little, in realization the shaman would not be felled so easily. A regenerator!  Just like his soiled servants.

The main thing was preventing him from awakening any more.  The spiritual sword would continue attacking him...there was no reason to halt it.  But, something other would have to be done to prevent him from enlivening that troll.

She guided Hermod in that direction, with an idea to at least buy time.

Will attempt to get within 35' of the shaman.  Then use Command on him - "Halt" to stop him from awakening the troll.  I will wait until he is about to do it - if that pushes it to next round, fine.

The spiritual sword will hack at him again. Just to be a pain. ;P 

1. Demus hits the oncoming trolls with a second fireball.  Another ball of mist steams up from the snow.  Through it, he sees that they are still moving, but now they don’t seem well.  They are wobbling and very unsteady on their feet, and it looks like they are having second thoughts about chasing Demus… as perhaps, if they stood and thought long enough, they would figure out some new strategy that doesn’t involve getting hit with fireballs.  And then.. they seem to decide that they’ve been cooked enough.  They fall over, and more steam rises where they hit the cold wet ground.  Demus feels a bit fatuiged- that has taken a lot out of him.

Petra continues to harass her Shaman target with her spiritual weapon  There are probably things he could be doing about this.. but he knows that the Rock Trolls are powerful allies, and in terms of turning the battle, the best thing he can do is get more of them.  He hurries towards the next troll, and raises his staff and…

halts.

Halting was probably a bad thing for him to do.  It allows Brannoc to hit him easily with two arrows, very quickly.  Suddenly, the Shaman doesn’t look well.

The nearby Orcs back off.  If there is a flying thing, and their trolls are down, and the shaman doesn’t look well… this won’t turn out well, and they know it.  They look for opportunities to run, and take them.

Arctos indeed hath shish kabobbed his vile foe.  Heolstor attacks it from behind.  Together, they finish off one, as Dunduin holds off the other with the pony patrol.

The tide has clearly turned, with little left to do but finish off one Troll and one wounded Shaman.

OOC: Easy for you to say Dunduin shouts at the GM in the sky as his chest heaves from physical exertion and he observes a large dent in his fine armor wincing a bit as there may be more than a large bruise in the making. :)

Determined to finish him off and partly fearing some sorcerous trick Brannoc put one arrow after another to the shaman's chest... This close it's hard for him to miss.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:18, Mon 10 Dec 2012.

"Well struck, Patre!" The Saxon praised.

"You do, brother!" Heolstor shouted in return to Dunduin as he drew his red-hot blade from smoking trollflesh. The beast shrank and collapsed beneath his and Arctos' joint assault. Heolstor laughed, voice jovial, lost in the moment's intensity and its camaraderie. He turned his steed and refocused his efforts on Dunduin's troll. "And I yours!" His flaming sword fell again, biting into his newest opponent.

This, it appeared, would be Pwyll's last opportunity to make an effectual impact on the combat. He chose now - in these final moments, to distract the orc with scratching claws and a vicious beak, before he took wing again. Gone, just in time for Brannoc to loose his arrows into the orc.

        After the felling of the troll, the Dwarven Patre dismounts, and ties off his war ponies
reins on a nearby branch.  Arctos briefly looks to his wounds from his recent combat in order
to see how bad they are.  The Patre attempts to treat his wounds with the use of his healers
kit . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 02:04, Thu 13 Dec 2012.

In reply to Arctos (msg # 38):

Demus sees the attack has shifted to the shaman and decides to test their defenses.  You shall pay. Then three balls of force energy shoot from his fingertips and arc towards the Shaman.

"Perhaps we should capture, to gain information?" Petra called out to the others, who were beset upon the unholy one.

It seemed a good idea to her.  At worst, if the spell she was about to cast worked, it should make him easy to finish off.

And if it failed, the flat of the spiritual sword might accomplish the same purpose, weakened as he was.

Callidus stabs the shaman with his enchanted daggers, beset from all sides he doubts that the shaman will be alive much longer.

Dunduin coordinates with Heolstor in taking down the last troll. "Be gone foul creature. Back into the earth we drive you!"

The last of the opposition is an easy mop-up.  One badly wounded shaman... a lone rock troll...against such an opposition they don't stand much chance.  On their own they were tough.  Good thing the scouts decided to call in a heavier force!  But with this kind of strength against them, the shaman's little crew cannot hold.

A few of the Orcs have scattered, obviously bravely seeking Elves to attack in other directions.

Taking stock of the situation, and with other troops arriving, sightings of the now-identifiable Inert Trolls come in.  In all, there seem to about thirty of them, scattered across Beda... where the Elves didn't look too hard.

It is a force that the Huns, no doubt, were counting on being assembled, behind the Elves, as the main force attacked.

Speaking of which...

Petra is not the only one in the air.  There are birds, in particular, owls, of very large size.  In fact, nearly as big as Hermod.  A pair of them show up, flying in from the east.

They alight and speak... first to Petra, because they assume anyone with a winged horse is probably in charge.  Owls have a very feather-centric view of the world.

They are allies of the Elves, giant owls that live in the forest nearby.  They have been acting as messengers, linking all the various Elven groups as they gather.  They have also been keeping an eye on the Huns.

The good news:  They have also seen Haakon and Cirostis, to the east, with a force of Elves.  Many Elves are mustering, it looks like they are getting ready to stop the Huns at a river, only a few miles to the east.  The Celibus river is not deep.  It can be waded easily, but the ground on both sides is well forested, and often steep.  And there are the tall Elven Home Trees here and there along it.  Good, defensible terrain, from the Elf point of view.

And the bad news:  The Huns broke away from the river, and have been moving inland, making a nearly straight line for this place.  They will be here by nightfall tomorrow.

In reply to Ben (msg # 43):

Demus seems uneasy at being so close to Beda, but decides since there are so many others risking it that he can also. He then seeks out Heolstor to see about copying spells from any other wizards there might be.

Brannoc checked if the shaman was by some miracle still breathing and could be questioned while he carefully searched its body at the same time. The sorcerer might carry something the alliance could use to learn more about the enemy.

Then it occurred to him that even if the sorcerer was already dead he perhaps could be questioned, at least the Breton had heard such thing might be possible though he had never witnessed such event personally. He figured Demus, mage that he was, would probably know if such feat was possible at all.

"Adesse, find Demus and ask if he can speak with the dead, please. Wait, ask also if there are any clerics here and ask them if they know about such things. Let them know this is the sorcerer that woke the trolls and that he might know something about the Hun plans."

Petra, pegasus rider or no, was a little awed by the arrival of the owls.  She had heard of Elvish kind having alliance with such evolved animals.  Yet had not ever encountered anything the like of them.  Such noble avians. And owls were so renown as a symbol of wisdom.  She wished there was time to converse, but of course there was none. Not with Hunnish forces encroaching upon Beda.

She made certain the owls understood that it was Heolstor who was leader.  Or swiftly conveyed the news to him herself, if they did not linger to repeat it.

She was glad at least one other understood the value of questioning the enemy. However, she had no capability to speak with the dead.  Amongst the Gods she served, such powers of necromancy were the province of darksome Hel.  She had no recourse to such.  And, useful as it would be here, she was just as glad she did not have to perform such rites.

Patre Arctos might be able to supply the magic for it, if not one of the army's wizardlings.

Brannoc inspects the remains of the shaman.  The unfortunate Orc is quite dead, despite the fact that Petra attempted to show him some mercy.  It was just too little, too late, and Brannoc's arrows do not have a "stun setting".

For an Orc, the shaman is dressed very Elf.  He has Elven boots, and his gray cloak, while not technically an Elven cloak, does seem to be made in that style.  Also, the shaman was traveling light, for an Orc.  His pack is half full of food and drink- evidently, he was equipped for a long stay in the field.

And... Brannoc finds a map!  A scroll, tucked into the shaman's pack, showing the directions here, and how to find the sleeping trolls.

The Shaman had breastplate armor, and a staff, and a pair of daggers.

* * * * * * *

As Petra converses with the owls, the remainder of the army, left behind so that this small quick force could intervene before the shaman managed to awaken too many of his trolls, begins to catch up.

Some are impressed by the remaining trolls, still completely dormant.

Scippio passes a couple on his way to find Arctos, and when he is finally reunited with the Patre, asks "What do you think we should do with them?  Can't just leave them, can we?  How do we know there's not some other means of waking them up?"

Other Dwarves, meanwhile, are in awe over the size of the Elven Home Trees, and that includes the fallen ones.  As the mules drag the ballistae up, the artillery battery captain gives a low whistle.

"What a waste of excellent lumber," he says to Dunduin.   "What a waste.  Shame we can't drag it back whole!  You don't have to build a town wall, just roll this one log wherever you want it, instant wall!  So... where are we setting up for the night?"

Meanwhile, from the owls, Petra and Heolstor learn that the local Elves, the warriors of the Fifth Ward, are gathering just five miles away, at a place along the bends of the Celibus river.


* * * * * * *

Anakri and the Savoy Elves arrive, and Demus finds them to inquire about spell trading.  But such mental work needs a less demanding day.  It has been a day of marching across forest- cold December forest- and now they must make camp, and such things as talk of spells must be saved for easier times.

Dunduin consults with the Elves and Heostor regarding camp and where the dwarves should set up. He specifically asks for places for both the troops and the artillery. Finally he suggests multiple patrols from each race be set up. He gives deference to Heostor who is the overall commander and the elves since this is their homeland and native terrain.

---

"Heh, think if we had one of these babies to roll down the mountain at an incoming orc army. We'd clean them out lickity split. I wonder if they ever made a ship out of one of them. Sure would be an impressive slight."

         Before approaching the officers in charge, the Dwarven Patre takes Scippio with him to
look over the lay of the land, as well as the expected approach of their adversaries in order
to best determine where their artillery implacements should be set up in order to achieve the
greatest affect against the enemies hordes, while at the same time making the best use of their
new allies whom have an insatiable hunger . . .  The Patre also looks about to note whether
there are any boulders that lay at the greater heights that could be used to cause avalanches
to fall upon their foes.

         Once he has determined the best position for the artillery, he gives the orders to
set up the Dwarven Artillery in those particular areas . . . and for a number of Dwarves to
begin to fortify the artillery positions with sharp wooden works and earthenworks.

         The Dwarven Patre also gives orders to hobble their Dwarven War Ponies in a secure
area, and sets a strong guard over them, along with a number of Dwarves to care for, feed and
water their ponies too.

         Afterwards, Arctos will head to Dunduin and Heleostar in order to make his report
. . .
This message was last edited by the player at 08:22, Sat 15 Dec 2012.

Callidus upon hearing that another group of orcs is here begins setting traps, stuffing bedrolls and tripwires around the perimeter of the area.

"This is where we'll give them battle then. Here, at Beda." Heolstor remarked distantly "Perhaps it always had to be so. It was a strange set of circumstances that brought us here. An army, unafflicted by elven grief - the sort that would be needed, to batter the Hun and send him reeling back."

"The huns will come to us, they have to, they're drawn to this place. Just as we were."

Heolstor intended to choose exactly where at Beda his army would make camp. A group of dwarves, elves, and men this large needed to sprawl itself over quite some area... But surely there would be enough to choose. The Saxon wants to make camp in as clear a place as he can. Far, or as far as he can get, from substantial debris or tree line. If his night watchmen are to have a chance of spotting approaching Hunnic skirmishers they'll need that open ground.

He intends to begin the making a simple earthworks - laid with sharpened logs (taken from the plentiful dead wood all around), pointed out like stakes, oriented out from the camp's perimeter. On the morrow this will form the beginnings of his defensive line. Tonight: it ensures that his men have a chance if the Hun comes in the night.

Guards and patrols are to be increased during the night. Heolstor wants listening posts placed on hilltops on the approach to Beda. Word being sent to him if the Huns are sighted, or anything seems amiss.

OOC: If there's any key terrain to be worked with, a short description or vague diagram will do.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:10, Sat 15 Dec 2012.

Brannoc looted the pair of daggers for himself securing them into his belt leaving all other stuff with the corpse except the map.

He went to find Heolstor and approached the man without further ceremonies.

"We killed the sorcerer. I believe it was the priestess on the flying horse with her magic that really vanquished him, me and Callidus we just finished the job. The sorcerer carried a map you and your commanders may find interesting. It tells little, but I believe it guided the the sorcerer here to the slumbering trolls." Brannoc gave the scroll to the Saxon (or to any of his commanders).

The scout waited patiently while the others studied the scroll and if they had anything to ask.

"The word is the Huns are coming and we will fight them here. Tell me how I can help you and I will do my best."

Heolstor accepted the scroll from Brannoc. "Thank you." He unrolled it, examining it to see if he could glean anything from it. Where the attack might come from. How it was to proceed. What terrain they thought most important to gain.

Then, he realized, he had yet to congratulate Brannoc. Strang looked up from the scroll to regard the scout. He smiled. "Well done. You held your end of the line... And speak too little of your own efforts, I saw your arrows in the shaman's hide." Heolstor clasped the other man's shoulder and squeezed it to reinforce the message: Brannoc had impressed him.

"There is still work to be done, but when tomorrow is over we will speak of a reward. You are Anakri's man, I know, but it was my mens' lives you saved by silencing the shaman before he could rouse more trolls." He paused. "... But, now that we speak of trolls. There is an issue left to be resolved as we prepare the battlefield."

"There are more trolls that still sleep... And what one shaman can do, another can also. Find a way to make sure they don't wake again."

"Gallus!" Heolstor called to his Roman confidante. "See that if he requires the assistance of our men, that he has it. This priority comes before improving our camp's defenses."

"I'm glad I've not disappointed you Heol... um, Sir." Brannoc nodded.

What the Saxon requested next made the scout bite his lower lip. "I'm a mere woodsman, I know little of such things but I'll talk to Anakri herself and try to find out if the elves know what can be done to that. They are insightful, Anakri must have noticed the same. Many among them are adept with the arcane ways. One of their magi is travelling with the scouts, the one who hurled balls of fire at the trolls."

Brannoc knew Gallus well, they had travelled and battled together before. The Breton smiled at the Roman soldier when he arrived. "Gallus. Good to see you. You seem to have found your place with lord Heolstor. I'll talk to you later if I need your help."

With that the Breton left in search for Anakri. He truly hoped the elven leader saw the same dilemma Heolstor had recognized; as long as the 'troll-rocks' remained dormant here, in the heart of the elven lands, they posed a threat. Brannoc had not talked one on one with the elven leader yet, however he felt this situation justified that.

Beda is mostly flat terrain, but the landscape has been altered by the Elves and the battle here- the great trees, some fallen, some still standing, make up a battlefield the likes of which no one here has seen.  The trees are the terrain- except at the  eastern side of Beda, where the Celibus River- shallow, swift, fordable- has forested banks over a hundred feet high.

The announcement that the army will dig in here and defend gladdens the hearts of the Dwarves.  Fortifications to be made!

Boffrin and Scippio start moving the Dwarves around, with Arctos and Dunduin directing.

"We've been scouts and skirmishers and pony riders, and I can almost feel my ears getting pointy and my beard falling out," Scippio declares.  "It's good to be a Dwarf again!  Let's hew some planks out of that log!"

It is, in a way, a Dwarf dream come true:  the famous Elven trees to be used as raw materials, and not a single complaint from an Elf, as the trees have already fallen.

"A rampart and palisade he wants," Boffrin says.  "Well we've got a hundred fifty strong Dwarves... a solid rampart and palisade... well, that leaves only one question:  That's work for two-score, what will the other hundred and ten of us build?"

Axes and shovels emerge from the wrappings in which they've been stowed on their long journey.  The sounds of digging and chopping are a Dwarven symphony.

At the same time, the choice of battlefield causes some dismay among the Elves.  The Elves here, with the exception of Demus, are not Ardennes Elves.  They are Savoy Elves, the High Elves of the Alps*  and they not emotionally connected to Beda the way the Ardennes Elves are.  But still, they have learned what this place is, and it bothers them.  They know that they are in a place of terrible defeat and tragedy for Elves.

But Anakri sees the pieces falling into place, and she councils them:

"When the Dwarves were told to come here, it was prophesied** that their great contribution would be to bring the unexpected to the battle.  The enemy has gathered expecting Elves, fighting in the manner of Elves, and is arrayed and prepared to defeat Elves.  And Elves would not choose to  hold this place... therefore, we shall."

Brannoc appears, and brings up the issue of the surviving "sleeping" Rock Trolls.

The Elven wizardess is torn.  "We must do something... the idea of destroying them as they sleep is not a pleasant one... but facing them awake is less so.  If the enemy learns that his force here is still mostly intact, he may have other means of waking them.  They must be destroyed."


Messages continue to arrive via an Owl network, including a missive from the nearby party that includes Haakon, Tugdual, and Cirostis:

Lord Hyleth of the 5th ward sends greetings from Master Haakon, Mistress Tawna, and Centurio Posterio Cirostis. An army of several thousand with warbeasts has left the Meusse at this place, traveling toward Beda, expect they want to take Beda. Irks have enchanted gauntlets for tree climbing. Small harassing forces available, please send word about where and how you hope to meet the enemy we will support.



*It's a common misconception among non-Elves that the title "High Elves" means a group of Elves that is in some way superior or more noble or of more ancient lineage than other Elves.  This is not at all true!   The phrase High Elf came into use as an absolutely literal description.  It refers to the Elves of the Alps, who live at much higher elevations than any other Elf, (or almost anyone else, actually).  High up in the mountains, hence, "High Elves".

**Gadzooks.  We've been going so long that prophecies made earlier in the game are at last coming around!

Dunduin happily leads the dwarves in song and fortification building. It's what they are good at and enjoy doing.

Chop chop cut and saw
Heave ho roll that log

Dwarven muscles begin to bulge
Rollin mighty elven logs

Into place they are put
Standing firm in the soot

Big and solid the dwarven way
Fortifications that just won't sway

         When attending the Council of Commanders Patre Arctos takes the time to
speak his mind when given a chance . . .

         First off the Dwarven Patre approaches Anakari in order to ask her a
question . . .

         "Anakri doth thee and thy fellow casters hath the time now
to quickly copy some o' art scrolls, and then return them afore battle?"

         After having received a reply from the ensorcelor, the concerned Dwarf looks to
those other elves gathered near at hand and asks . . .

         "Then there tis the tuther matter as well.  Wilst thy Elven casters hath
enough time to cast their glyffs pon art deadly shafts O' art siege weapons and
crossbows?"

         After having heard a reply, he has a question for his Dwarven Commander
Dunduin . . .

         "And wot O' art silent allies with an insatiable appetite for art foes?
Hath we found a position for them pon the tuther side o' the river?  Methinks they
should be placed where art foes think artselves the weakest along the battlelines."

         Arctos then blurts out another question to one and all . . .

         "To further secure art position by the river-front, be there any the one amongst
us whom can plant the sharpend stakes within the riverbed to securely to thwart and hinder
art adversaries crossings too?"


         After having asked his questions, Arctos turns his attentions to Heleostar
and speaks to him matter of factly . . .

        "Be there something that thee wouldst like to ask the god Vulcan about wot
should be done concerning a certain aspect O' art battle to come in order to ensure art
victory o'er the Infernals and their minions?  The query must be uncompicated and formed
in a who, what, when, or where question."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

       The Patre makes use of his spare time . . . first he'll heal himself.  Afterwards,
along with several other Dwarven Legionaire Artillerists and fellow engineers within their
cohort  . . . . . . . they begin to perform some artillery experimentation (through a meeting
of the Dwarven minds) utilizing the local flora and fauna.  Arctos in his early training as
a military engineer had learned to  make use of whatever resources were available when there
was time for preparation before battle . . .

       Eat your hearts out gnome tinkerers!

Objective:  Artillery experimentation . . .

        Arctos directs several of his Dwarves to make a basket almost in the same
manner as that of a normal catapult that could hold a fairly large stone.

        In his free time Arctos tries an experiment utilizing pulleys, a come-along, rope
and a fairly flexibly straight evergreen tree.   He encourages one of the elves to secure a
rope about the trees main trunk about three-quarters of the way up, and using the rope
and a come along bend the tree down to where its pulled down in a direction opposite the
shore line.

        once the tree has been pulled back his has several Dwarves secure the basket
to the tree a tad above where it had been tied off.  After which he has the basket
loaded with a very lar large stone.  The Patre then has the area cleared so as to
prevent injury, steps behind some cover, and has a volunteer Dwarf release the rope
to see how the makeship catapult works . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 23:27, Mon 17 Dec 2012.

Petra felt Heolstor was astute in his assessment.  The enemy had thought to twist and use the Elves' grief; gouge them with it like a rusty knife. There would be no such opportunity, now.  They would be met by Human and Dwarven kind primarily.  With a half-elven in the mix for good measure.  Anakri's report of prophecy of the Dwarves only confirmed it.  Omens and events were both auspicious.  The Gods smiled upon them.  Victory would surely come to the forces of Light.

It would not be without its costs, though. It never was.

Magic of fire would likely be effective against the dormant trolls.  And no pleasant end for them.  But, Petra could feel little sorry.  They were a part of one of the worst evils to ever blight this continent.  But if it was to be used, its implementation would fall to another. Alike necromancy, it was nothing within her means.

The thought of such elemental magics made her think of Tugdual...whom she was quite glad to hear was live and well.  Along with Cirostis, Haakon, and Tawna. She missed those comrades, and was glad all had survived.

She was also glad Brannoc acknowledgment for his contributions in downing the shaman. It had been a team effort, as it usually was.  But...Petra had a sense Heolstor didn't wish to acknowledge her own efforts.  For some reason.  Not that she was hungry for such.  One didn't take to a life of religious service if needy for adulation.   Not the sort she had chosen, at least.  Maybe some pampered priestess of Venus -- but not an itinerant cleric of the Norse!

Was it that having an aerial mount was "cheating", in some fashion?  Perhaps it was in a way. But, by Freyja's Shining Chariot -- she took her life in hand everytime she went up on the steed!  She awaited the day reputation was sufficient to make enemies prepare for her.  The first anti-pegasus artillery would be in the works, soon enough!

What, then, when someone was scraping 'Petra Pancake' from the ground with a bleeding spatchula??

Heh. Had it coming to her, she did. By Od! The hussy was -cheating- with that flying horse!!

Or, maybe, it was simply that familiarity did breed contempt.  Or at least indifference.  He'd been aloof since she'd come back with the haircut Cirostis had given her. Had it spoiled her appearance-?

Grrrrr. Her mood was rapidly driving south, gnashing upon this.  Heolstor was not far off.  She couldn't help herself.  She strode up to him, when he wasn't talking to anyone else and summarily announced:

"Well, I'll have you know, I've done nothing my entire life but find clever short cuts, and ways to hide behind the men who run all the real risks. Of course, I will continue to do this.  Why give up what one is good at, hm? If you need me, my lord, I will be off with the other slackers."

And, with that, she was off as she had come.  Realizing she'd just made an ass of herself. When he had actually important matters to occupy him. But, there was nothing for it, now.

Her definite but drifting stride led her then to where the Dwarves were at their fortification building.  She stopped and listened to the song that doughty Dunduin led them in.  It cheered her some.  Song was a dear part of her own culture.  She decided to lend some further support in that capacity.   Petra began heartily clapping her hands in time to Dunduin's tune, then improvised her own lyric once he was finished:

Fortifications oh so strong
To defend right from wrong

Dwarvish heroes work and toil
Lords of earth, stone, soil

Bold construction, it will stand
Against Hun blade and darkest hand

Their efforts aid one and all
Big hearts in bodies not tall

"Ah my lady, you must be part dwarven at least in spirit. The dwarven lads well approve of your verses as do I. You're welcome anytime in our camp. Fare thee well on your important tasks. While each does their part we're all on the same team." he gives her his best toothy smile.

Callidus added to the song, while preparing his traps:

Through the night until the morn,
Our fort will cause the orcs to scorn.

Trees once fallen from the land,
Shall overtake to something grand.

A great upheaval in the fog,
That shall protect us from the trogs.

Raise the wood just like a mast,
Show the orcs their last repast.

Their swords will rust and blades will dull
When cutting through the wooden hull.

A stronger sword they soon will want,
From our walls we'll jeer and taunt.

When the battle is over and done,
The side united, will have won.

Destroyed... but how?

The Breton thanked Anakri for her time and went to ponder his dilemma. He spotted the work gang building fortifications: Dunduin and his group, and decided he would ask advice from those who knew best matters of rocks and stones.

"Dunduin, Heolstor is concerned about the dormant rocks that could be awaken as trolls. Anakri has agreed they should be destroyed. I don't know how but I can't think more suitable people for such task than your men. So if you would, please, I need a group of 'stone-breakers' equipped with chisels and hammers...Unless you know better way to disable them for good?"

          Arctos thinks on the query for a moment then asks . . .

          "Doth art special guests hath a taste for rock flesh?"

Dunduin greets Brannoc "Looks like you've been having fun already" he chuckles.

"In regards to your troll problem. Lopping off their heads would certainly do it. If we don't have enough time for that why not just bury them" Dunduin suggests. "And if there isn't enough time for burying, disguise them such that they aren't easy to locate. Out of sight out of mind. Ideally moving them at least a short distance before disguising them would be ideal so that if someone goes to check for them and they see that they aren't there they will most likely decide on another course of action. We can lend you a small team but we'll want them back as soon as your done."

"In my knowledge of trolls, typically they wont regenerate if subjected to fire. If we start a fire we can burn them all and kill them in their slumber. It proved to be effective during the fight, so I don't see why the same wouldn't apply towards this situation as well."

        Arctos continues to ask several questions . . .

        "How deep tis the river?  Can we naught just dump the vermin into its depths
to be rid O' them?  That way if they should ev'r awake, they'd simply drown."

"A great idea except for two reasons that come to mind. One, I don't think we have the time to drag trolls all the way to the river and the second, I believe there's an entire orc army between us and the river."

"Thank you, Dunduin," Petra had replied as regards the welcome, and being an honorary Dwarf.  It meant a lot to her.  She had come to have a real respect for his people, throughout all this.

Petra might have been tempted to add another verse herself, having fun with it, after Callidus had chimed in.  But the short time for such revelry was over, as yet another attack drew inexorably nearer.  It was down to business, once more.

On the topic of rock-troll slaying:  "Aye, it is fire I have always heard is more effective.  What about the magical sort?  Do we not have amongst us a wizard whose forte it is?  Or, if not him, what of Anakri or one of her people?  Elven spell-workers are often partial to the elemental kinds of magics."

The main approach from the east into Beda is a ford int the Calibus river.  The Celibus is not deep- and definitely not at this time of year- but the hills on either side of it make it some thing of an obstacle.  At the ford, the slopes on either side of the river are much less steep.

The Dwarves are working...

Not only are they working... now they are singing.  When Dwarves are working and singing, they mean business.

At last, there is something the two ballistae can be aimed at.

The Dwarves rapidly reduce a fallen tree to lumber, creating the raw materials for Heolstor's fort.  At the same time, they cannot help but notice, even with the horrible destruction here, not all the great home trees are fallen.  Here and there the great trees still stand.  Some of them, even with the platforms and houses the Elves once lived in.

Dwarves look at the two ballistae... and then at the platforms high up in a gigantic Elven cherry tree, and ideas start to form in Dwarven heads.

** ** ** **

Information drifts in, mostly brought in by owls.  This is not going to be the pushover they had in Tullum.  The Huns are coming in fearsome numbers, with their gigantic "warbeasts", creatures the seem to have been bred from giant boars, and are now the size of buildings, with tusks like lances sweeping ahead of them while platforms on their backs are crewed by Orc archers.

Many of the Burgundian warriors are old-school superstitious types.  They seek out Petra.  She's a Valkyrie, right?  Or... something close to one, if not.  Has she read portents?  Seen omens?  Isn't that what happens?

There are two questions warriors are concerned most with.  The first concerns the fate of the battle.  Victory or defeat?  The second is individual concern?  They want to know:  Will I live?  Die?  Be a hero?

* * * * * * *

As far as Dunduin's memory serves, lopping off a head will usually finish a troll.  Dwarves have fought many a troll in legend, but legends are not fully reliable.  The stories sometimes credit trolls with amazing healing abilities, claiming they came back from a single toe.*  Even so, if a troll is truly, utterly dead with its head cut off, it is certainly well on its way.  However, near as Dunduin can tell from examining the sleeping trolls still in the area, that might not be easy.  They look like rocks, and they feel like rocks.  Head removal will require a major feat of demolition.  Of course that can be done...




*Most Dwarves don't really believe that.  For one thing, if the toe can grow a troll, surely the troll can grow a toe, and  if that was the case, trolls everywhere would be chopping their toes off, growing new ones, and chopping again, and soon the world would be belly deep** in trolls.


**Humans would say "knee deep", but Dwarves have to be realistic about these things.

Heolstor watched the dwarves work. He would have helped, lent a hand to build a sense of connectedness - were he not so entirely sure he would have only gotten in the way. These dwarves, when put to the task, were a blur of motion and productivity. Best to just let them handle it. He strode along the ramparts as they took form, Pwyll flitting between piles of debris in his trail.

His orders were to keep building. Making a place unassailable in a day was impossible. However, the stronger their fortifications and the more they sweat, the harder the going would be for the Huns... And as a result the more the orcs would bleed, and the less his allied contingent would have to.

The message Strang received was brief and to the point. His response was even more terse:

"The Hun will be stopped at Beda." Heolstor wrote. "We dig our heels in there and will not be forced back. Support as you are able."

The matter of sleeping trolls Heolstor left to Brannoc. That was the beauty of delegation. Though they were a worry, the Saxon need not concentrate his efforts on them. That was good: he had other worries for the moment.

Arctos offered to request his god's guidance for the battle ahead. That, Heolstor thought, was a kind offer. Heolstor was not a follower of Vulcan but from what the Saxon knew he was as potent and righteous a god as any. Vulcan was a deity of creation, bound up in the forming of things... Perhaps his question should focus on that. "Ask him this: what more should be done to our defenses, if we are to win on the morrow."

Heolstor agreed with the placement of the ballistae in the tree houses overhead. But, as always there was a catch. "If the enemy should come near to capturing them throw the ballistae over the edge. Better they be smashed on the forest floor then be turned against us in so advantageous a firing position."

When approached by Petra, Strang allowed himself a moment of laxity. His lieutenants knew what must be done and he trusted them. Heolstor smiled - though it soon faded as he sensed the stormcloud over Petra's mind. The determined step of her stride told him: something is wrong. Then she lit into him.

Emotions played out briefly over Heolstor's face: confusion, then anger, and finally laconic acceptance. Heolstor could explain himself hopefully, but not now when passion still ran so hot. He had wronged her, he realized, in more ways than one. By not mentioning her contribution against the shaman, by being so distant in the long march to Beda, and perhaps... Perhaps even embracing her had been a disservice, though the feelings that had brought him to were real. The weight of her feathered-ring felt heavy on his chest. Heolstor thought he had meant well, and in truth still felt that he did - but maybe all he had done to this poor woman was give her one more thing to lose.

One more weight on her own chest, to drag her down into sorrow. And what sort of gift was that?

Pwyll leapt from the bush he'd recently occupied to land on Heolstor's shoulder. He'd stopped chattering, beak still and silent. They both watched as Petra stormed off in indignation. Strang's eyes followed, gaze lower than it had been moments before, as Pwyll's head turned to the side to focus a single black avian orb on Petra's shrinking form. Heolstor stood there for a short while, thinking of many things... Though always they came back to Petra and what she'd said here. That, and the duty he owed to these men.

Not far off Heolstor heard singing. Deep baritone, resonant with toil and sweat, contrasted by airier melodies. Petra's voice.

The song they sang was a happy one, but Heolstor did not join in. He was a raven, not a songbird... And he did not much feel like singing anyway.

Heolstor set off on a somber walk down the ramparts headed the opposite direction with only Pwyll for companionship. As it had been for so long, ever since the beginning when he crossed the storm-tossed sea in search of his destiny. He'd found it here, for better or worse, and there was naught for it but to make sure their pallisade was sturdy.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:41, Thu 20 Dec 2012.

pm

PM

"They look like, well, ordinary rocks. I'm not sure how you could tell their heads from tails." Brannoc appeared baffled. "I agree, we may need magical fire that blows them to pieces. Few well placed fireballs, maybe? Or something else with equally destructive force. Does anybody here posses such powerful potion?"

Dunduin offers "Well, if you didn't like any of my previous ideas, here's one more. Tie them up and hang them upside down from large trees and drop. A nice 100 plus foot drop will pretty much put them out of commission and if they do manage to survive you can just repeat."

       Upon hearing Heleostar's request, Atctos raises his hand bearing vulcans magical ring
towards the ether above and asks, "Vulcan wot more should be done to our defenses,
if we are to win the battle against the Infernals and their minions on the morrow?"

"Are you making fun of me, Dunduin? Very well then. Give me handful of your men with spades and picks and we'll go burying as many as we can. From all crazy ideas that one is the one I can actually think we could pull off to some extend!" Brannoc grinned.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:56, Thu 20 Dec 2012.

       Arcto replies to Brannoc's concerns . . .

       "Brannoc it tis a well known fact amongst combat and siege engineers that rock and stone
wilst give way to heat if the fire tis hot enough.  That tis why zappers dig under castles walls and such to place their massive amounts O' combustable materials as they destroy rock in the end
and bring down walls and portions of the foes castle as well.

       The only problem tis that art adversaries mayst see art fires or smoke."

In reply to Brannoc (msg # 75):
Demus seeks out Brannoc and tells him, I will need my rest before the battle to recover my spells Brannoc. I can still help with some smaller things before I trance., He keeps following him.

"Fire and especially smoke are the reasons why I regard burning them as a secondary option. I was thinking of digging holes next to them, holes just deep enough to bury them. I believe this would be faster than burning them and far less noticeable. The Huns can't dig them up during the battle. After tomorrow's battle, if Gods will us victory, we can burn them together with the corpses." The scout replied to Arctos.

"Thank you Demus. I need every extra pair of hands I can get."

Turning back to Dunduin the Breton said: "I’ll take your offer. Assign a small team under my command to bury and hide the troll-rocks, please. They’ll return to you as soon as we are done. Together with the Burgundian men Lord Heolstor promised to me we can make this happen before dawn."

Elves do not fight without wizardry.  With over two hundred Elves present, there are twenty with some magical talent- a much higher proportion than any other race would muster.  But not all of those are true wizards.  They number just five, Anikri among them.

The leader of the Elven contingent has noticed by now that Demus, (a local, and not one of hers) is also a wizard, and he’s used fire spells to good effect against Trolls.  She asks him about his recent experiences, and how much power he has left.

The great resilience of the rock trolls is troubling.  Anikri makes a sour expression, seeing how much force it took to bring them down- two fireballs from Demus were not enough.  To make matters more complex, the Rock Trolls are scattered, and fire magic tends to lend itself to blasting areas with multiple targets in them.

Worriedly, she reports to Heolstor and the others:

“Simply running around the woods casting fireballs at them will not be enough.  My wizards will be drained of magic before we destroy half of them. And... alas..."  Anakri pauses and slowly shakes here head, as if to emphasize the seriousness of what she is about to say.  She takes a breath and continues in a solemn voice:  "Arctos has a point."

She lets that fact sink in before explaining.  "If there are enemy scouts near, the fireballs in the forest at night will be plainly seen, and they will know that that wait for them here, with Elven wizards.“

Brannoc’s suggestion, though, is intriguing.

“Even if the enemy reaches the woods, they might be fooled into thinking that their trolls are gone, if we conceal the burial-holes well.  And concealment is one strength we have plenty of- Elves conceal with the skill with which Dwarves build.”

It will mean the Trolls are not destroyed… not yet, at least.  And it might still be possible for the Huns to locate, unearth, and awaken them.  But it is something.  And it is something Humans and Elves can do while Elves build.  Brannoc leads a digging and hiding crew off, and they begin work.

Here is a sketch of the local battlefield area, the east side of Beda.  The north-south river is the Celibus.  The Huns are to the east.  The tributary river on the west bank, cutting between the hills is a small brook that in real life is the Albach, which with ancient European roots could mean White Brook or Elf Brook.  It tumbles over several waterfalls before reaching the Celibus, and where it reaches, the river is wider, creating both the ford, and the marsh on the east bank.

The green is forest- a patch remains along the gorge carved by the Albach.  The "Home Trees" are not shown individually in the forest.  The fallen trees are not shown, they are scattered throughout.

Note that in this scale a fortification would be just a square or two, maybe four for a big sprawling one.  The trick is placing it so the enemy is forced to challenge it.


This message was last edited by the GM at 01:08, Sat 22 Dec 2012.

      Arctos gestures towards the slopes that lie on both sides of the ford and confidently
adds . . .
      "Mayhaps it wouldst be best if we made two fortifications, one atop each slope.  The
advantage wouldst be ours being that our position wouldst much higher than that O' art
foes.  Oiled and fired logs couldst be pushed down the slopes so's to slow art adversaries
advance." 

"Officer Torg. You and your squad will be assigned to Brannoc here for a special task. It is vitally important you complete it. Please obey his orders as you do me. He has proven himself and I trust his judgement. You will be joined by others and will be tasked with dealing with trolls as he sees fit. Good luck and may Vulcan be with you"

"You have your squad Brannoc" Dunduin offers good to his word.

---

"While I agree on placing the fortification in between the rivers Arctos we are grossly short on numbers so I think designing it such that we defend with one force rather than two would be preferable. We maintain the high ground and try to force them to come at us in one direction or otherwise have to cross the river and allow us to strafe them while they try. That said, we can take your suggestion and have two sets of logs ready to roll down either side of the hill."

---

Dunduin also has the dwarves create wooden spears of various sizes. Some of them the size of entire trees in anticpation of the huge warbeasts. They will be placed pointing outwards in effort to make any charge or attack more difficult especially for those creatures of large size.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:36, Sat 22 Dec 2012.

In reply to Arctos (msg # 81):

Demus tells Arctos "The more concentrated the enemy is, the more effective the fireballs I cast are."

      The Dwarven Patre wishing to contribute to the battle plans, decides to add his
own knowledgable suggestions to those gathered nearby . . .

      "If such tis the case mine Commander O' just defending one side O' the slope, it
wouldst allow art adversaries the opportunity to outflank us.  I propose that art
specially voratious friends to be placed pon the slope to strenghthen it, n' that
tuther staked pit traps be placed there as well as wotever else we can contrive n' order to
make it actually more defended than art implaced fortification."
 

      Patre Arctos grimmaces while pausing for a moment, and grudgingly gives another
suggestion . . .

      "There be a tuther mightily goot suggestion I'd like to make, although I am loathe
to do so in the presence O' those O' the Elven persuasion, and thats to hath combustable oils
released upstream a short distance away . . . thats coordinated wi the time whence e' major
part O' art adversaries art in the water nearby, and light it afire . . . that tis if we hath
enough combustable oils to do such a vile thing! Sometimes the most unexpected and lesser evil
tis needed in order to dispatch the greater O' evils.  It shames mineself to even hath to propose
such a thing a horrid thing.  Excuse me at the now as I hath to purge the very words I hath
spoken with strong cleansing drink. . . lest I choke pon mine very own words!" 

      Apparently upset over the suggestion he's just made, the Dwarven Patre rushes off to
his wagon.

      Noting the Patre's distress, Skippio looks to the others and defends his charge . . .

      "Apologies for the good Patre's current demeanor, I've never seen him so upset after
making suggestions o'er the War Counsil afore.  I must depart to calm him down.  I must now
excuse myself.  Good day!"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:54, Sat 22 Dec 2012.

Brannoc didn't waste time. After explaining to them what he wanted he divided the task force to two groups; the dwarves led by Sgt. Torg and the Burgundians led by himself. Their orders were to bury and camouflage the burial spots of as many rocks as possible before the sun rise.

Dunduin sighes "Arctos, I appreciate your ideas but I've been doing this for decades. Please let me worry about the fortifications."

He gives Arctos a friendly clap to the shoulder "You would help us most by focusing on defeating their most powerful foes that only special heroes like yourself can do. Other than perhaps myself, you're it."

Callidus works with Brannoc and the Dwarven squad to bury and conceal the remaining rock trolls, keeping largely to himself while he enjoys the working songs of the busiest race in all the realms. If there was anything a Dwarf could do, it was to make songs about work and toil. There were songs about mining, songs about smithing, songs about smelting and crafting weapons, songs about stonemasonry, songs about building, songs about killing orcs and goblinkin.

Now that he thought about it.. They have songs about pretty much everything they do.

The Dwarves set up their fortification on the high ground just north of the Albach, on the west bank of the Celibus, overlooking the ford.  From here, long range shots could actually reach the ford itself.  They consider locating a second, but they are unsure.  On the other side of the Celibus, it would be exposed.  In the event of an attack from the east- which is where the enemy is coming from- the two forts would be unable to support each other.

They could also put a fort just south of the Albach, so that the two forts straddle the Albach, which would be useful if the Huns tried to use the covered and concealed route of the Albach to force their way past.

But still they are uncertain.  Two forts means dividing the main force.  They look to Heolstor and Dunduin to approve the final fort locations.

As they build, the counter-troll crew goes from troll to troll, digging, burying, and hiding.   They work into the following day, and eventually, they can find no more trolls.  In their inert form the Rock Trolls are very much like large rocks, but when moving them, they can feel that the bodies have a little more flexibility than a rock ought to have (which is none at all).

OCC:

        To Whom It May Concern:

        Were the pit traps, the set up for burning logs, and the use of our voratious allies
set up on the opposite slopes ever approved.  Did the others ever approve the Patres idea of
oil being dumped into the river and set on fire ever considered?

Posting Error
This message was last edited by the player at 15:25, Tue 25 Dec 2012.

Heolstor does not approve of the notion of splitting their forces along the Albach - and more specifically, of constructing another fort along the heights to its South. He instructs the dwarves to continue work on the hills overlooking the stream's northern bank.

The entire area: swamp, river, stream, and hills combine in such a way as to make mounting an assault a complicated maneuver. The Saxon suspects that their very presence here, and the challenge they represent, will demand that the Huns engage them.

Prior to linking up with Heolstor's forces, Petra's experience had been composed of nothing but small, borderland sorts of skirmishes.  While she did not herself without wile or wit, no military strategist was she.  And the first to own up to it.

Thus, she found herself feeling rather useless, for the immediate moment.  Especially since she'd not even had a proper bag of rune-stones to attempt a reading, as the men had asked.  Not that she'd had any real experience in the capacity of a seer-- but she did know how to read them, and might make the attempt, given the materials.  Her faith was strong; her connection to the Gods one of substance.  She reckoned she stood some chance of useful results.  Perhaps, later, she would try.

But for now, higher ranking concerns.   A thought had occurred to her.  Acting upon it, she made off, and located Anakri:

"My lady- have you any amongst your ranks capable of providing invisibility?  I understand the spell is usually indefinite in duration. Until one provokes violence.  If both Hermod and I could be so veiled, then I might reconnoiter without concern of indicating a spy overhead.  Or, at least, the odds would be much reduced. There might be a chance to learn more profound detail than usual." 

After that bit of business concluded, she made off from the Elvish leader and next found Heolstor.

Approaching, she laid a hand briefly on his shoulder and met his eyes frankly.  "I - am sorry. It was immature, at a time when we can least afford it. I will keep a tighter rein on my moods, going forward." She attempted to add a smile, but it didn't work. Wasn't appropriate. She was being serious.

And smiles and revelry would have their place only if they proved victorious in what lay ahead.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:32, Wed 26 Dec 2012.

Petra found Heolstor along the half-finished pallisade. He stood astride a long mound of freshly tilled earth running thick with the roots of grasses and shrubs. His eyes strayed to the Albach below, a blue vein pumping life to the Celibus.

Heolstor barely stirred when Petra's hand found his shoulder. It was comforting, and though he said nothing at first he laid his own hand atop hers to acknowledge her touch. Ahead of him Pwyll scratched at the dirt - picking out freshly exposed insects with gusto. Whatever significance this moment had was overshadowed for the corvid by the veritable buffet Dunduin's dwarves had unearthed.

"No apology is needed," he suggested "No offense was taken. Your arrows found their mark, as they always do. I took that for granted." He released her hand, letting his own fall back to his side. Heolstor turned to her and moved aside to let her take a place beside him. "This place is distracting." He added with a nod towards distant hills. The Saxon explained what it was he saw along the Albach:

Always, one finds that wild places experience a succession of seral stages after calamity lays the old order low. As had happened at Beda. Since the trees fell, shade-intolerant plants: low-growing forbs and mats of grass had begun to take hold in the debris. In a few years if given the chance, conifers and oaks would find their place here for a time and outgrow grass to dominate the area within a handful of decades. Then shade-tolerant deciduous trees would swallow them up too, growing from seedlings at the feet of evergreens to mighty maples and birch trees. Til lightning-ignited fire, woodsman's axe, or stout wind tore their trunks asunder and it all began again.

It is impossible for one man to see all of it, ofcourse, as it takes so long. Beda would not be whole again, not in the sense that the elves knew it, til long after Heolstor had breathed his last... But maybe Petra, with her elfblood, would.

"I think it is so with many things. The orcs may burn much of these elven woodlands into black scars of ash. But, it will grow back." Heolstor suggested. "Even the elves forget that there is an order to things, and that there may be a time here after their own lengthy dominion."

"But fire finds difficulty in crossing a river, and so it is that the whole forest does not burn. Here is the river, and here we are." Heolstor smiled, quiet on the matter then.

"You should sing more," he mused "your voice was made for singing, songbird."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:01, Fri 28 Dec 2012.

The touch of his hand atop hers communicated more than any words.  She felt a little moisture come to her eyes, and prayed it wasn't visible –  that it wouldn't turn to a flow to rival the Albach.

And then again when he said the bit about her arrows.  She swallowed the lump in her throat, and nodded solemnly to that.  "Aye. Well that we save our barbs for the enemy," she said softly.

Then she looked on, as Heolstor elaborated his feelings on the nature of this region, what had been wrought her, and what it meant today, as well as for the future.  She listened intently to what was said.  The man had depth, sensitivity, spiritual sort of insight, one would not expect of a Saxon warlord.  Of course, there was the other blood of his – and a birth circumstance that labeled him sorcerer, with legitimate occult talent to back it up.  And she did not know what sort of education he might have received, as one of noble birth.

For herself –  she was not book educated.  Some study with Kandralde notwithstanding. There was no luxury of those in her background.  And clerical tutelage in the faith she practiced was mostly verbal, anyway.  She tried her best to be wise – she really tried.  Some had told her she was.   Which always surprised her.   She didn't think herself so.  Not really.   Insightful in some ways, maybe.  She prayed that she would grow into true wisdom, with age.   There was still time.  But, often enough, she felt no more than a commoner woman of very average brains, just trying to sort it all out.    What an admission for a representative of the Gods to make...

She quickly discerned, though, that Heolstor was not speaking from any esoteric book lore, here.  But simply of his own observations and awareness of the natural living, world. Much as her uncle might have. And she understood exactly what he meant.

"Here we are," she echoed him; affirmation that she stood staunch and unified with him and the others in that.   Then he made the comment about her singing:

"Oh.  Hah," she said initially, surprised, and thinking he was jesting.  And then realized he wasn't.    ..Was he?  She liked to sing.  Most of her people did.  She could carry a tune, but...

Petra realized she was blushing a little, and found something in the distance to look at.   "Well, now. Pwyll won't be much competition in that.  He may be striking, otherworldly, perceptive, and wise – but he is not so much of a singer. I know," she added with a wink.  "I have heard him try."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:07, Fri 28 Dec 2012.

Brannoc was genuinely delighted they managed to conceal all the stones. He dismissed the dwarves, telling Sgt. Torg deliver his gratitude to the dwarven leaders, and ordered the Burgundians rest and eat what little they could. He didn't have to remind them they had a battle ahead.

Then what was left was to report to lord Strang. Pushing inevitable tiredness and hunger aside the Breton searched for the Saxon warlord in the early hours of the day.

The Breton cleared audibly his throat to announce his presence before he approached.

"Lord Strang, forgive my intrusion..." he cautiously started  "... but I will not bother you for long. I just came to tell you that with help of Gallus, your loyal men and a group of sturdy dwarven fighters we have buried and concealed the troublesome stones. It's not the optimal solution for time being, perhaps, but at least they won't be helping the Huns in the coming battle. I was thinking that we can dig them up later after the battle and burn them for good together with the fallen warriors. Didn't want to risk the smoke and exhausting the elven wizards by burning them now, before the battle."

In reply to Brannoc (msg # 95):

Demus goes off to trance before the battle and recover his strength.

Dunduin keeps the dwarves busy as it helps keep their mind active on the current task at hand. They work like a machine with each knowing what needs to be done and done next. He's pleased with his troops. If they make it through this he makes a pledge to himself to have a party for them. They sure have earned it many times over. He squashes an emotional moment and forces his mind to focus back to the current task. Naturally, there was never enough time to do it 'right' but he was hopeful that it would fall in the 'good enough' category. Fortunately, due to other allied forces slowing their enemy down it provided them with some crucial extra time and he made sure they used all of it. Dunduin was determined to have their fortifications operational by the time they were needed.

Heolstor positions the fort to block the Ford.  Without taking the fort, use of the ford becomes very dangerous.  Without using the ford, the advance into Beda is slowed and vulnerable to Elven raids on the flanks.

News comes with the dawn:  in the night, the Huns overran the Elves that stayed back to harass, delay and raid. The Huns led the attacks with their giant warbeasts, boars grown to the size of houses, and transformed into stupid, hateful beasts.  (Okay, with a boar, that's not much of a transformation, but still... whatever they could make nastier, they did.)  The Elves had been able to stop the scouts and light forces the Huns usually led with, but not these.   The Elves believe the Huns no longer need to scout- they know their course and they have no wish to avoid anything now, just to destroy whatever is in front of them.  They are hurling their heavy forces directly into the battle.

The Elves still have substantial forces in the area- those that have gathered at the river.  They are ready to defend their river, or if the Huns are stopped at "Fort Beda", to attack the flanks and trap the Hun army.

Flying above the fort, Petra can see the massive enemy army in the distance, to the east.  There must be thousands of them.

Anakri sends a troop of her best Elven archers to the far side of the river, many of them equipped with enchanted arrows.  They have one simple task- fire one volley at long range, and then pull back across the ford.  Brannoc notes that the Elven scouts he was with before are among them.

The characters and defenders are not on the map.  They have time to position everyone where they want.

This is the largest scope map ever.  Let me know if the size causes problems, and you'd rather have it accessed as a link, instead of included in the post.

 
http://europa512adgame.pbworks...307361/Bedafort2.JPG

Callidus decides to join the elves across the river, removing his bow from his back and stringing it up, pulling the cord to remember the sound of the twang. Lately he had been using his knives more than his archery in combat, which he would be sure to remedy over the course of the coming battle.

Against large numbers, its best to fire when the range is long. The less enemies you have to deal with close range, the better.

It seems most appropriate to have the bulk of the force deployed to the eastward wall facing since that is were the enemy is approaching. Obviously, scouts will be deployed on each of the compass points and along the fort perimeter. As soon as the large beasts come into ballista range Dunduin will give the 'fire at will' order for them. Dunduin whips up the troops into flurry of activity. He informs them that they are to be the main ground force and to attack the large warbeasts from underneath as that is where they are most vulnerable. He also suggests doing that on an angle and not directly underneath for when the beasts goes down one doesn't want to be squashed by it.

"Look sharp. Ready crossbows. Logs in place. Stay alert. Watch for surprise enemy attacks from any direction including above or below" he paces up and down the line.

The Dwarven Patre positions himself within the Dwarven fortification so that the spell
he's about to cast, as well as the ones that are soon to follow, will be close enough to
envelop the artillery units, other elven spell casters that are nearby, as well as many
Dwarves that he possibly can that are currently manning the walls around him . . . within
the spells range of affect . . .

         Once the Dwarven Patre's raven hued orbs discern that their adversaries 'elephantus'
are indeed within range of their artillery and crossbow wielding Dwarves, he takes the proper
scroll case into hand, removes the scroll thats inscribed with the spell 'Saturns Distortion'
and proceeds to carefully read it loud enough for all the troops that are nearby to hear him
quite clearly while annunciating each articulated word of the spell he is now casting . . .
Casting 'Saturns Distortion' . . . creating a field that will allow cast spells
to last longer . . .

        Arctos will then follow up Saturns Distortion with several other spells in the following order . . .

        'Bless', then 'Protection from Chaos' . . .  He'll then take his agnon and shield in
hand as he proceeds to take command of his assigned section on the Dwarven fortification , , ,

This message was last edited by the player at 00:43, Tue 01 Jan 2013.

Brannoc was slightly perplexed no word had reached him that the elven scouts would take positions at the far side of the river. Surely he was still one of them, an auxiliary under Anakri's command? Or was it just a misconception they thought he was still working with the Burgundians and the dwarfs burying the stones? Many similar questions rushed through the Breton's mind as he grabbed his bow and quiver and jogged to join the elven scouts.

Brannoc searched for Adesse and positioned himself close to her, finding nice concealed spot with good shooting visibility towards east. He would see that Adesse was safe in this battle, if he possibly could.

"You could have sent a word to me that Anakri ordered you to come here, you know. At which point I was dropped out from the command chain? Or did you think I'm not skilled enough archer to be here?" He said to her, accusation in his voice. He immediately regretted he had said that. Of course he would always seen as lesser one among them, he was just a hireling working for Anakri. What he had said was bordering being childish. Sourness and accusations wouldn't improve their moods this close to the important battle.  "I'm sorry, shouldn't have said that. I haven't slept much..." he mumbled an apology.

Blushing slightly, the Breton turned his gaze towards east, waiting to see glimpse of the enemy. He nocked an arrow, snorting at the fact that he had to settle to normal ones where the elves had enchanted ones. Well, he would show them how Breton hunters shoot...

"No. I think you're right. Pwyll hasn't the voice or the spirit for it. I have to admit the same for myself." Heolstor replied. "Which means you'll have to sing in both our stead." Pwyll, not far off, looked up suspiciously at the mention of his name. The Saxon watched as the crow indignantly ruffled his feathers and continued to forage. Cracking a bare smile he turned again to Petra and placed an arm around her shoulder to pull her in close. Her skin felt soft to his touch - but not weak, Petra was no stranger to her bow or blade and Heolstor felt that strength in the iron beneath her silken shoulder.

The wind had barely stirred all evening, but it seemed to him that it played through her beautiful pale hair then. If only that he might have come upon her earlier, or that times had not been so evil of late...

"I hope your mother's blood runs strong in you, so that you can find yourself here in a hundred years time when the Huns are just another memory." He said fondly, and perhaps, wistfully. Heolstor's grip squeezed just a bit tighter on her upper arm. "If you do, find me in whatever comes after. Tell me how this place's story unfolds." He was sure that whatever Beda had been before it would not be the same ever again. Events had unfolded here that even time could not bury.

A cleared throat announced Brannoc's arrival - Strang let his hand leave Petra's back only hesitantly. Just like that the moment was gone. Heolstor was Lord Strang again. "That should do. It's as you say though, the trolls must be dealt with more permanently after the enemy is repulsed. Time and topsoil will not be enough to be rid of them forever."

"Find the embrace of a warm fire or a warm bed, Brannoc. The nights are growing cold." Heolstor set his hand atop his blade's pommel and bowed his head low with a farewell first to Brannoc and then to Petra. There were final preparations still to be seen to. He'd have to check with Dunduin to assess the fortifications, with Anakri to speak about the placement of her wizards and scouts, and his own lieutenants to counsel them on the fight yet to come. Then: Heolstor walked the short distance to his own tent within the fort. Pwyll found him, and in the dark Heolstor set his vestments of red snakeskin aside beside Brand's scabbard. He spent a moment longer to look himself over as his tunic followed. The thin candlelight of his tent cast long shadows along its length. The day's end took on a weight he found difficult to describe. His body felt heavy, and he felt as if he were watching another man preparing for bed.

A puckered scar sat there upon his chest where an orc slaver's spear had pierced him on the road to Lingones. One along his leg from a sword at Tullum. More too, all with stories. Beda too, he thought, would leave its mark on him soon.

But that was tomorrow, and tonight Heolstor could find refuge in his dreams.

On the morrow Heolstor greeted the day laconically, falling in beside his red Raven's banner as he set his mens' positions to rights. The majority of his cavalrymen, having dismounted, would serve as his reserve within the fortress. They were professional warriors all of them - when committed to a wall, they could make the difference in a melee. The rest of Heolstor's infantry would garrision the Northern and Western wall where he knew the orcs would encircle them. The dwarves, being their heaviest soldiers, the Saxon threw into the thick of it - at the Eastern corner. There, he thought, they could form the anchor of the Allied forces. To the South, Texxor's lycanthropes with all their savage strength could undoubtedly hold their own.

The elves and wizards were to disperse as evenly as they might along the main wall, with a good many of them sitting in the tree house above. There too the ballistae were to go. Where they could reach as far as they might.

Heolstor walked the wall when all was said and done. Electricity ran through his veins, brought on by the freeing realization that what was to come was inevitable now. They had marched the miles, built their walls, and prepared as they might. All that was left to do was to see it through to the end. The final step was made all the easier by the inertia of those that came before.

"Find your hearts, men of Burgundy! Legionnaires! Fathers of Lingones! Warriors of the eastern woods! High elves!" Heolstor spoke. He called out with all the strength his lungs could muster up, voice filled with cold passion. "There is no argument amongst us over the preference of peace or war. But there is only one guarantee of peace, and we could find it now if we wished - surrender."

"Risk lies ahead in every path open to us... But the more terrible price is to be found in the appeasement our would-be allies offer. If we continued to sit idly, to retreat and cower, a day would come when an ultimatum arrived - and in that moment we would already be defeated, alone and broken before the hammer ever fell. Dragged into slavery: nation by nation, tribe by tribe." The Saxon continued, voice booming across the quiet riverland. "Life is not so precious that nothing is worth dying for. We draw a line here, as we did at Tullum, and we tell the Emperor: no further, chains are too great a price for peace."

"You all came here by way of the strength of your own spirit. I did not carry you the long miles from the Alps or Burgundy. I did not rouse you from your bed in Lucimburic. I did not set your feet on this road, though I am proud to have shared it with you!" Heolstor admitted. "That strength you found, that commitment to righteousness, that desire to protect your kin. That fire, it was always yours! Let it burn a little longer, on through the last hours of night, we are so close to dawn."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:15, Wed 02 Jan 2013.

Anakri’s Elven archers recognize Callidus the moment he joins them at the front.  He’s been with them a long time- all the way since Geneva, where they hired him.  All that way.. and now it comes down to this defense.

They know, of course, that his duty has already been done.  He’s guided them here, to this place, where they will face the Hun attack.  Nothing further was asked, and yet, here is Callidus anyway.

”Boldy done, sir,” one of the Elves says.  “You are a credit to your kind.”

The Elves have readied what is called a “reverse slope defense”.  There is high ground in front of them, but by staying behind it, their initial volley will be seen only by the first Huns to cross over it.

Behind them, within the wooden walls of the great “tree fort”, Dunduin sets up a layered Dwarven defense, with rear ranks positioned to shoot over front ranks.  There is a lot of last minute coordination between Anakri and Dunduin, as the first thing the Dwarves will see heading towards them, if all goes well, is the front line of Elves pulling back.

Brannoc joins the Elven front line as well.

(Brannoc has gone up with the Elven front rank, not with Heolstor at the moment.  I will assume Heolstor’s words to him were before he departed.)

”Anakri did not expect you would want to do this,” Adesse says.  “We are no longer scouting, and you were not asked to do more than scout.  She did not feel it proper to send you up front, into this fight.  But we Elves… we are not creatures of commands and orders like Dwarves… and sometimes Humans.  When we see what is right to do, we do it.  And you have done this… I am glad of it.  I think some Elf has rubbed off on you.”

Arctos inspects the strange tree-top artillery positions.

The Dwarf in charge of the artillery shakes his head.  “Up in a tree!  If  Vikus Tharadius could see us now!  If we see home again, Patre Arctos, twill be a great tale to tell!”


In the dim light before dawn, there are black wings coming in out of the east.  Elves prepare to shoot them down, but as they get closer, they can be seen as a flight of the Giant Owls that are allied with the Elves.  Some of them look scratched and bloodied.  They’ve had a long night too.

They are led by Stryx, a giant owl who was here before.  A trio of birds sets down with Heolstor and Petra, bearing the messages… and it’s own observations, which come out in a squawky version of Old Sylvan, interpreted by Anakri.

The enemy is on its way, timing the attack to reach the river with the rising sun behind them.  Thousands of them.  And a score of the giant warbeasts… and guardians in the air, as well.  No natural flyers, but Worgs, enchanted to fly.

One element only has not conspired with the Hun plans- the weather.  There has been an unusual turn in the night- a warm front, angling in from southern Gaul.  Not yet felt on the ground, it has pushed a band of high altitude clouds ahead of it, and these dim the brightness of the morning sun.

Against the pale gray clouds, the first of the foe is visible in east, circling like vultures.  They are just dots at this distance, but each is accompanied by a small puff of flame, as if they are flying carrying giant torches.

PM:
This message was last edited by the player at 00:39, Fri 04 Jan 2013.

pm

"Well aye, I want to do this. Make it what you wish." Brannoc replied, his tired face melting to a hearty smile again. "Does it mean I'm free to go and do as I please? After the battle, I mean."

That felt odd. He had gotten so used to be part of the elven scouting group he didn't know what else he would do if he'd given freedom of choice. They were practically his family now. The scout frowned and dismissed these confusing thoughts. He would ponder them after the battle, if he survived, and that was a big if.

The scout focused scanning the approaching enemy trying to keep tiredness at bay.

         The Dwarven Patre positions himself within the Dwarven fortification so that the spell
he's about to cast, as well as the ones that are soon to follow, will be close enough to
envelop the artillery units, other elven spell casters that are nearby, as well as many
Dwarves that he possibly can that are currently manning the walls around him . . . within
the spells range of affect . . .

         Once the Dwarven Patre's raven hued orbs discern that their adversaries 'elephantus'
are indeed within range of their artillery and crossbow wielding Dwarves, he takes the proper
scroll case into hand, removes the scroll thats inscribed with the spell 'Saturns Distortion'
and proceeds to carefully read it loud enough for all the troops that are nearby to hear him
quite clearly while annunciating each articulated word of the spell he is now casting . . .
Casting 'Saturns Distortion' . . . creating a field that will allow cast spells
to last longer . . .

        Arctos will then follow up Saturns Distortion with several other spells in the following order . . .

        'Bless', then 'Protection from Chaos' . . .  He'll then take his agnon and shield in
hand as he proceeds to take command of his assigned section on the Dwarven fortification , , ,

“We take now your south flank, Lord Heolstor,” General Texxor reports, “and upon my Lupine blood we will be as solid on that ground as any Dwarven fortress.  The ground there is steep and wooded, it appeals to our nature!”

The Lucimburic commander turns to his motley looking assortment of various were-folk (with a heavy emphasis on wolves).

”Come now,  pride of the Ardennes!  You’ve heard your task, follow with me, to the far side of the Albach, the rocks and trees thereof!  We have not Dwarven Steel nor Elven Magic, but let us give the foe a bloody welcome in our own way!”

The Lucimburic warriors do not cheer; they growl.  And they trot away from the log fortress, to take up their positions on the south flank.

The Dwarves form their ranks of armor at the front of the fortress.  Proudly; Heolstor hears a few Dwarves boasting of his confidence in them, to send them at the part of the wall most certain to be in the face of the battle.

”He’s chosen well, putting us where we’ll face the enemy first!”  one Dwarf says.

”Well, not exactly, there are the Elves.”

”Skirmishers.  One volley and they’ll run.  They don’t count.  We’ll hold and fight!”

Arctos attempts to find a place where he is near them, and also near the artillery, in the tree behind them.

Anakri isn’t at all surprised that Heolstor didn’t have explicit instructions for the rest of her force.  “Do what you think best” is entirely normal for Elves.  She scatters some of her troops with the others- perhaps some Elven magic, aiding the Human and Dwarven troops here and there, will be a good thing.  Her small troop of riders is sent to a place where they can sally quickly, if need be.

A last message arrives from the Elves nearby.  It is from Goylan Greenstag, the Marquis of the Fifth Ward.  They are a few miles away to the north, ready to come down on the flanks of the Huns if Heolstor can have them bottled up here.

And it contains an odd part:  “Your scouts are safe and with us.  They insist on joining us in this battle.”

From above, Petra can see the bulk of the enemy army advancing.  Judging by speed and distance, they will be reaching the slopes on the east side of the river- and the arrows of the Elven skirmish line- in less than half an hour.  They have help in the air, but they stay close above the Hun forces, and as yet Petra cannot see much detail.

In the tree line on the east bank, Adesse is puzzled by Brannoc.

"You are always free to go," she says.  "Each one of us is a volunteer.  Elves do not believe in ordering someone into a fight.  After the battle.. if we win... Let us get there first and then think about it."

This is the biggest map I've done.  Let me know if it is too big and you would prefer a link.

http://europa512adgame.pbworks...416533/Bedafort3.JPG

Demus prepares to counterspell if there are any mages on their side, and begins looking at the hill. Waiting for the inevitable clash.

       Well before their foes are ever in sight he shouts at the top of his lungs to his
fellow Dwarven Legionaires . . .

       As soon as ye sees the vile orcs, start a beatin thy shields in unison whilst chantin
our 'Orc's to Slaughter' song as loud as ye can!

 "Mighty Dwarven Axe's in unison swing.
     Slaying Orcish foes one and all whilst we sing.
  With the mere presence O' Dwarven Legionaires pandmonium to the Orcs we shalt bring!
     To all the trees here abouts with departed orc heads we shalt surely string.
   Come hither foulest O' orcs so we can rend ye from the top O' your head down to your toes!
      Shudder and shivver you will till the very last of your death throes!
   Yes we are the Dwarven Orcbane your greatest O' woes!
      . . . "Then ye can all give them a taste O' Dwarven Heavy
Crossbow bolts!"


       The Dwarven Patre positions himself within the Dwarven fortification so that the spell
he's about to cast, as well as the ones that are soon to follow, will be close enough to
envelop the artillery units, other elven spell casters that are nearby, as well as many
Dwarves that he possibly can that are currently manning the walls around him . . . within
the spells range of affect . . .

         Once the Dwarven Patre's raven hued orbs discern that their adversaries 'elephantus'
are indeed within range of their artillery and crossbow wielding Dwarves, he takes the proper
scroll case into hand, removes the scroll thats inscribed with the spell 'Saturns Distortion'
and proceeds to carefully read it loud enough for all the troops that are nearby to hear him
quite clearly while annunciating each articulated word of the spell he is now casting . . .
Casting 'Saturns Distortion' . . . creating a field that will allow cast spells
to last longer . . .

        Arctos will then follow up Saturns Distortion with several other spells in the following order . . .

        'Bless', then 'Protection from Chaos' . . .  He'll then take his agnon and shield in
hand as he proceeds to take command of his assigned section on the Dwarven fortification , , ,

This message was last edited by the player at 15:39, Mon 07 Jan 2013.

"You will be as unyielding as the roots of a mountain." The Saxon replied, certain as stone himself. "I know this: you are a good man, and when the day is won and night falls we will drink to better days to come."

Heolstor stood the wall, sturdy elven timber shaped by dwarvish hands. To his South Texxor's troops took their place along the Celibus and Albach. Here and there he saw fur, dappled by shadow, beneath the trees... And he pitied any Hun that found himself there, facing Lucimburic's wolves.

The pride with which the dwarves boasted brought a smile to Heolstor's lips as he passed by. They were indominitable, these dwarves. Even in an hour of great peril they did not wilt under doubt.

When the Hun came roaring across that river, hearts full of battlelust, they would meet first arrows and fire. Then the hill, topped by a pallisade bristling with sharpened timber points. Finally atop both: the shieldwall, a place of biting steel and tears for the would-be-conquerors.

He watched across the river, marking well the Eastern horizon. He knew, from there came the enemy. Perhaps the greatest foe fate would ever set before him. Heolstor wondered if there was more he ought to say. Some fine words to send them to battle with. A few more notes for his own death song, should this come to be the end...

... But Petra was right: ravens didn't sing. He had nothing more to say - so he said nothing. He left his men to focus on whatever private song or secret tale wound its way through their own mind.

Instead he watched the East. Pwyll perched near him, avian eyes honed on the woodline beyond the Celibus.

The essence of the reverse slope defense is this- once the enemy crosses the crest of the hill they are exposed to the defender, but only those elements that cross can engage.  Thus, the defender is in contact with only a small portion of the attacking force.  There are two other advantages.  The attacking forces may be "skylined", silhouetted against the sky from the point of view of a defender below.  This can make them easier to spot vs the defenders, who are against the ground.  Also, the defender is shooting upwards, which means that against certain targets, he will be shooting at areas of reduced armor protection.  By fortunate coincidence, though the latter advantage has only been a factor in the "real world" since the invention of the armored vehicle, it happens to be also apply to the Huns' warbeasts.

These are giant, hulking creatures, bred from the largest and most mean tempered of boars, with something Infernal stirred into the bloodline, and generous applications of black magic.  The Hun warbeast has all the hostility of a boar, many times magnified, and the very largest of them are the size of buildings, with platforms secured to their backs 30 feet above the ground.  The tusks are outfitted with great blades.

In the message from the Greenstags, the Elves note that the scouts, Haakon, Cirostis, and Tugdual, along with some daring Elves, actually felled a few of these creatures, during the costly "delay" battles they've been fighting over the past few days.

"Upon their heads the Huns have placed great wooden shields, something between a mask and a helmet, that will block all but the best aimed arrows.  Bindings of cured hide and thick quilt hang along the sides, and beneath this the hide itself is tougher and thicker than any leather.  The belly is the beast's weak spot, though reaching it can be deadly.  Also, there was some success with attaining the platforms from above.  If the decks atop the beast's backs can taken, their necks can be pierced.  Efforts to charm the creatures with magic was not successful.  We think the Infernal blood of these creatures offers them protection."

From the Elven skirmish line the advancing Huns can be heard but not yet seen.  The slope of the hill will conceal them until they are about 300 feet in front of the skirmish line.  A few of the Elves shoot anyway- arrows with very visible white fletching.

"Range arrows," Adesse tells Brannoc and Calidus.  "It means, that we shoot together, when the enemy reaches the range arrow.  Sometimes it helps to shoot one arrow first, to get accustomed to that exact distance."

The first (Other than the airborne Petra) to see the enemy force are Elves who have taken up watch positions high in the "home trees" within the Log Fortress.  They see a line of the warbeasts, advancing in column, with Orcs at their sides, but they are unable to make an accurate count.  There are weapons on the platforms atop the warbeasts, and they recognize the one on the lead warbeast as a type of Hun catapult, a design to launch stones and other weapons at a very high angle.

From their estimate, the enemy is now a mere five minutes from contact- on the map, sixty boxes east of column B2

(note that due to the scale of the map, each symbol actually represents 5 warriors at that location.)

Brannoc watched where the elven ranging arrows hit the ground (and trees) clearly marking the perimeter. He felt a hard knot knitting tight in his stomach. Excitement, he told to himself. It is excitement, not fear. The Breton stood perfectly still, breathing slowly and steadily, bow in hand and an arrow on the string. The waiting was always the hardest part, regardless of whether you waited for a doe appearing from the bushes or a Hunnish war beast trampling through the woods.

So much hung upon this battle.  Due to both its size, as well as all the fate-heavy influence of which Beda was crux.

Some deep, profound, and soul-felt prayer seemed incumbent upon any true cleric whom was a part of this battle.  Naturally, Odin, Tyr, and Freyja seemed the appropriate to supplicate to; they being the Gods of war, in different capacities.   Uller too; for accuracy of her shafts.

Yet...as much it would have been fitting, Petra found that she could not.

It was not the love of the Gods burned any less brightly within her soul.  It was just that...there had been so much death already.  She grasped well the necessity why there must be more.  It was kill or be killed.  This enemy would not relent, nor listen to any parley, or negotiation.  Such unholy, Abyss-driven, evil was well beyond any reasoning.

And yet, she didn't want to pray for more death.  Even theirs.  Even in the name of victory.  Not that she wouldn't do her part; strike as true with arrow and sword as she could.  It was that she couldn't find it in her to invite anymore of Hel's bounty. Even with the best of intents. The situation would yield plenty of opportunities for valor and heroism, and with it injury and death, irregardless of any prayers.

Instead, she could only find it within her to pray for life.

She had started upon this road, come into Heolstor's service, under the auspice of Eostre's temple. Upon her necklace of holy sigils, it was Eostre's that occupied the central position - an intuitive placing, that had always somehow looked and felt right to her.  Some amongst the Norse faith might have held that as some blasphemy -- as it was somewhat unclear whether She was truly of the Vanir or Aesir at all.  Older, some lore said.

Petra did not waste any time with ceremonial preamble. Nor did she launch into any formal and memorized prayer.   Instead, she turned to face the blessed East, and dropped to both knees:

"Light of the Dawn, Mother of the Spring, Queen of Birth, Renewal, and all things Living -- I humbly ask that we do no more than we must, here.  That the suffering, pain, and death is no greater than it absolutely must be. That the most of these brave ones as is possible return home to those who love them.  And that your most precious blessing of Renewal one day sees this land freed of the shadows of war and slaughter."

And that was all.  She had said what was in her soul. She thought that Heolstor would understand, based on his last words to her.

Now, it was time only for action.

Petra had gotten a slightly closer look at the enemies' air-borne force.  The aloft wargs had wings of flame; it was that which had looked like a torch in the distance.  Rightfully, these were her enemy.  She stood the best chance of meeting them on their own terms.  Yet, four to one odds, in the air, sounded like messy suicide, for her and Hermod.  A thought occurred to her.   She went and found Anakri...
This message was last edited by the player at 18:56, Tue 08 Jan 2013.

Talking to Petra, the Elven woman ponders the description of the worgs with the flaming wings, but she hasn’t long to ponder.

“It is a spell,” she quickly concludes.  “Not a creature.  They could not have bred such things in secrecy.  A spell, and a spell can be fought with a spell.  We will need to enable you to defeat their magic.”

She turns to a white haired Elven man nearby, who is equipped with an impressive bow- a great curving arch of wood as tall as he is, etched with delicate spiraling runes and floral designs.

“Gahler, I know your arrows can be given this power.  I have heard of you doing it.” Anakri says.

The Elven archer shakes his head.  “For moments only.  I do not have the skill to hold long such a spell in my arrows, not here, not so quickly.”

Anakri looks around.  Surely one of her Elves…  her eyes settle on one of the handful of Elven clerics they have brought with them from Geneba.   Oziryan Windspire has long tended the small temple his family maintains on the south slope of Mount Mala.  He’s never been comfortable in the front of a fight, but he has served Anakri with divinations and healing, and his other powers.

“Your staff, Oziryan,” Anakri says.  “The power to dispel is within, is it not?”

“My lady…” the Elven cleric says.  “If we need to protect…”

Elves do not order.  They ask.  They recommend, and suggest.  But time is short.   “She is a priestess as well and can wield the divine power of your staff.  Please lend it.  I trust her. “

“Then I do,” Oziryan says.  He hands to Petra a staff made of a silvery white wood, twisted and smooth and looking like it came from a wind-blown tree that clung to the stone face of a mountain.

“It’s powers are mostly protective,” Oziryan says.  “But it has the power to dispel.  Be cautious… the staff will fade to gray as its power drains.  I.. I don’t know how much it has left.  You will need to be close to a creature to use it.”

“There’s little time left,” Anakri says.  Indeed, the flame winged flying creatures are already in sight.  “If you cannot dispel the magic they keeps them aloft, lure them within range of Elven archers.  We have some with great powers.”  With the last, she looked over towards the Elven archer she spoke with before, Gahler, who is climbing into a tree.

* * * * * * *

At the front line, the first sight of the enemy is visible, cresting the hill line- the Elves, and Brannoc and Callidus, can see the armored heads and back platforms of three of the warbeasts.    In the sky above, four horrid looking creatures are circling, high up and out of range of the Elves’ arrows.  They look like Worgs, but with great wings made of fire.

In only a minute the warbeasts will be reaching the “range arrows”.

Callidus grins at the addressing elf. "If I'm a credit to my race, you're all a credit to yours as well. Few elves have come to fight the huns, any who would choose to remain on the lines beside me are kings among men. Even fewer elves would come to a city ruined so fresh in their memories to kill a common enemy. I would count you all among my closest friends."

"If we survive this skirmish I will stay with you until our adventure runs its course. When we arrive back in Geneva I will be the witness to your heroism. Perhaps I will consider opening up a guild of some sort. Archery, Scouting, or Close-combat most likely. From there I could establish a base of operations to fund my travels"

Callidus moves his quiver onto his hip, so that he can easily pull arrows quickly and shoot them with rapidity towards the enemy. He pulls an arrow from his quiver with bright red fletchings, narrowing his eyes as he waits for the huns to cross the line of white arrows.

"But..."

"That is for another time."

        After all of his spells are cast, Patre Arctos takes command of his
assigned position within the Dwarven fortification . . .

        Upon having noticed the abominations, he begins to shout orders to the
Dwarven Legionaires . . .

        "Use only the bolts wot the elves hath given thee pon the giant boorish abominations
and none tuther.  Work in teams O' three whence concentratating thy fire pon the giant beasties.
Fire at will!"

         With shield and Agnon at the ready, the Dwarven Patre looks to his charges with
his raven hued orbs, then out onto the battlefield where the Infernal Horde is now arrayed
against them.

Dunduin works his brethren up into a fighting frenzy. Dwarves worked best working together and preferred steel on steel.

Together we stand firm and tall
Upon our mighty elven wall

We attack our foe with axe and bow
Until the huns are no more

We fight for all who join us today
We make our stand, make our play

We will not falter
We will not lose

For the gods and our king
Wish to spread the news

The good dwarves held fast
Against mighty foul beasts

Despite being wounded
they performed might feats

At the end of a very long day
The dwarves held and did not fade

And there on the wall one could see
stout dwarven warriors looking back at me

Orcs appear over the crest of the hills to the east.  Their giant warbeasts are taking a less steep route, keeping to the lower, flatter ground close to the swamp.  They appear to be capable swamp walkers; what is deep muck to a human is only an shallow slop puddle to them.

The lead Orcs spot a few Elves in the trees, and it makes them excited.  The thought of fighting Elves fills them with rage; the charge forwards and reach the "range arrow" line.

The Elves in the skirmish line launch their volley of arrows.  Some of those in the along the southern flank of their positions shoot at the warbeasts but the arrows lodge harmlessly in their wooden head pieces.

"That armor's too strong for arrows," Adesse observes, aiming at the Orcs approaching with spears instead.

The flame winged worgs keep close and on the flanks of the attacking horde.  They seem to be... patrolling.


Up in the tree, the Dwarf ballista captain checks the range.  "540 feet!  In range! Target the front warbeast and commence shooting!"

"How in heck do you know that?"  Another Dwarf asks.

"Paced it off last night,"  the artillerist says.  "Gotta think these things in advance."

The first bolts fly forth from the Ballistae.  The Bless spell helps their aim.

Anakri looks up in the tree.  "Of course," she says.  "Dwarves...shooting from the trees like giant archers.... of course... they need Elven magic!  I am a fool!"  She grabs Gahler the mage-archer and they immediately head for the tree.



(remember, each "troop" figure except for the flyers represents multiple actual combatants)
 

Dunduin welcomes all support. Especially elven magic for missile weapons. He also assigns 1/2 dozen troops to be warg/flying things spotters. They are to coordinate with their respective crossbow team when an enemy flying unit comes within missile fire range. A coordinated volley of bolt shots proves a lot deadlier than a random shot or two.

Brannoc started shooting pacing his shots with the elves and aiming same targets they did. Concentrated fire for the win. He kept an eye on the worgs too, should they come close he could try to shot an arrow at them too.

       As the Battle proceeds, Patre Arctos will periodically keep any eye out for
any Dwarven troops that may be exhibiting overly agressive behavior, so's to pre-
vent any premature Duergar outbreaks amongst the Legionaires.  If called upon to
do so, help cast the proper spell for just this situation from off of the scrolls.

"Worgs are deathly afraid of fire, it catches their dry fur like the finest kindling. If you can, shoot fire arrows at them to disrupt their movement. Their fur will catch on fire and they will panic, likely plummeting to the ground, meaning death for them and their rider. If they come into range don't hesitate to roast them." Callidus says, timing shots in unison with the other elves as the offensive line of the huns advances ever forward.

"The headwear of the warbeasts is also made of wood, though I doubt fire arrows would catch it well. The heat from the fire would at least skew their vision, I believe.."

Heolstor made his way atop the pallisade and surveyed the battle as it began to develop. His eyes strayed towards the South of the Huns' line - it look as if they had concentrated the mass of their forces there. The fighting looked as if it would be difficult and bloody there. Even more difficult and bloody, than the rest anyway.

He kept his eyes on the lines as the skirmishers did their work. Subtly, he walked the line towards the Southern edge of the wall so as to be ready to spring over it and make his way to the lycanthropes if his fears were confirmed.

At the skirmish line, the Elves have let loose with a barrage of arrows… and a few other weapons, such as Demus’s expert fireballs.

His choice of fire as a specialty is something that unnerves many other Elves.  For a race that reveres their precious forest homes, fire is a delicate weapon.  They tend to prefer less risky options.  Fortunately, it is early winter, and there is very little risk of fire breaking out accidentally.

They have done what they have set out to do.. and the Elves cover the retreat with sudden magic clouds of fog behind them.  Hit and run is the Elven style.. but the Orcs are about to see a quick change there.

The lead Orcs pause, unprepared for the sight of a fortified line of Dwarves in front of them.   That wasn’t in the reports.

But their leaders shout at them.  Forward!  Ignore the tricks!  There are no Dwarves within a hundred miles of Beda!

And so they go.  The group coming over the hill suffers many losses from Elven arrows, but there are so many Orcs… the ones following behind charge across the bodies of the fallen.

The Orcs on the hill overlooking the ford set up their own archers, and a few of their portable ballistae- not made nearly as well as the Dwarven versions, but deadly weapons.  With the retreating Elves covered by fog, most of them start shooting at the Dwarves behind the log wall.

* * * * *
Rolo Thunderhelm was a veteran Dwarf warrior, his armor dented and battered from battles long before the current one.  As Orcish arrows flew over the top  of the log wall, one bounced off his shield, flipped and fell to the ground near his feet, close to Arctos.

”Arrow!” The Dwarf called out.  Then he flung himself down on top of the inert, motionless projectile.

After a few moments, nothing happened.

After a few more moments, one of the other Dwarves nearby, one Korbin Son-Of-Sorkin, turned his head and said in a tired voice, “You know… Rolo, that’s only appropriate when the weapons is explosive or something like that.”

”Umph, well,” Rolo grunted with a touch of embarrassment, “you never can be sure.  Wizardry, you know.  Have to be on your guard.”

He picked himself up, and straightened his helmet.  It, too, was quite dented.

”He’s been like this since the scuffle with the Ogres of Fiddler’s Ravine back in ’98.”  Korbin whispered sadly to Arctos.

* * * * *

The flaming, flying Worgs stay low and split into pairs.  One pair stays close to the advancing warbeasts.  The other patrols near the archers and ballistae on the slope.  They seem to be waiting, more of a defensive “air patrol” than an offensive force.

This also keeps them safe from Elven archers, though.

”The Elves here have the assistance of Giant Owls,” Anakri observes.  “It appears the Orcs have decided to do something to counter that advantage.”

Aye, and Petra would do something to counter the Orcs' counter, if she had anything to say about it.

The staff that the Elf Oziryan had bequeathed her(albeit with some little cajoling from lady Anakri) was along on this purposeful flight. Its white-silvery wood, looking almost like it had sprouted from the moon, somehow seemed eldritch and natural at once.  Which oft seemed to be the way with Elvish magics.  She was grateful for its loan, and intended to put it to effective use.

Wargs were not meant to fly, by Sleipnir's Eighth Leg! Grafting upon them wings of hellfire did not change it.  It was affront to the very sky and clouds themselves.

As the wind whipped both her hair and Hermod's proud mane, Petra banked off toward the pair near the archers and the ballistae men.  (Eh, Dwarves.)

        The Dwarven Patre's raven hued orbs squint in an attempt to spot any enemy commanders
or spell casters in the field of battle that are arrayed before them . . .  If he can discern
any, he will order those under his charge to take them out as priority targets . . .

Dunduin finds one of his messengers "Notify Heolstor of the enemy ballista positions. Ask him if he can spare a quick scout or better yet cavalry attack to neutralize them that will help keep our casualties down significantly. Dwarves can take numerous arrow and melee weapon wounds but being run through by a ballista bolt can disable even the best of warriors. Or maybe fly in that fireball wizard they have. Now go quickly!"

“Look, in the sky!”

The attention of many of the Orcs (and many of Heolstor’s warriors) is directed skywards as Petra and Hermod approach the battle.

This is a good thing for the retreating Elves.  It breaks the focus of many of the Orc archers, at a critical time- when the Elves are exposed, retreating uphill, back towards friendly lines.

Over the heads of the Elves, the Dwarves rake the Orcish lines with crossbow bolts.  There are complaints that the sun is in their eyes- of course, it would be something the Huns might have counted upon, attacking out of the east at dawn.  Especially since they presumed their foe would be Elves, who fight mostly as archers.

The Huns seem to have adapted their tactics to fighting Elves- the warbeasts are massive mobile shields.  Most of the Orcs stay close to them, somewhat protected from arrows.  But they cannot do this crossing the ford.  The warbeasts are just south of the "fordable" area, crossing in water too deep for the Orcs.  The Orcs wade in, and some fall to Dwarf crossbow bolts.  But many more are crossing.

Squinting, Arctos cannot discern spellcasters yet.  The “priority targets” he can make out would be the Orcs directing the warbeasts, and the ballista crews.

One of the warbeasts actually falls, its head armor pierced by an enhanced ballista bolt.  The Dwarves shout as it falls over, scattering the Orcs on its back platform into the cold Celibus- the warbeast are wading just south of the ford, where it is deeper than humans and Orcs could wade, but still easily fordable for them.

But the others make steady progress eastwards.  Dunduin and Heolstor cannot yet tell whether the warbeasts are planning to follow the narrow ravine of the Albach east, or turn northwards to frontally assault the fort.  But for the Huns, the decision point is close.

The Elves turn and shoot as they withdraw to the north side, planning to rejoin the fortress, but without getting in the way of the Dwarven shooting as they would if they went straight east.

At the approach of Petra and Hermod, the flying Worgs at the south flank rise to meet her in the air.  The two on the north side stay low, faithfully guarding the archers and ballistae.  From what, is only speculation- perhaps their battles with the Elves have taught them to expect sneaky airborne attacks.

Seeing them fly, Petra sizes them up.  She is only a relative novice to aeronautics, but Hermod is not, and she can tell, he is much more comfortable with his wings than these Worgs are.  The Worgs are kept aloft by sheer magic- although one might suspect that the spell that granted them fiery wings was more than just a showy version of a Fly spell.  They cannot fly as fast as Hermod can, although they seem to be able to twist around more easily, and as they don’t have riders to worry about, there are maneuvers they could perform that Hermod could not safely follow.

"We should try to take out their ballista crews!" Brannoc said to the elves, panting after their retreating sprint.

"Their main force is on the south side with those giant boars. Look, there is only handful of orcs at this side! With little luck we might break their right flank and - if we managed do that -  then we could put heavy pressure at their ballistas, maybe even take them out!"

Perhaps it was wishful thinking from his part and he doubted the elves would agree to his suggestion but after all that waiting Brannoc's blood had started to boil and he was anxious to fight. Right now their retreat after one volley felt like fleeing from the battle already...

As the Elven archers retreat towards the north end of the fort, Brannoc pauses.  Adesse pauses with him.  A few of the Elves gather around to hear his plan.

It is not what they had in mind… they were intending to get back inside the fortress and resume shooting arrows.

“Back across the ford?”  one of the Elves asks, looking behind.

“Do we have mist left?”  Adesse asks, referring to the Obscuring Mist spells the Elves used to cover the retreat.  The other Elves look at her.  The question indicates that she is actually considering it.

“The flying worgs!”  another Elf protests.

One of the more experienced Elves, a man of Anakri’s clan, speaks.  “We can move in groups, one group covering at a time.  We have a few mist arrows left.  Brannoc is right, if we defeat the archers and the ballistae and take that high ground the enemy will have no ranged weapons to threaten us with.  It would turn the battle.

The elf pulls six arrows with gold fletching from his quiver, and heads that seem to be made of glass.

“Use these,” he says, offering them to Brannoc.  “The arrow becomes energy, and armor will not stop them.”

Callidus shakes his head at Brannoc.

"If we attempted to change direction and attack their ballista their main force could swing around and surround us. If you want to live, continue running until their force is stretched thin around our walls before you decide to fight. The farther they are stretched thin the smaller the casualties will be. Once the force thins around the walls we can cut a path through them and then take out their ranged weapons."

"As long as the smoke remains they will have issues with their shots. I doubt they would waste ammunition without sight."

And so the challenge was met!  Hers and Hermod's first contest as an aerial unit.

The aim here, however, wasn't to engage in a brutal, dangerous airborne scrap with these rabid devil-dogs. But rather to drop them from the heavens as swiftly and efficiently as was possible.

She approached at a good enough clip. Let them to think that she intended to hack at them with a sword.  But, once she was within the range that most spells were given to work at, she banked swiftly to one side of them, leveled the staff, and focused her will upon the first one.  She had some experience with abjurative sorts of magics, as a priestess.  She attempted to draw upon that experience to utilize the staff as effectively as possible.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:52, Mon 14 Jan 2013.

Word passed across the wall of Brannoc's plan. Mad or not - it possessed an element of reckless heroism that Heolstor could not help but appreciate... And as had been said, the elimination of the enemy's ballistae could help turn the battle. There was only the question of how to prevent encirclement by the enemy's vanguard.

For this: Heolstor possessed a solution. It was something he had planned already. Not for this moment, but it seemed the moment would not wait.

The Saxon summoned up the power of the old gods. He let it well up in him and then stretched his arm out beckoningly to the marsh. A man would not speak falsely to say that the swamp lacked trees. There were no mighty oaks here with roots like iron.

But, the plants that made up a wetland did have many roots. To anchor them to weak soil and hold them firm when water rose. So many roots infact, that they formed a thick waterlogged lattice. It was this interlocked tangle that Heolstor hoped would entangle his foes and lock them in place.

Held there, they could not encircle the elven scouts... And they could not escape Heolstor's own archers.

And above... Petra danced across the skies atop Hermod. Heolstor could not help but spare a worried glance in her direction. His heart leapt when she charged, found again only when she darted to the side.

"I doubt if they'll switch their direction now - It is too late. I doubt if they want to fight the dwarves at all! Right now it looks like they plan to bypass whole impromptu fort due south." Brannoc replied to Callidus. Perhaps he couldn't convince Callidus but the elves might listen.

"I have learned you elves don't give -  or take -  commands or orders. Therefore I ask those of you who see this opportunity to prevent excessive killing of our friends, allies and kinsmen over there..." He pointed at the dwarven fortress with his bow.

"I ask you to help me in my attempt to take out those ballistaes. Where we lack in numbers we will win in skill, speed and accuracy. And we have these." He raised the arrows having golden fletching. "We will save many lives over there, in the fort, if we can stop those machines of destruction. Tomorrow, if I live, I don’t want to look back to this moment and say 'I didn't even try.' Fate has given us an opportunity and I say we should embrace it. Is anybody with me?"

            The Dwarven Patre's raven hued orbs meticulously scan the battlefield before
him for a superior target of opportunity amongst the Infernal Host arrayed against them.
Once he has spied out the target, and depending upon the target, will immediately command
either several Dwarven Heavy Crossbow teams to take it out . . . or one of the Ballistae's
to do so . . .

            With a most emphatic gesture, the Dwarven Patre points his agon towards his
recently spotted quality infernal target, and vehemently shouts out his command in the
deepest of Dwarven voices . . .

              "Fire at that abomination with prejudice in the extreme at the now!"


         -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
            15:29, Today: Secret Roll: Arctos rolled 26 using 1d20+6.
            SpotCheckSuperiorTargetsOfOpportunity.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:33, Wed 16 Jan 2013.

Dunduin does his best to maintain order during the chaos of battle. It's a tall order but thankfully these dwarves are veterans and can operate under duress. He sees Arctos anxious to meet an infernal foe. "Soon Arctos soon. Your opportunity will come."

The ballista have already started plugging away at the large infernal beasts and even had success with one of them. A cheer goes up. Dunduin quickly walks up and down the line bolstering his troops. Yes, they were ready and tough, but knowing their commander was with them and fighting by their side would make them even stronger. Soon he would invoke Vulcan's power to further strengthen their fighting ability. They would need every bit of advantage they could get for numbers were against them. Not that, that, was anything knew for them but battle attrition was a reality and they were relatively few. No wonder the demons killed the clerics Dunduin thought to himself. Perhaps one of the biggest battle advantages is the ability to heal troops and clerics were noticeably in short supply for all the good races. He gritted his teeth and renewed his determination the imminent bloodshed.

4. There are reasons behind the Hun breeding of the warbeasts.  The Entangle spell is a classic Elven defense.  It can block a broad area, slowing movement through it, turning  the troops struggling through into easy targets.  And it does.  Dwarves and Elves start shooting at them.

But the warbeasts are so massive that the spell doesn’t work on them.  When plants wrap themselves around the beasts’ gigantic legs, the warbeasts just walk on, and the plants are ripped apart, or even ripped out of the ground.  They leave a furrow of shredded vegetation behind, like the wake of a ship.  A few of the smarter Orcs realize that right behind them is the place to go, and avoid being entangled.  But many are slowed, and many are hit by crossbow bolts and arrows, and very quickly, the lead warbeasts, still advancing, are shorn of their infantry support.  One falls, struck by a Dwarf/Elf ballista attack, but still they press on.  Once they are in the ravine, though, the terrain hides them from the ballistae.  But the Dwarves keep shooting at whatever they can see- when they can no longer see warbeasts, they send bolts towards the Orc ballistas.

With extreme prejudice.

On the far side of the ravine, the Lycanthrope troops prepare their attack.

Meanwhile, the skirmisher Elves use more of their “Obscuring Mist” to cover their movements, and Brannoc leads a group back across the ford.

In the air, Petra duels it out with two of the flame winged worgs.

But she has an advantage… her staff is “omnidirectional”.  She dispels the magic on one worg, and its wings fade and sputter out, grounding the creature.

The other, though, makes an attack.  Hermod uses speed to avoid contact, but there is a sudden pulse of great heat from those wings, and both Hermod and Petra feel a little singed.


 

One downed...and one more to go!

The attack by the worg was worrisome.  Burns were bad wounds...not only for a Frisian, but for a feather-winged creature such as her steed as well.  She would not see the noble Hermod become any mongrel's pot roast!

The cloak she wore, gifted from Kandralde like her quiver, offered protection from magic and the elements. She had never tested its limits against fire magic. Didn't want to.  Hermod had no such defense...though she had a spell she could use to give it to him.

But, based on the success against the other, it seemed the best defense here was the same offense.

Petra aimed and focused the eldritch device once again, hoping for equivalent effectiveness.

Callidus shrugs, unable to sway Brannoc away from his course.

He pulls up his cowl and mask and slips into the shadows, drawing his knives and angling through the trees to stealthily slip towards the ballista.

In stealth, an area which he excelled, he doubt the lumbering lummoxes could hear or see him moving through the wood. He left his knives sheathed so they wouldn't reflect light from their blades and reveal him as he drew closer, ready to pull his knives and destroy his targets with the fine movements of a master assassin.

OCC:

       If there are any Dwarven shafts that have explosive runes upon them, he'll order
that several teams to begin using them to take out the war beasts and enemy ballista's
. . .

       A long while back Arctos had discussed several important points with the War Council:

             - Having the elves placing explosive runes upon the shafts of the crossbowbolts
               and ballistae bolts.

             - THe Elves scribing spells from our exiting stocks of scrolls.

             - The use of the creatures with the insatiable appetites.

             - The use of traps and firery logfalls on the opposite bluff . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 19:44, Fri 18 Jan 2013.

In reply to Callidus (msg # 141):

Demus watches the skirmishers go and sneaks towards the orcs with a two spells in mind to catch them off guard and blind.
Taking out his quarterstaff, in case he might need it for defense, and keeping his other hand in his component pouch to cast with he continues sneaking.

"Take out the ballista operators first, then everyone who tries to replace them and finally kill everyone else. Our priority should be stopping those war machines from firing. If you feel they’ll overrun us run for your lives back to the fort, don’t wait for me. And watch out the flying worgs." Brannoc whispered to the elves with him as they sneaked closer.

What they attempted was crazy, still the scout grinned madly as he nocked one gold fletched arrow gauging distance to the closest ballista. He would fire one immediately when they were within range.

Dunduin sends word to Heolstor via messenger. "Lord Heolstor. It appears that our ballista have not succeeded in stopping all of the massive warbeasts. Perhaps we can form another hero team with Arctos and myself and whatever remaining heroes you can assign to assist us."

Dunduin also shifts more of the troops in the fort to the southern side since that is where the orc forces are heading.

Callidus uses his hiding skills to make his way to the ballista, moving as close as possible to the huns manning it before making his strike. His knives shot out of their sheathes like lightning, diving straight for the necks of the closest orcs with deadly accuracy.

After he throws his attack he settles into a defensive stance, preparing himself for any advancement on the part of the orcs. His fur bristles with anticipation.

Heolstor returned Dunduin's messenger with the following reply: "Make for the South wall. We will stem the tide."

Heolstor's place atop the pallisades was an advantageous one. As the warbeasts neared his fortress' walls coming through the Albach's streambed he was afforded line of sight. And more: an opportunity.

The Saxon grabbed hold of the ringed-broach hanging from his right shoulder. Fingers grasped tightly, willing the rest of his body to strength. Muttered archaic words passed his lips, asking for might. Heolstor felt vitality swim through his veins as he found strength he hadn't had a moment before. Strength borrowed from the spirit of a bull.

Heolstor looked to his back, and his sides, for Dunduin and Arctos. When he saw one or both of them arriving he'd put his plan into action. Strang stepped to the far side of the pallisade's walkway, then took a few quick steps and leapt over. Borrowed might propelling his legs taut with anxious energy. He aimed to land atop the warbeast nearest their walls (at Z-18).

Once his feet were firmly atop the creature's back he laid into the beast's riders. Brand, his longsword, came flashing from its sheath like an eager silver fang. He'd cut his way through the orcs (hopefully with dwarven assistance) til he came to the creature's neck. There, with his enhanced strength, Heolstor would attempt to stab deep into the beast's neck and sever its spinal column.

OOC: Heolstor casts Bull's Strength, leaps atop the nearest warbeast, and attacks its crew.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:33, Sun 20 Jan 2013.

        At the orders of his Dwarven Commander, Patre Arctos runs to the southern wall,
and follows Dunduin over the sharpened posts of the pallisade in order to slay the giant
Infernal beasts with his 'Mighty Magical Agnon . . . and end their adversaries advance.

       While running towards the closest infernal Warbeast, Patre Arctos  bellows
out loud in the deepest of Dwarven voices . . .

       "Mars ira super vos Infero spumae!"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:23, Mon 21 Jan 2013.

Dunduin leads a number of troops to the south wall were they engage the warbeast(s). He coordinates with Heolstor and his forces. Dunduin brings his warpriest powers to bear bolstering his troops and those allied forces around him. He's not as agile as Heolstor but he is quite competent with both ranged and melee weapons and puts both of them to hard work as appropriate for the circumstance. Dwarves train hard to deal with giants and these creatures are similar in size so that training will help them. Dunduin also points out weaknesses in the beasts armor as he sees them using his magic ring to aid him. And the dwarves have Arctos with his magic weapon, their mightiest hero with them.

Twas months ago, when a Dwarven cleric had the idea… perhaps a prophecy… that since the Demon plaguing the Dwarven Kingdom had tailored its attack uniquely for the Dwarfs, in effect creating a Dwarf-proof trap, that victory could be found by switching foes:  the Dwarves would send a troop of crack warriors against the Huns attacking the Elves, and presumably, the grateful Elves would send help to deal with the terrible Mastiphal.

And maybe, a prophecy it was…

The Warbeast is a living weapon well adapted for defeating the Elves in their forest.  It can rip through the barriers and traps the Elves usually use.  Its sheer size and strength allows it to overcome most Elven attacks, which are built around speed and precision more than brute force.  From it’s back, Orc warriors can attack the tree villages.  And the creatures are protected from many of the spells Elves use.

But they have problems with heavy fortifications.  That wasn’t an issue, because the Elves usually don’t create heavy fortifications.

And now, there are Dwarves in the Ardennes, with heavy fortifications.  To make it worse for the warbeasts, on the east and south sides, the fortress is approached from a slope.  The warbeasts aren’t the most agile of creatures, and they find steep slopes difficult.  The giant logs used to create the fort are much heavier than thin walls, and the warbeasts cannot push them back or knock them down.

True, the “Log Fortress” isn’t as neat as normal fortresses built of masonry.  The junctions between logs are plugged in a clumsy, haphazard way, or are just left open to allow movement.  If the Huns had led with a large infantry force, covered from rear with siege weapons, they might be breaching the gaps.  Had they expected to assault a Dwarf fortress, they might have equipped themselves for that.

It’s quite possible that left to themselves the warbeasts could never actually get in the fortress.  At least not until they got around the back side where the terrain was more level.    But Dunduin, Arctos, and Heolstor are determined not to let that happen.

Arctos drops down from the Log and attacks, inspiring and leading a troop of Dwarves behind him.  Not really built for climbing up onto it, the Dwarves do what seems natural- attack from beneath.

It's gory work, Arctos soon discovers, as he spears one beast with his Agnon in the belly.  Not unlike stabbing a huge, undercooked lasagna from below.

At the same time, Heolstor attacks from above- and so do some of the Lycanthrope warriors on the other side of the Albach.

At the crossing, the Entangle spell has reduced the usable area of the ford, creating a bottleneck.  The Orcs advance into arrows and crossbow bolts.  Some of them regroup, and prepare to rush a weak spot in the log fortress.

Meanwhile…

Demus sneaks towards the  Hun archer and ballistas on the hill.  Sneakery ends with his first fireball- that’s very obvious.  Orcs know when they’ve been spelled, and their immediate reaction is typically “kill the wizard!”

This is what the winged worgs on the north side were waiting for.  They swoop towards Demus.   For the Elves back at the log fortress, shooting at them is tricky.  But they pass over Brannoc and Callidus in the process, and one is brought down with well placed arrows.  The other zeroes in on Callidus like a giant flaming missile.

Brannoc and others move into position, covered by the sudden commotion raised by Demus. The Elves prepare to attack the hilltop position, and then… they see movement to the north.  For a moment, they think they’ve gone into a trap, and then they see… it’s more Elves!  Lots of them!

Petra duels with the remaining flying worg. The Worg can break and bank, but it can’t match Hermod’s speed.  Hermod realizes this, and also understands that the Worg can hurt it if it doesn’t get to close.

So it doesn’t let the worg get in close.  It uses sheer speed to pull away, in sudden bursts, whenever the Worg is closing.

Hermod hopes Petra will hang on.  Using the staff is tricky when she needs both hands to keep stable through the winged horse’s sudden accelerations.

Also, Hermod hopes Petra has a strong stomach.  This would not be a good time for air sickness.  But if he can get a good position just for a few moments… allow Petra to use that staff again…
 

Callidus, ever the pragmatist, adopts an oft-repeated defensive stance and grins with confidence, ready to swipe at the winged wolf with his knives when it moves in.

His weight rests on the front of his feet, ready to roll to the side at a moments notice and come up in a flourish of blades.

        With adrenalin flowing freely, the thrill of the battle enboldens the Dwarven Patre of
Mars, he charges ahead fearlessly with bloodied Agnon and shield readied; Arctos rushes ahead of
his fellow Dwarves in order to engage the next abominable Warbeast single-handedly . . .

        With a deep Dwarven battlecry, the Priest of Mars thrusts his mighty spear into the
yielding flesh of the Infernal Abomination . . .
       
        "Mars deus laudetur! Mori vos gravy, lactans porcus!!"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 17:03, Thu 24 Jan 2013.

With one hand gripped tight on the infernal beast's howdah, Heolstor steadied himself and took a few careful steps forward. Even so, he felt every step of his unwilling mount. Back vibrating with the landing of every clefted-hoof. Olive eyes lost in the spilling of his untamed hair. Heolstor's sword was bared and ready in his free hand - already stained black with Hunnic blood. Pwyll soared above his head, ready to swoop low and savage the face of any orc that made his master a target. He'd dealt with the creature's riders. All that remained was to find a way to dispatch the warbeast itself.

No small feat... But if it had been so easy, the Huns would never have laid waste to the East. Heolstor would not be here now.

A shudder rocked through the creature as it absorbed a blow from below. Perhaps Arctos' spear. Heolstor did not know... But he did hear the creature bellow out its tortured scream, voice deep with corruption. He also felt it shake, nearly losing his footing on the massive boar's leather howdah. The Saxon kept hold though and pressed forward towards the beast's head. At the neck he stopped short and searched out a clean opening towards the base or middle of its ebony-furred shoulders.

Once he found the chink in the boar's armor - he struck. Heolstor grabbed hold of Brand with both of his gloved hands, foregoing his struggle for balance. Then, he thrusted downward with his spiritually enhanced strength. Strang aimed for the spine of the great beast. If he severed that, or brought great harm to it, he might be able to kill or disable this living siege weapon permanently.

It would be dead, and that was a boon, but better yet: his men would see that even these terrible things could bleed. That they could die.

Dunduin's large heavy mace glowed with a holy fire. It was created to destroy creatures such as this. When he connected with it the beast above screamed in pain as massive hunks of flesh were torn away. Lesser foes would have fallen quickly but the massive size of the beasts kept it alive longer then one thought possible. He worked as part of a team to take down the beast while constantly supplying encouragement to all around him and leading by example. Arctos, their dwarven hero, seemed to be doing especially well to boot. Beast blood was everywhere but it couldn't be helped. A shame they were of infernal taint otherwise they'd be able to feed hundreds with their dead flesh. But he was getting ahead of himself. Best to focus on defeating the first one before getting too confident.

Brannoc's grin widened when he noticed help arriving from the north. He pulled his bow and aimed at the still functional ballista and after careful aim let the gold-fletched arrow fly. He anxiously waited to see what effect it would have with its armor piercing magic...

Some quirky part of her wondered at which God would be best to pray to, in order to avert losing one's gorge in mid-air.

The All-Father was the pantheon's sky-god.  And, as well, she reckoned that riding an eight-legged steed might be something less than a smooth experience.

And thus silently pray to Odin she did.  Praying for others, too.  No one needed that falling out of the sky onto their great helm, during pitched combat!   Nor did she want to have to atone for such a thing, after the fact.

It was challenging to need one hand for the staff, and simultaneously ride Hermod.  But she must deal with this next worg.  If she could remove all four, it would deprive the Hun of an advantage, and also make it safer for the owls.

Calldius sees the winged worg… but it’s not after him, it’s after Demus!  It takes some back tracking for Callidus to get into position.

Demus’s specialty is fire magic.  It’s rare among Elves, and it tends to make him something of an outsider  (“Pyromaniac” among Elves is as foul a term as “Pedophile” among Humans.  It comes from living in a forest they consider sacred.)  But his rare talent tells him how to protect himself against the heat of the Worg’s wings.  Demus uses Resist Energy.  Though the trees nearby are scorched, he is only mildly burned by the attack of the creature.  It causes the Winged Worg to go in closer, to use it’s more conventional attack- teeth.  But this gives Callidus his opportunity.

Callidus wounds the creature, but it takes to the air again, looking for a way to attack without getting suckered in again.
Hermod doesn’t let the worg get close enough to burn it.    It knows what that feels like, and it doesn’t want a repeat.  The winged horse seems to have manages to keep the worg at bay.  At one point, its focus on the winged horse, the worg allows itself to come too close to Elven archers, and is struck by a pair of arrows.  With this distraction, it gives Hermod a break.  Hermod slows, Petra is able to use the staff at last and…

The wings of flame flicker like dying candles, grounding the second worg.
Meanwhile, the attack on “bolt thrower hill”, where the Orcs have placed their two ballistae and a lot of their archers,  produces one quick success- the sudden attack causes the Orc archers and artillerists to cease their support of the “front line” and devote their efforts to self defense.

The Elven, Dwarven, and Human archers at the log fortress figure it out quickly.  They don’t have to duck.  They unleash a blizzard of arrows and bolts.  Now, their biggest worry is exhausting their ammunition before they have exhausted the Orcs.

* * * * * * *
Part of the Hun plan is based on the concept of Not Stopping.  The warbeasts would plow ahead- sure, the Elves could launch their raids and cause a few deaths here and there, but nothing the Elves could do would stop the assault, and so the Hun army would tear through the Elven defenders, and eventually the entire Elven kingdom. But here, in the narrow ravine of the Albach,  although the warbeasts are protected from the Dwarven missile weapons,  the terrain is just too narrow, and the counter attack is fierce, and the momentum… stops.

Mortally wounded and bellowing and stamping in agony, the both of the lead warbeasts cease their forward progress… the traffic jam builds behind them, and quickly extends back over the Celibus.

This is what the Elves on the south flank were waiting for.  The Hun army on the attack was too much of a danger.  The Hun army milling about is much easier pickings.  And the north flank Elves are on their way too.

Heolstor has at last reached the top of a warbeast, and is immediately attacked by the Orcs up there.  But Heolstor has allies.  The Lycanthropes in the trees on the south side of the Albach have realized what he was doing, and since many of them are very agile, they formed up a group to do the same.  Heolstor finds a Werefox up there with him.

The Dwarves, attacking from below, realize that it is a very dangerous game.  Warbeasts kick and stomp when they are attacked from below, and when they die, they fall down.  Dunduin and Arctos watch a warbeast suddenly go wobbly at the knees, and then come crashing down on two Dwarves.

Then, from beneath the tons of flesh, hide, skeleton, and blubber, muffled Dwarvish curses.


The real Albach:

This message was lightly edited by the GM at 03:12, Fri 25 Jan 2013.

          A muffled Dwarven curse can be heard issuing forth from beneath the fallen
abominations carcass . . .

          "Fata esse immisericordes ~ feces contingit!"

          Artos utters a quick prayer, then acts as quick as he can to win free . . .

          "Great god Mars give thy servant the might to win free from this beast so's I
can bring further glory to thy geat name!!!"

          The Patre, using pure brute Dwarven strength, attempts to pull himself free from
under the vile beasts carcass . . .

This message was last edited by the player at 03:21, Fri 25 Jan 2013.

Heolstor fought beside the werefox in a complementary manner. He sprang forward, sword biting, to distract their foe when the fox was exposed and moved to flank the other warrior's targets. Together they made their way to the boar's neck. Then, after the Saxon had struck his own blow to the warbeast, he felt it lurch beneath his feet. He hadn't felled it in one piercing as he had hoped - but between himself and the dwarves below, it had finally succumbed. The creature began to tilt precariously in the creek bed. Heolstor dug his sword deeper into the creature's hide. It bit in with difficulty. The boar's hide was thick and tough like cured leather.

And then, he hung on. One hand kept hold of Brand while the other clung to the beast's harness as it tumbled onto its side. His fingers scrabled for a hold desperately - at the last moment finding purchase on a thick strap of leather. Then the world went vertical.

Strang held on during the fall, but lost hold as the creature slammed into the rocky stream below with a thunderous splash. He tumbled the last few feet, rolling over stone and earth into the shallow creek's flow with his own much quieter splash. Heolstor propped one aching arm beneath himself and pushed, coming to a knee on a slick boulder of granite buried almost entirely by sediment. A red-furred hand extended to him from his side. He took the werefox's paw, accepting the warrior's help once again.

Canid nose twitching with bristling whiskers, the stranger spoke. "Dwarves. They're under that thing's blubbery mass, I can hear them." As if to accentuate his words, the fox's ears perked up attentively. Pwyll landed beyond, finding a perch atop their dead warbeast's side. The bird looked down, head swiveling every which way - there was so much carrion, where did he start?

"Then we get them out." Heolstor intimated laconically.

The Saxon tore his still planted blade from the beast's spine then bent down beside Arctos. He grabbed hold, using his still divinely blessed strength to assist in the Herculean task of raising the warbeast. Even so - he was unsure if they could manage. His muscles went taut with strained effort as he spent himself trying to assist the Patre in rescuing their trapped companion.

Heolstor could not help but think... At the least there was one benefit to this corpse blocking up the draw. It would make the going tougher, and the channeling effect all the more extreme on orcs as they came forward.

OOC: Heolstor currently has a strength of 21.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:31, Fri 25 Jan 2013.

Callidus turns to the east once the elves show up on the north side of the battlefield and the lycanthropes on the southern side of the river. Now that he was sure of their safety he could easily to commit to an all out attack on the remaining archers and artillery operators.

The easiest way to take down an archer is to kill them quickly before they can fire any arrows. Callidus charges towards the archers, making a direct line for them.

When a snarling werefox is running towards you, the last thing you're concerned about is pulling arrows out of your quiver and firing. Banking on the element of surprise to a furred opponent appearing inches in front of your face after emerging from a bank of trees startling them he hides his knives on his person during his charge and draws them again from their concealed locations, coming from nowhere and appearing in his hands as they slash out at the archers necks.

Dunduin pries Arctos away from rescuing the dwarves "We need you to FIGHT Arctos! I'll have other dwarves get them out. We can't afford to have you pulling out dwarves and not fighting. There are too many of the enemy." Dunduin finishes while ducking orc attacks and several enemy missile weapons bounce off his titanium reinforced plate armor. The situation is serious and chaotic.

"Officer Forgnor, get some of your dwarves to dig these dwarves out. Let me know once their out so I can apprise their condition. Get to it on the double!"

Dunduin goes back to battling what appears to be endless numbers of orcs everywhere.

Arctos is extracted, and other Dwarves as well. The Albach creek is awash with blood and gore from the warbeasts; the fighting in the ravine is a savage, close quarters battle with the giant creatures bottled up, and falling one by one.

Heolstor, his strength boosted by magic, is in the thick of it, attacking one of the warbeasts from above.  After a quick fight, they finish off another of the creatures.

There is an awful lot of Evil Giant Boar meat accumulating in the area…

”What’d Dunduin say?” A Dwarf infantryman asks his companion.  “We can’t eat’em?  It’s a waste of good bacon, if you ask me.  The sausages we could make from these things would go from here all the way back home!”

”Naw,” says the other, swinging his axe at a warbeast's leg.  “He said they were Infernal.  You know, the Orcs bred their boars with Evil Infernal Monsters to make these things.”

”So that’s an Evil Infernal pork cutlet over there?.. oh, watch the tusk, swinging in from the right.”

The two Dwarves duck as a great metal covered tusk slashes past.

”Oh, certainly,  That’s why it’s still squirming.  Thank's for the warning on the tusk, Irgwin”

”Still squirming," Irgwin says, as an Orc spear lodges in his shield.  "Yeah, I noticed that.  Not very appetizing.  Still…”

”Evil Infernal meat, that’s what Dunduin told us.”

Irgwin nods.  ”So what we need, then, is Holy Hot Sauce.  That should cancel it out.”

”I think Gromli has some.”


The Dwarves have another trick waiting up their riveted steel sleeves.  They’ve set some large logs to roll down the slopes from their fortress.  They can’t use these to help the fight with the warbeasts- the trees along the Albach would block them anyway- but they use them to keep the front clear, so the archers can continue shooting.

Down in the cluttered, close terrain along the Albach, Dunduin, Heolstor, and Arctos cannot see what is happening elsewhere.  This is where they have to count on the others to keep it up without their leaders.  But that is always one of the traits defining good troops.


Callidus rejoins the attack on the archers.  He doesn't do so well initially, but on the other hand, he's certainly not alone.  Two dozen Elves are with him, as well as Brannoc.

       After having gotten his breath, Arctos takes up his agnon and shield once again, and
looks for the next incoming 'Giant Abomination'.  Upon seeing his next target, the Dwarven
Patre heads directly for it, planning to use his agnon upon it with prejudice in the
extreme . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 18:44, Sat 26 Jan 2013.

Brannoc and the elven archers will continue firing at the ballista crews and try to render the war machines unusable if possible.

Do I know what those glass headed arrows do, after firing one?

Two doggies down...some more to go.   Wind whipped and skirled, as Petra guided Hermod off from the locale of the un-winged worgs, and off to where the other pair harried Callidus, Demus, and the other soldiers.

Same tactic.  Do level best to avoid their fiery attack, play to Hermod's aerial strengths, and against their particular limits.   Once she was in range and able to do, Petra once again called forth the abjurative power of the staff.

After these too were grounded, she had a particular plan for further action.  Something she hadn't done a for a time...and spoke to her as right within her heart and soul.

Heolstor joined the fray. For now he forewent the use of his shield, preferring instead to make use of the full sum of his magically-enhanced strength. He struck out savagely, holding his sword in a two-handed fashion, as if hewing wood with an axe. Each blow was aimed to sever a limb, shatter a shield, or send an overwhelmed opponent onto the defensive so another could strike from the flank.

"Send them howling back to their wet nurse!" Heolstor called out, urging on the troops doing battle in the ravine. "Remind them: man and dwarf mastered war before ever they crawled from their caves!"

A magically buffed Dunduin joins Arctos and Heolstor in the wild beast battle. The magic of his large heavy mace leashes out savagely against the infernal beast doing much more damage then otherwise possible by sure strength alone. Dunduin grimaces. "Take that ya evil beasty". Blood and gore were everywhere. It was so bad sometimes it caused footing problems. On the upside, Dunduin's sizable bulk along with his heavy armor tended to crunch heavily into the forest land giving him more solid footing. The downside naturally was that he was about half the speed of an elf or lycanthrope troop. For a brief moment he felt bad about the carnage they were causing to the forest but just as quickly he put it from his mind. They were fighting for ALL of their lives. Even the forest itself had a price to pay.

A few of the surviving warbeasts are turning back... and when they turn, Hun hopes are broken.  In the Albach ravine, Heolstor, Dunduin, and Arctos cannot see much, but plainly, if the warbeasts are turning away, it is the beginning of the end.

Heolstor and most of the senior warriors, have by now come to understand that like each of the three races in the force- Human, Elven, Dwarven- have their styles, strengths, and weaknesses, and by use of teamwork the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.  The Elves excel in ranged and skirmish combat.  The Dwarves are not flexible on the battlefield but form a tough front battle line, especially on the defense.  And Human cavalry is best used in the Exploitation Phase.

This is an often overlooked key moment in a battle.  It is critical not because it determines the winner, but because it can determine what the winner has won.  The fog and friction of war scatters men and their leaders, and gives them pressing immediate concerns, such as not dying.  Command and control break down.  But if the enemy breaks and retreats, a quick and agile army with a good, mobile reserve can take advantage of it, turning the retreat into a rout.
But Heolstor, Dunduin, and Arctos are fighting a bloody melee in the Albach ravine, and Anakri, while clever, is not a true war leader with a knowledge of battlefield maneuvers.

It is left to Heolstor’s subordinate cavalry leaders.  They take what horsemen are still left mounted- the reserve Heolstor set aside possibly just for this occasion, and charge out of a gap on the north side, headed towards the Orcs on “bolt thrower hill”.

There, the Elves with Brannoc and Callidus are moving up carefully, using their superior archery to slowly whittle down the Orcs’ numbers.  Elves do not risk charging into battle.  But they look off to the west, at more than a score of horsemen riding hard to join them.  Humans DO charge.

In the air, Petra sees that it is not two Winged Worgs left, it is down to just one.  Demus, Callidus, and a few Elven archers already accounted for one.

Hermod knows the game by now:  Build up speed, and make a quick flyby, straight and level, giving Petra a opportunity to use magic while he stays comfortably away from the heat.

Meanwhile, Brannoc figures out what the glass headed arrows do.  They become bolts of golden energy when loosed, like rays of the sun itself.  Using them, he disables one of the Orc bolt throwers.

Not far away, he can see that there is an Orc magic user of some kind- one of their demon thrall shamans.  He is engaged in a duel of spells with one of the Elven magic users- Brannoc can't see which.

Callidus moves to sneak up behind the wizard while he's preoccupied casting spells, staying light on his feet in case the orc turns a spell his way.

Petra bit her lip in rapid consideration.

But a single of the wing-worgs left...and Anakri engaged with one of their shamans.  From his trappings, one of the more senior ones, it appeared.  Beyond the baneful power they commanded, too often those had dirty trick up their sleeves.  (Ooc- not to mention shrunken hobbit heads, overused handkerchiefs, and other quasi-juju bric a brac...)

Alike Heolstor, Anakri was a leader by example. Alike him, she would pay little heed to her personal safety, while engaged in striking down evil.  And again like him, she was an entirely pivotal figure in this war; one upon whom so much depended.

Petra was armed with a device to counteract magics -- on loan to her by Anakri's own word.

It was an all too correct use to put it to.  The ranger-priestess guided Hermod off from the vicinity of the last worg, and toward where Elf and Orc stood engaged, in a duel arcane...

          The Patre's adrenelin continues to course through his veins as he rushes towards
the arse of the closest Infernal Warbeast, thrusting his agnon at his Infernal adversary
in the hopes of taking advantage of its retreating form, and consequently turn the moment
of victory into a complete rout . . .

Heolstor's eyes saw the Hunnic offensive lose momentum, stumble, and then break. He knew, as must all the men in his fortress above, that the day was won. The orcs withdrew, first in a trickle, and then in great suddenness as discretion overcame valor. Now came the moment that warriors rightly feared: a spear to the back, its steel all the more bitter than one earned to the fore. The chase that came now would distinguish tactical victory from a rout... And it had come with greater swiftness than he'd dared hope for.

Heolstor let the line move ahead of him as he saw the dwarves and lycanthropes overcome their foes in the ravine. He did this to allow himself a moment for thought, and so that it was possible he might be heard. With one hand held to his bloodied face Lord Strang roared to the walls not fifteen feet away. There were men there, and he prayed they would hear and understand.

"Bring home the charge!" The Saxon called, but even as his words escaped the prison of his lips he saw them: his cavalrymen. They came free from the gate, the pride of Burgundy's young men, blades and armor bared. Heolstor knew then that his lieutenants had spotted the battle's tipping point and committed his cavalry to the fight, as they should have.

... And there, a mounted man held the reins of his stallion. Heolstor would've grinned but for a realization: their intelligence had said that thousand of Huns were on the march. They'd swelled the Celibus with Hunnic dead, but it had not been thousands. Heolstor felt suspicion gnaw at his gut - he ran for the horse, all the more urgently for his worry.

The Saxon needed to get on his horse. He needed to gain to the head of that charge, or come as near to as he could, and watch carefully for signs of treachery.

Dunduin gives Heolstor a nod and then turns to Arctos. "I'm giving you command of the dwarves here for the moment. I need to tend to the most seriously wounded." It wasn't a glorious part of his job but saving his dwarves lives was important to him. Important enough once the critical turning point in the battle occurred he tactically retreated and requested to be shown the wounded. Dunduin tended to the most critically wounded first. Giving them enough healing to live but not fight. He preferred to save as many as possible and there was a limited amount of healing he possessed even if he did possess a fair amount of divine spell power.

Winging her way over to help the beleaguered Elf wizardess, Petra gets a closer look at the Orc shaman.

She had assumed it was a shaman.  Everyone had.  It certainly fit the image:  tall figure, swirling red cape, holding a staff aloft with his outstretched arm.

But from closer in.. some things aren't adding up.  Too tall, too straight, no sign of the slightly hunched bearing of the Orcs.  Very tall, in fact; if he was Human he'd tower over all the men Petra knows, with a body as muscular as the greatest heroes.  And even though Petra is unable to get a good view of his face in that moment of passing, somehow she knows that it is not the miserable, bestial, tusked face of a Orc, but a strong jawed, angular, nobly cut hero's face.  The kind of face it would be glorious just to look at... As she passes she sees the staff.

The staff is strangely incongruent to its wielder's warlike demeanor.  It is made of braided, white olive wood.  At least one braid is still living, because along the length of the staff, following one twisted curve of wood,  there are olive leaves and tiny flowers.

A name, and warning, floats out of Petra's Memory as she heads for Anakri.

She cannot recognize what spell Anakri is using, but it seems defensive, and Anakri is clearly trying to counter some powerful casting coming from her opponent.  But the Elven woman is faltering.  She looks tired, and is becoming more so each moment.   Around her, some of the other warriors, Elven and Human, seem confused. They lower their weapons, even as Orcs press forwards towards them.

Briefly, Petra feels a wave of thought intrude on her mind.  Not hostile thoughts, gentle thoughts, reminding her what a waste it all is, how there are better solutions than fighting the Huns.  Violence never solved anything.  Sophisticated, noble creatures like Elves should know that.

Near the south wall of the fortress, Dunduin gathers the wounded.  Many of them have "warbeast" related injuries- broken bones, caused by the beasts' kicking and thrashing and finally falling.  But each warrior Dunduin can return to the battle helps... if not today's battle, another battle.  That is, if they can win today's.

Callidus, working his way towards the red  clad figure, learns two things.  First, as he gets closer, he sees, though not in the detail that Petra did, that this is no Orc.  Too tall, too straight, not built the same.  This looks like a Human, though a very tall one.  Second, he learns that creeping up on a single target may be an effective tactic for skirmishes in forests and even in the dark alleys of cities, but it is problematic on a battlefield like this.  There are so many Orcs... so many, and the red clad figure is not alone.  He has a perimeter of guards, all strong and well armored Orcs.  A few of them peel off to block Callidus, and suddenly Callidus is in a vicious fight for his life.


Heolstor  Heolstor's instinct had been to reject the apparent ease of the battle thus far; victory was being celebrated prematurely.  Climbing up out of the Albach ravine he gets a better view of things.  It is far from over.  The warbeasts that had retreated have regrouped, and are now surrounded with heavy infantry, including several trolls, to keep attackers away from their vulnerable bellies.  The barrage of arrows and bolts from the fort has slowed to careful sniping; ammunition is running low and the defenders are endeavoring to make each shot count.

He can see in the distance the horsemen pressing ahead to reinforce the Elves Brannoc and Callidus led up to "Bolt Thrower Hill" (the high ground centered on E2-10)

The battle is still anyone's to win, or lose.

Callidus pulls on his mask of fear and jumps into melee, drawing his knives from their sheathes and stabbing them into the closest orcs throat, withdrawing them with twin blood trails as he moves to the next target.

Brannoc used all six glass-headed arrows he had against the remaining ballistas, adamant to destroy them. When he had to revert to normal arrows again he shot whatever target appeared.

“Rapid fire! Shoot as fast as you can!” he shouted to the elves though they were already firing incredibly fast.

The report reaches Dunduin "Centurian we're running low on missile ammo"

Dunduin pauses in his healing duties "Send out our recon team to collect ammo before the next big wave of enemy troops hits. Keep the bolts for ourselves and give the arrows to the elves. Inform Heolstor of our ammo shortage as well. I'm not sure if he will be able to do anything but at least he'll know about it."

Once Dunduin is done making the healing rounds in the makeshift fort he'll resume his command position and ask for updates so he can make his next informed tactical battle decision.

As Petra veered ever nearer, borne upon the wing-steed, she mustered all the sheer will and faith that she could, to thrust out the utterly specious thoughts. For she knew the truth of those darkly twisted sentiments.  The poison of them.  She knew -- because she had been armed with knowledge of this particular enemy!

The very chiefest of those against whom they contended.  The guiding hand, the goading mind that drove this butchering, slavering horde -- cloaked in the demeanor of peace. That it could be believed in any wise - underscored only the subversive and pervasive power of the dark arts.

Her amber eyes narrowed -- focused upon this enemy.  Who was no being born of this world at all.

Eostre, Freyja, and great Tyr of Justice -- let it be done here - against HIM!  There is NO other foe more vile, and deserving of having it brought down upon him!

Her first intent was to aid the beleaguered Anakri.  Petra had no idea whatever if the Elvish staff would suffice against this creature of the depthless Abyss.

But she was about to discover that.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:00, Thu 31 Jan 2013.

Petra joins Anakri.  The Elven woman is trying to hold back.. something.. from the red clad figure, the being Petra now knows as Abigor.  Petra adds the power of the staff to the defense.  It helps… it buys time, she can tell.  But the strength she is up against is enormous.  Near Anakri, she can feel it, the staff is warm with energy, and there is a voice in her head.. a strong, gentle and reassuring voice, but she knows it is coming from Abigor.

“There’s no need for fighting.  It is a senseless waste.  It is ugly.   It is for the unwise.”

It is a suggestion aimed at the souls of Elves, Petra realizes.  Crafted to take advantage of their certainty in their own enlightenment and their disdain for barbarism.  Petra can see that some of the nearby Elves already look shaken.  The Humans, less so, and the Dwarves, not at all.  They are much too stubborn.

But still… Petra can feel that defense alone is not enough.  Simply trying to hold back Abigor’s power will be, sooner or later, futile.

The creature moves forward, crossing the ford, his guard advancing with him, and many Huns following.  They do their best not to engage any Elves who have ceased fighting.

Just north of them, the cavalry counterattack crosses the ford too, bypassing Abigor and his circle of guards.  This thing, whatever it is, was not their target- Bolt Thrower Hill was.  They race past and up the hill, which is out of Ballistae now, as Brannoc has just destroyed the last one.  With the arrival of the horsemen, Brannoc’s Elven force is strong enough to take the hill, and the surviving Orc archers, artillerists, and guards disperse.

They are now above behind the red cloaked leader of the enemy!

Callidus is up against a Orc “buffed” in fighting prowess by Abigor’s magic.  But Callidus is quick- buffed or not, the Orc is quickly dispatched.  Callidus is right in the middle of it now, though.  Orcs everywhere!  And there is the leader- clearly not an Orc.  Callidus can sense, somehow, that this is a creature of great power.

It's also got a pack of guards, and Callidus is at the moment, alone!

In the Albach ravine, the last of the “front line” warbeasts have been dispatched.  But in the main battle area, the Huns managed to turn around the warbeasts that retreated, and now they are making a frontal attack on the wall, dragging ladders along with them.

And the “rolling log” traps have already been sprung!  The troops up on the wall prepare to defend against a breach.

The hairs on the back of Callidus' neck stand up as a forewarning towards the danger he now is facing. The red cloaked one is dangerous, and he must be wise during this engagement if he wants to survive.

Hopefully the mask of fear he picked up from the orc shaman is working his magic as he takes a step back, readying himself to counterattack orcs coming close enough to attack with weapons.

He wonders about this spell-caster. He's obviously powerful. Normally spell-casters throw lightning or fireballs, but so far he hasn't seen anything close to that level of destruction. He must have some other spells he's using to affect the course of combat. But he steels himself and stays on his feet, ready for spells to be slung.

The current tactical map.
Arctos is where he likes to be:  in with a swarm of Dwarves.

”Heya Riders! Over here!” Brannoc called out and run forward to greet them as soon as his troupe had secured the hill top. He had spotted the tall figure in red cape and also tall sluggish shapes in south west.

“Are those trolls? This battle is far from finished.” He said to Adesse by his side.

Then he shouted at the approaching riders: “Who leads you? We have overrun this place and can handle the situation for now but as you can see their main force is just south from here. You can flank them freely now - if you charge in wedge formation from here down there you might be able to cut through their lines effectively separating the main force from their leader. Push them into river if you can and we may yet win this fight!”

Immediately after relaying this info to the riders Brannoc turned to the elves again:
“Over there down at the ford appears to be one of their leaders. Can you see that tall man in red cape and the heavily armored orcs guarding him? Their heavy armor won’t protect them against our arrows. Concentrate your fire at the guards around the tall man! I don’t mind if you hit him as well! Quickly now!”

He also told couple of elves to keep eyes on east and south watching for new enemy units they possibly weren’t aware of yet.

The staff is his greatest power in this realm!

Petra remembered well what she had learned from the Romano priestess, Julia, in the library at Basilea.

-How- to get it from him..?

This was now the strongest agenda. It was a thing that needed some very clever strategy; the kind best made and performed with others.  She had a vestige of an idea.

Petra guided and landed Hermod down near Anakri, while the Abyssal-spawn had moved off, and was tending to other opponents.

"Lady! I have been strongly advised, it is the staff we must take from him! That which he thieved from the Celestials on Olympus. If it is possible, I think it may need some combination of magic, skill, and ingenuity. Do you think we stand any chance to knock it from this demon lord's grip?  If so -- I have an idea...maybe..."

Heolstor stopped short - cut off from his cavalry by the onrushing horde. The boy carrying pulling his steed had turned round the corner, no doubt headed inside once he'd seen it was fruitless for Heolstor to try and reach him. Instead he acknowledged Dunduin's warnings. Not that it meant much: the Saxon could do nothing for their lack of bolts, perhaps if he were up on the platform he could form them from the tree's living wood.

But he was not. Heolstor was in the ravine. Here he had orders for Dunduin, as he sensed that he himself would be needed soon upon the wall. To the Dwarven Centurion: "Bring your men back! Let the orcs gain ground, but bleed them for it if you can. The advantage of the ravine is wasted if we overextend ourselves forward to the Celibus. Pull them back, and crush them between the wall and Texxor's warriors."

Heolstor made for the nearest gap in the pallisade and accepted a helping hand up - taking hold of a soldier's offered spear and hauling himself upward. Then as he crested the pallisade's top again he took stock of the situation. The warbeasts, the unending orcish tide, and made his way for the fort's Eastern wall. As he did Pwyll swooped low, pecking at him warningly as he swooped. The crow seemed frightened. That was strange.

Heolstor had never before seen the corvid so terrified.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:40, Sat 02 Feb 2013.

Dunduin receives Heostor's message and sounds the retreat back to the fort. Since he's received reports of trolls he decides to use the large jug of liquid fire and have the dwarves and elves dip their ammo in it. Now that they have less ammo and need to choose their shots carefully it makes more sense to use it. Along with the obvious benefit of making the trolls life a difficult and hopefully short one.

       Upon hearing the retreat, Arctos quickly makes his way back to the Dwarven fortification
to lend his support . . .

Anakri looks towards Petra, relief evident in her face that she has help at last.

”I understand,” she says in a tired, rough sounding voice.  “The staff.  Who can…”

She pauses, seeing something.

”Who is that warrior near their leader now?  That’s Callidus!”

She gives a quick order to any of the Elves around her that can hear her.

”Anyone with arrows left, clear a path for Callidus.  Shoot any Orc near him!”

She points out something to Petra.  "Look, we have other warriors behind them.  Our skirmishers, and the riders, on the hill.  Can you use them, for you.. idea?"


* * * * *

Up on “Bolt Thrower Hill” the small group of Human cavalry- augmented with a few Elven riders, and Brannoc and the skirmisher Elves- turn around.  They’ve won their hill, the Huns are scattered.  Adesse is still with them, Brannoc sees, looking battered from the battle.  Torn armor and bruises up and down one side.  But some look much worse.

The cavalry is regrouped, and the look for a new target…  Brannoc turns them around.  They are now oriented facing west, and the red clad Demon and his elite guard are below them, across the ford.

* * * * *

Callidus finds that the best of the Elven archers have suddenly switched targets and are now concentrating on the Elite Guard Orcs near him.  One by one, they drop- a few with his help.  In a few moments, Callidus is free of them.


* * * * *

Somewhere out there, Demus deals with the last of the flying Worgs.
* * * * *

Heolstor, Dunduin and Arctos head back for the fortress.  Heolstor and Dunduin make it.  Arctos, and a few other Dwarves, along with some Lucimburic warriors, find themselves in the Albach ravine dealing with the last of the first wave of the Huns, even as the second wave charges at the walls of the fort.

Dunduin directs his “secret weapon” at the oncoming Warbeasts, killing one.  The warbeasts were never intended to storm the fort, though.  They are powerful beasts, but with so few of them left they cannot batter through the giant logs, especially not going uphill.  Instead, they drag ladders behind them.  They are to be used as living siege towers- a means to get up to and over the wall, not through it.

The Huns charge, behind a volley of thrown spears and axes.

There is a sound, the blast of a great Dwarven war horn, something the Dwarves instantly recognize.

In Dwarven legend, there is a mighty magical horn, the most powerful Dwarven implement of music ever created, the Uber-Tuba.  It is said that sound of its bone shaking honk will stir any Dwarf to heroic courage.  Cirostis’s horn is not it.

But it is made in its image.  And it can be heard for miles.

The Dwarves atop the wall take heart, and it seems to strengthen the spirits of Humans and Elves, too.  With suddenly renewed effort they block the Hun assault on the wall.

Abigor hears it as well.  It is not a great item of magic like the staff he bears, but it is exactly what he doesn’t want right now:  A Call to Arms, sounded on a magic war horn.  Though it is Dwarven, some of its effect works on Elves- some of them shake off the gentle call of Peace, and take up their bows again.  Abigor snarls, and directs the Hun troops to storm the walls, aiming for Anakri, heedless of the losses his own troops will take.  Orcs are replaceable.  To him, nothing more than ammunition.

          The Dwarven Patre continues to lead his fellow Dwarves against the horrid and
vile Hun's.  Once the first wave of orcs are dealt with, he bellows out, "Everytheone
get behind the pallisades at wonce and defend the Dwarven fortress with thy lives!"
With magical shield and agnon in hand, Arctos takes command of his assigned section of the
fortress . . . giving commands and uplifting his fellow comrades with encouraging words when
called upon.


       OCC:  Are the Bless and Protection from chaos spells still working?  These spells
had been implimented immediately after Saturns Distortion had been cast.

             If all the spells are working, and Saturns Distortion is still in effect
at his assigned portion of wall he'd been assigned to earlier, Arctos will cast aid on himself as well . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 09:42, Mon 04 Feb 2013.

"Aye," she told Anakri.  "Callidus is swift, and canny.  Perfect. But...far better if he understands what we will attempt.  Can you get a brief and silent message to him? One the demon isn't likely to himself hear?"   

Arctos, surveying the wreckage of the Hun “heavy assault force” that is scattered along the rocky ravine of the Albach, is very aware that his blessings were a part of the victory here.

A victory that is not entirely over, by the way, as some of the Orcs haven’t gotten the memo, and Arctos, a few Dwarves, and some Lycanthrope warriors are still pushing them out of the ravine.  It is, they realize, a tricky situation.  There in the ravine, if they tried to turn to get out, they would be at a serious disadvantage. They would be all but helpless. while  the Orcs could attack them from behind as they scrambled up the slope back to the fort!  Joining the battle by attacking down the slope is easy, leaving the battle by retreating up it is hard.  So, unless they want to retreat further west,  they are in it to the end!  Victory or death!

Meanwhile…

Anakri has the Message spell Petra needs.

“What is it you wish me to tell Callidus?” she asks.

        Realizing the dire situation that he and his Dwarven brother in arms are now in, a large
pious grin can now be seen through his bloodied and tangled beard.  Arctos knew that there was
but one creature that could ever survive in the most hostile of environments, the greatly admir-
ed and revered 'turtle'.  He'd just have to think in much smaller terms was all . . .

         First off, the Dwarven Patre immediately blows his "Dwarven Whistle' in order to get
the attention of his fellow legionaires.  Afterwards, he spits out his chained whistle so as
to free up his buccal orafice for action . . .

         The Patre's deep voice rises over the battles din as he begins to shout his orders
out in a clear and precise fashion . . .  He understands that flexibility and innovation is
called for with such a limited supply of Dwarves to fill the ranks . . .

        "Mine Legionaires form up by thee's, minature turtle formation, center shields to the
ether ceptin the front line, all tuthers shields facing art opposers at the now . . . battle
march forward!!!!!"

        Arctos with his shield and agnon at the ready takes his place at the front and center of
the new formation.

        Shields can be heard smacking together into their assigned positions in order to afford
protection to one and all within the miniture turtle.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:06, Wed 06 Feb 2013.

Dundun serveys the situation and receives his reports. It appears the Hun army is regrouping for another attack with 'heavy' infantry including some trolls. After making his healing rounds he breaks out his special fire oil. He makes sure the ballista ammo gets it first and then lets any allied troop using missile weapons get a couple dipped shots. He makes sure they are to use this sparingly and against important targets only like war beasts, trolls, demons, and the like. He marches around and rallies his troops using his warpriest abilities. While not as physically strong as the dwarven hero Arctos, Dunduin is every bit as passionate about obtaining victory this day.

We must hold
Steady and fast
We've stopped war beasts
Now come the rest

We are dwarves
Strong and sturdy
We fight hard
While bloody and dirty

Together we stand
An army of one
In faith and brotherhood
For a battle that must be won

Attacking a defended wall in a direct assault is a very costly strategy, and especially when the defenders are Dwarves.  To be an immovable wall of steel… this is what Dwarves sing about.  This is what they do!  And Abigor’s Hun troops did not advance anticipating attrition and siege.  Still, the Huns do not care that the warbeasts have fallen.  The bodies become assault ramps, and cover for the advancing troops.  And when they reach the top, they are met with Dunduin’s wall of Dwarves, with the Humans and Elves covering from the flanks.

But meanwhile…

Arctos forms the small group of Dwarves left in the Albach ravine into a Turtle.  Nearby, Lucimburic troops look on in confusion.

“What are you saying?” one asks.  “I’m a BOAR, you strange little creature, I can’t form a TURTLE!”

The Lucimburic Militia does include a handful of Turtles, but they are not here.  Too slow moving.

Texxor takes charge of his troops.  “The Huns don’t want us, sons of Lucuimburic, but we still want them!”

As Arctos advances his “turtle”, Texxor uses it as an anchor for his own attack, pushing towards the Orcs swarming across the ford, to disrupt the attack against the fortress.

And up on “Bolt Thrower Hill”…

Callidus is swept up in the attack down the hill, as Brannoc directs Human and Elven cavalry, and Elven skirmishers, to attack the Demon Abigor and his Elite Guard.  Very quickly there is a swirl of battle- the cavalry has the advantage of position, but these are the best the Huns have:  Abigor’s personal guard.  Once again Callidus is in the thick of things, but this time, not alone.

* * * * *

And then... there is movement to the north.  Reinforcements are arriving!  But... why do they look like Dwarves?

        The Dwarven Patre begins to march his Legionaire contingent in a northerly direction,
engaging whatever enemy contingents that they come in contact with.  As they march along,
the Patres raven hued continually flit this way and that in order to note any highly valued
enemy targets; if any are spotted, Arctos and his small turtle will attempt to engage said
target . . .

Callidus tears orc throats out with his daggers, ripping apart vocal cords and trachea as the enchanted blades pass through his targets like a hot knife through butter, determined to make it to the leader of the Huns so he can seize the staff from him.

A little behind the scenes game mythology:

Until about 2000 years ago, real world, people who worshipped one set of gods really didn’t that others didn’t exist.  The Old Testament, in fact, has many references to other gods being lesser, but none saying they don’t exist.

Likewise, the Romans, when they encountered the religions on other cultures, didn’t believe those people were worshipping non-existent gods.  They just assumed they had different names for gods (Okay, we get it, we call that one Mars” or had discovered cool gods that somehow the Romans had  overlooked (Which often the spread through the Roman world) or possibly, the silly foreigners were giving undue credit to petty local demigods.  The one thing they did not do was tell people “Isis?  Don’t be ridiculous, the gods of Aegyptos do not exist!”

This is the way it is in every “multi-pantheon” game world as well, even more so because the clerics of each faith offer direct proof of the reality of their deities.  So to Anakri, Arctos, and Petra, each other’s deities certainly do exist.  Arctos would never say “Wotan is a myth!”.  It’s just that those deities are not the deities of his people, or Anakri’s, and Jupiter and Athena are not the divinities of Petra’s folk, etc.

But on the third hand, there is some overlap.  Lots of it, in fact.  All three pantheons had the notion of an ancient war in heaven in which their gods defeated and exiled some monstrous other gods (Titans, Giants, etc) to some big mysterious hot cave-like place Down There.

In-Game, but perhaps not obvious to anyone but someone with high appropriate knowledge scores, both sets of legends refer to the creation of Demons.  Those gods/giants/monsters whatever that were defeated huddled together in the depths of the Abyss.  They became the Demon Lords, and they created their terrible servants from the fears and negative thoughts of mortals.

One result of this is that the aims of the Demons and the aims of those who call upon them are different.  The real goal of the Demons is to rise up out of the Abyss and remake themselves as the lords of creation, and finally have revenge on those who defeated them.  They’re really bitter about that whole “cast down into the pit” thing.  And one side effect of that is that as much as Orcs hate Elves, well, that is not nearly as intense as the hatred that Demons have for clerics of the gods that defeated them. 

Thus it is that Abigor is sensitive to their approach- Petra from the west and Arctos from the south. The Demon knows at once that both being representatives of warrior-deities, neither is likely to be calmed and turned aside by words of peace, staff or no staff.

Petra dismounts from Hermod- she knows that in the fight to come, there’s too much of a risk for her flying steed.  Abigor must be challenged more directly.  She aims her Spiritual Weapon at him- it doesn’t do much damage, but between that, and the fact that Arctos has got much more of his attention, it allows her to get in close.

Arctos advances with fifteen Dwarves in close order.  To Abigor, this is the true foe- not a woman with a feeble weapon.  He turns his attention towards Arctos’s advancing Turtle, and bellows at his troops, to clear a path.

Callidus, meanwhile, is a mere mortal with no special arrangement with any gods of any kind.

Perhaps that is why, in the chaotic crash of armies at the ford, he is the one who finds himself closest to the Demon.

Brannoc can recognize the one actual Dwarf- it is Cirostis.  He also sees Haakon, and Tugdual and Tawna.  And a mess of Elves.

Cirostis makes his way across the water to P1-11
Fordable my dimpled ass he mumbles to himself the handsome and wise warrior is nearly neck deep at one point splashing across after the cavalry and cursing in several languages, unfortunately his voice rune is still activated and everyone can hear his troubles splishing and squishing along. It will surely be embarassing at the end of the day. On the other side he sees Petra land in the fight and he waves and smiles like he's just returned from holiday.

His shield is doing better, it has some animation that makes it dance around him blocking attacks as he goes, it has enough sense to stay mostly above the water.

On dry land the dwarf takes on a bitter and annoyed snarl shaking out all the water and that stupid fish, he hacks the legs off anything the horsemen leave behind and makes his way closer to Petra. Figuring, she probably knows what she's doing and if he can keep her back defended she'll do it.

"So... where would I be if I was a demon?", muttered Haakon, not quite under his breath and close to Tawna's ear.  He imagines the answer is 'closer to the fort' and so whispers, "I'm sorry love but I'm about to do something incredibly stupid again.  Will you come with me?"  With that the dressmaker begins fording the stream to get closer to the fort and some clue about where Elves seem to be getting all pacifist.

        Does Patre Arctos know whether the Bless and Protection from Chaos spells are
still active or not?

This much, at least, of the plan had gone as intended.

The spiritual weapon --  product of divine magic -- was an attack invisible to the eyes of mortals --  normally something of a 'sneak' attack. But not against a spawn of the vile Depths -- many of whom were resistant to spells and incantations, to varying degrees.   And generally had little trouble noting what went unseen to mortal eyes.

But, the intent of it was simply to give the demon-lord one more thing to have his attention upon.    To give her better chance at what she would next do.

Given the opening that presented itself, Petra rushed the demon.   No battle cries did she yell -- no oaths to her Gods did she utter.   She was focused wholly and only upon her objective.

In transit, her broadsword -- Frisian forged in her homeland, and consecrated by an elder warrior-priest of the All-Father -- came ringing from its scabbard.

She raced in like the wind, poised to strike this harbinger of poisoned and fraudulent peace.  Her only typical strength fortified by a blessing she had performed before leaving Anakri's side.  Once in range, she struck at the fair-seeming fiend.

The blow was a feint -- diverting from his torso -- and bringing instead the flat of her blade, now gripped with both hands, down at the staff that Abigor bore. Near where his hand held it.

Petra didn't know what the odds were of a mere mortal being able to disarm a demon in this manner.  But she endeavored to discover that --  swinging with every iota of force her divinely enhanced strength could muster.

      The Priest of Mars activates Vulcan's torch ring, which begins to glow as brightly as
the raging fires of a forge, and quickly asks, Wot 'Words O' Power and Prayer' must I confid-
ently and loudly utter in order to diminish mine 'Infernal Adversariers' capabilities and
strengthen mine fellow adherants O' goodness in this battle being waged at the now?  Once the
Patre has received his answer from the god Vulcan, he boldly utters exactly that which he has
been told . . . as loudly as he possibly can for all the world to hear.

      The Dwarven Turtle composed of a score of steadfastly determined Legionaires, less five,
continues to advance upon their greatest perceived threat that now stands before them . . .
 
This message was last edited by the player at 18:39, Sat 09 Feb 2013.

Heolstor fought them atop the wall.

His sword sang its shrill and brutal song, swinging like a conductor's baton as the chaos below unfolded. It was not blessed by the gods. Not forged in a furnace worked by dwarves or men of old... But its edge was keen, and its bite bitter. The man to his left fell, pierced by a spear, tumbling to his feet only to be drawn below and replaced by another. The Saxon held his raven-emblazoned shield high at the pallisade's precipice. His steel darted around it like quicksilver. Then, if the foe forgot all but the sword's edge... He was reminded of the raven, sternly, his shield's metal boss sending the creature plunging back into the river's bank.

Heolstor moved, crossing farther to the wall's Northern end and then to its South, placing himself wherever the enemy came on thickest. Where the orcs climbed, there went the raven, steel claw stabbing and tearing.

"Tiw, god of my father, give my heart strength." He asked inbetween bouts, voice breathless with exertion. "Diana, goddess of my mother, make my sight clear."

Above, Pwyll danced in the wind. Twisting and turning as if soaring on thermals given lift by the heat of the battle below. More than anything else, Pwyll was a crow, and his dark eyes glittered interestedly at the carnage below.

And so he fought til his allies came to enclose those orcs, trolls, and other monstrosities closest to the wall.... Til he saw, there, Petra. Amidst the melee, arrayed against someone or something clad in red. The priestess was not alone, but Heolstor's eyes saw only danger, thoughts growing reckless. Orcs came on from beyond the river, ready to swell their numbers even as more and more fell.

The Saxon pushed, voice aroar, fighting towards the enemy's own ladder. Closer to the melee below.

OOC: Sorry for my disappearance, it was due to a family crisis. I'm now back - this post being an attempt to post for several "rounds" that I was delinquent for.

OOC would Cirostis recognize this demon?

Callidus fights his way through the guards surrounding Abigor, killing as silently as possible while he moves towards the Arch-demon. He hears the charge of the priestess he assumed spoke to him through spell, and prepares to, if necessary, sheathe one of his knives to grab the staff should her disarming succeed.

Dunduin finds a few of his best dwarves and makes sure to battle the toughest opponents. Right now it appears to be trolls. Along with being magically buffed his magically enhanced large heavy warmace does painful amounts of damage with each successful sickening thud strike. In some instances even bones are broken. But trolls are tough monsters. Fortunately they are of giant type and allow ranged attacks to be made against them as they tower above the dwarves in melee combat with them below. Dunduin's magic shield takes a pounding from massive troll swipes powerful enough to make his whole body shudder even when blocked. His titanium reinforced plate armor is sporting a nice array of dents, claw marks and bloody gore some of which is his own. He fights as hard as he can for a cause he truly believes in. They must not lose.

Haakon doesn't recognise the Demon, but he does recognise Petra and the fact that she seems to be seeking to disarm someone with a staff.  That's good enough for Haakon and he lets his axe sing a symphony as he seeks to cut his way through any orcs and others of the Hunnish persuasion between him and the big red guy with the staff.

Of course, there is nothing remotely Dwarven about Haakon's fighting style.  Each time, he rushes in, seeks to draw blood (or better yet brains or sinews), then runs past to come in again from a different direction.  This is what cowards do, and the dressmaker is proud of his cowardice.

Seeing friendlies close to the Hunnish leader Brannoc adviced the elves aim their bows southwards to harass orcish forces there about to meet Lucimburic warriors.

 Tugdual follows, still trying to pass as a dwarf. Once they close in with Brannoc and other elves, the druid comes to realise that the ruse, whether it has worked or not, is no longer needed. He breaks formation and says to some of the elves around him :
  "Theses are monsters, and they're waiting for your arrows... take care of the smaller ones first, they may be the most vicious."

 It's also more likely that they will drop the weak ones, and seeing some Huns dead will bolster their morale while it sacks theirs.

 Meanwhile, Tugdual focuses his attention and his massive wooden club on a large orc, a troll or anything worthy of being told to his grandchildren someday. Cirsotis mentioned that the tales the encounter at Beda shall survive this day for long, Tugdual will try and live up to this expectation.

 If his enemy wears metal armour, the druid will try a new recipe : orc bulgogi. Truth be told he had never used the Heat Metal as a weapon... but now it seemed only appropriate.

Abigor musters more power to himself.  A swirl of thick smoke forms beneath him, and it pushes him upward, the smoke solidifying and taking the shape of a large black horse with a lizardlike head.  He charges forwards.

Arctos’s Bless and Protection spells are active, but the Dwarf Cleric knows instinctively that such simple prayers are not much protection from a creature like this.  Indeed, as Abigor presses forward into battle, the  Dwarves falter for a moment… but the power of Arctos’s shield keeps them advancing.  And then turtle and Demon collide.  The close formation of the turtle is battered apart by a blow from the Demon’s sword, and a Dwarf lies slain, another gravely wounded.  Abigor does not even seem to notice the Dwarven weapons set against him.  Dwarven steel breaks on his skin.

But not the Agnon, forged to defend Dwarves against Demonkind.  The head of the spear cuts into the Demon even as Abigor’s sword crashes into Arctos’s shield with such force that the Dwarf feels his bones shaken.  From the Demon’s wound, fiery, thick blood like lava sprays out.  It erupts from the wound, burning those nearby- including Arctos, who feels a few small, superficial, but painful burns.  The night-black steed of Demonic smoke snorts and bites at Arctos, and kicks him in the thigh.

With Abigor cleaving his way through Dwarves, Petra finds her moment.  She aims not for Abigor but the staff he carries, a tactic the Demon did not expect.

But perhaps the staff did?  For just a moment, as her blow connects, it seems to Petra that the staff wants to be free of Abigor.  And why not?  It is a think of the upper planes, how painful it must be, to be carried into battle by a Demon.  It seems to pull, just enough, to allow Petra to hit it with her full enhanced force.

In a moment, it is free of his grasp.  Abigor whirls around in anger, and Petra is also struck by drops of that burning blood, but the staff is flung awkwardly away.

There is a mad frenzy to recover it, and Callidus leaps to secure it.  He grabs it, as two Orcs pile on him, knocking him and the staff to the ground.

Almost instantly, there is a change in the Elves.  They seem to remember why they are here.  Arrows… and a few spells… are once again finding their targets with precision.

From where they are, Heolstor and Dunduin can see that the battle is not over, but the tide has turned.  The Orc assaulting the wall are deprived of their flow of reinforcements, first by Abigor himself cutting through their ranks to reach the Dwarves, and now, by renewed Elven arrows keeping them at bay.  Some Orcs and some Ogres have made it to the wall, but they are not enough- without more arriving behind them, the breach can be contained.

From where Haakon, Cirostis, and Tugdual can see, newly arriving and right near the whole Demon/Dwarf/staff mess, there is a big chaotic pile up in front of them, the object of which seems to be “Get the staff!”

         As soon as Abigor turns about to face Petra, and to make his attempt at retrieving his
staff, Arctos thrusts his Agnon with all his might into the demons exposed back side.

         The Dwarven Patre belows out his command to his Dwarven Legionaires . . .

         "Restore ranks and regroup into the formation O' the minature turtle, secondary
weapons ready at the now n' n'gage the vile mount!!!!"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:59, Tue 12 Feb 2013.

Cirostis charges the demon, he focuses on doing damage and keeping its attention from the troops with Arctos.

 The melee is too much of a mess, and Tugdual doubts his club would be much use against a demon or an reptile night-mare.

 He instead focuses on one of the ogres, engaging him in a duel to the death. He encourages elves to follow his lead with arrows.
  "Just don't aim at my back !" he warns them.

Haakon grinned to Tawna and said, "Get in there and grab the staff, then we can stop this ridiculous fighting."  In the meantime, he puts in an added burst of shouting "Deutschland Ueber Alles" and lets his axe sing its own song.

Dunduin grits his teeth hard as he sees the dwarven turtle reach the demon and fall apart. Certainly some of them slain. Doesn't Arctos realize that the dwarves with him are incapable of hurting the demon at all? No, probably not in his battle lust state. Dammit, I hate losing good dwarves this way. His eyes grow moist with his fellow dwarves ultimate sacrifice. It was a realism of war but it never became any easier to accept. At least not for him. Focusing his mind back on the battle of the wall he made sure we was holding up his end along with their powerful leader Heolstor who could be seen running everywhere to lend his powerful aid wherever it was needed most.

It's clear that Abigor channels his spells through it, and without it the elves arrows are again finding their marks instead of not firing at all. Knowing the battle partially hinges on the elves and their hit-and-run tactics as well as the sturdiness of Arctos and his battalion of dwarves, he does the only thing that he can do.

Callidus shifts into were-form and slips out from under the orcs as quickly as possible using all of his dexterity and talent to do so, and gives them both knives in their backs for their trouble, making another dive for the staff. Attempting to grab it and roll over its length while picking it up, ( Using Tumble ) turning to face Abigor in the process as Arctos lances him in the back with his Angon.

Oh, praise Odin, Eostre, and all the Light in this world!

There was no more time for any happy reflections than that.  This was significant, but she wouldn't get overconfident of it.  Now, they had to prevent him from reclaiming it!

She knew Callidus would not relinquish it easily.  And...his form trembled, changed, and Petra saw that he was lycan. Which she had not known.  Well and good; it would only make him more formidable.

Petra then thought rapidly.  Best if they could get the staff away from the enemy, swiftly. Preferably into Anakri's hands.  Or would it be possible to use it here against the enemy? To evoke a true peace-?

Could orcs and a demon even be effected by such?  She knew no answer. Only that for now they must keep it!

Petra will do whatever is the most effective to keep the staff in our hands:  If Callidus has it, or Haakon or Tawna are about to pick it up, she will attempt to come between the one holding it and any attacker, Abigor included.  Attacking the enemy as a first choice, or protecting with her shield, if more effective.  If any Hun gets near to taking it, she will use a Command spell to make him drop it.   If Abigor, she will enchant an arrow from the Elvish quiver, with the bane designated for him, and attempt to stab him in the hand or arm with it. 
This message was last edited by the player at 23:15, Tue 12 Feb 2013.

"Push harder! Watch them break," Heolstor shouted "They came all this way to feed the crows!" Though the Saxon cannot see the staff. Cannot know the vital importance, in a cosmic sense, of the struggle along the Celibus... He knows that the enemy's lines have shown fissures of stress. That they crack - that his opportunity is here and now, and Heolstor's men need but shove to sunder them.

Elves from the North. Heroes of the free West in their midst. Their numbers amounting to nothing in the bloody current of the river.

So he fought in a way perhaps wholly unexpected. Heolstor did not sit the walls, but when the Huns faltered he either leapt over or used the Huns' own ladders. The Saxon leader rallied some of the humans and dwarves beside him to bring home the final hammer blow.

Heolstor shouted, ordering the soldiers forward. "To the Celibus! Send them crawling back to the Emperor, begging him to forget the Ardennes and its allies!" He led the charge, as always. The objective: to crush the splintered enemy vanguard, blunt their assault, and give them cause to reconsider their advance. There was also a psychological edge sallying might give them; the Huns fully expected them to guard their walls, and passively wait for the orcish advance. They would not expect such boldness.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:55, Wed 13 Feb 2013.

Brannoc wished there was infantry there with him. His blood boiled, adrenal high, and he wanted badly charge the enemy. Then he realized there were few warriors, having arrived from the north.

"Archers, I'd like you to stay here and cover us! The rest of you; Let's cut help from that Hunnish leader by striking south and see if we can get those orcs routed!"

"Demus! Do you see that Ogre or Troll or what ever mongrel that is? I wonder what it would like about a fireball of two?" The scout shouted to the elven wizard.

OOC: Changed based on Heolstor's change.

Dunduin will form 2 small groups from the healthiest remaining dwarves and accompany Heolstor on his foray leading his groups of dwarves. He places a capable officer in charge of the fort and stresses the importance of keeping dwarves alive.

Dunduin knew better than to completely abandon the fort. He divided his force into mostly healthy and seriously wounded. Those seriously wounded stayed behind in the protection of the fort and would continue to snipe at targets as opportunity allowed. The ballista were kept manned as well. The rest he mustered to support Heolstor's charge. He wasn't sure this was the best tactical decision but since Heolstor was in charge that's what they would be doing. He just hoped the casualties wouldn't be too high. Every dwarf that went down was a heartfelt loss. He wasn't looking for glory or a victory where only a handful of dwarves survived. So, in that vein, he had the remaining healthier dwarves form up in their turtle formations and follow behind the faster paced humans, elves, & lycanthropes into battle. Naturally Dunduin would be at the front of his force.

On their way into the thick of battle Dunduin laid out procedures for the seriously wounded to drop back into the rearmost turtle formation and be replaced with a healthier dwarf. This way, they could keep their front turtle formations engaged in fierce fighting longer replacing their heavily wounded with those who could still fight from the rear. At least in theory it should work.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:57, Wed 13 Feb 2013.

There is a mad, wild, ‘pile on the staff’ rush.  Around that is a madder, wilder melee, involving Abigor, his shrinking pool of elite guards, and the growing number of those trying to do him in.  The whole thing is like a tornado of violence, everything swirling around the dark, gray center.

Out from the center, a lone fox drags a staff from beneath a pile of Orcs.   Someone steps on his tail. In fact, it happens twice, but without silver boots, it causes more discomfort and annoyance than actual damage.

A few Huns try to intercept, but Callidus has allies looking out for him.

* * * * *

One of the Hun elite guards breaks off and runs for the river.  He can no longer stand the heat of his armor.

* * * * *

At the wall, Dunduin directs a defense… let the Ogres throw themselves forward and…

Parts of the wall seem to erupt into life.  The Omniformes, the strange shape changing allies of the Dwarves, have crept in carefully, keeping themselves disguised as sections of log.  They attack the Ogres that are the heavy backbone of the Abigor’s assault force.

The wave of attackers is hurled back from the wall, and those that breached the fortress slain one by one, and then.. it does not look like they will get another chance.  As they falter, Heolstor leads a charge.  The bulky Omniformes, known to Humans as Mimics, join in, thinking the call was for everyone.  They are slow, but it is like having a moving wall.

The Huns are pressed back to the ford.  Overhead, the ballistae are shooting ahead.  They have run out of spears are now launching stones into the Hun lines, just to cause general chaos and random injuries.


* * * * * *

They warned Arctos before, in the temples back home, of what never to do with troops:  Never take ordinary warriors face to face with Demons.  They have no weapons that will break a Demon’s skin, and no armor or skill to hold back his attack.  Never do that.  Heroes are to face Demons, and troops face troops.  But Arctos has possibly forgotten the warning.  Abigor is hard pressed, but the Demon easily breaks apart the Dwarven “turtle” formation, and two more Dwarves fall to the Demon’s sword.

Arctos, on the other hand, is armed with a weapon enchanted against Abigor’s kind.  He uses it to wound Abigor again.

And so is Cirostis.  Cirostis is still feeling some of the battering he’s been accumulating over the days of battle, but the sight of the Dwarven formation being mauled spurs him to one last charge.

His axe takes Abigor squarely in the back, and two Elven arrows hit the Demon in the front.  The horse of black smoke the Demon had conjured up seems to dissolve, and Abigor lands on his feet with a look of anger and surprise… more surprise.  Something that was not supposed to go wrong has, and he has realized it.

Cracks begin to appear in the Demon’s skin and his armor… which can now be seen to be just more of his skin.  Red hot lava starts to spurt from the cracks.

       Arctos attacks the Demon as he shouts another command to his Legionaires . . .

       "Leigonaires fall back, reform the Turtle, and advance upon those Orcs
attacking art fortification to our rear!"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:42, Thu 14 Feb 2013.

Heolstor met the enemy with his shield infront of his body, crashing into their tattered line with his weight and the weight of all the men behind him. Then he slashed, steel biting, striking in the furious melee as he could. It wasn't pretty - there was no dance, no romance to it. But he fought with his mystical boons, still borrowing the strength of a bull. At his back came the wall of Omniformes. Heolstor had not planned for that, but he did not regret their initiative. They gave his charge even more mass. He felt as if he stood at the crest of a wave, ready to wash the Huns away.

Even so: he recognized there was a foe his blade could not touch. The Saxon could not tell what Arctos and Petra did battle with. He knew only that it was formidable, and that a wall of orcs stood between him and it.

So he paused in his battling and concentrated on finding Arctos' form. Then he channeled some of his own spiritual powers, asking the Old Gods to grant Arctos a boon of guidance.

OOC: Heolstor casts Guidance on Arctos. Make it count demon slayer.

Cirostis starts with a step back and an attempt to yell at the demon and hurl his axe to draw attention away from the other dwarves...unfortunately he falters the flying up into the air and his broken infernal words getting stuck as he stares at the chaos around him. He feels for a moment lost in the silence of noise. His prize Waraxe, made by Dunduin floating end over end in the sky. Cirostis is aware of all the hurt surrounding him, and the dead dwarves  lying in the dirt where their turtle defense was for nothing. Cirostis sees the demon, it would have laughed at him if it knew he even existed, so great and powerful it needs only to deflect Arctos' weapon and it will be able to keep destroying others.

When sound returns and time comes back the Dwarf catches the returning waraxe and spins immediately hurling it back into the demon with serious effect.

Then he catches the weapon again and weaves through the battle moving for another flanking shot in skirmish and hurling the powerful waraxe. His work is to draw the creatures attention back to him, and save his fellows from harm.

Callidus makes it a point to escape the melee, now that he's absconded from the dogpile of orcs successfully, seeing if he can manage to tap into the divine relic in his hands to give his allies some well needed aid against Abigor now that his conjured nightmare has been dispelled, while moving towards the group of elves he originally branched off from.

Haakon moves from the fray when the fox has the staff, but he continues to run interference, seeking to curt down any orc or other hun who follows the fox.

Dunduin coordinates his two turtle formations in support of Heolstor's offensive surge. He's not sure if he'll be pushing towards the demon or not but he informs his troops to not engage the demon but rather any enemy in his vicinity. Otherwise, they keep tight ranks and work together at creating a nice cleared path through the enemy lines. If by chance the demon does come within melee range Dunduin will step to the task. At least he will have a chance of both injuring the demon and surviving it's attacks. However, it appeared that, that situation was not very likely given the large number of combatants already involved in combat with it.

Back at the fort, bringing the omniformes into battle was perfect timing. He smiled at the brilliant tactic. Battle was one thing, being eaten alive was certainly not what the enemy signed up for. Only the most fearless troops would not be shaken by near invisible creatures devouring them. Heck, even he got a cold shiver just thinking about it.

The tide of the battle seemed to be on their side. If they could defeat the demon, Dunduin believed that they could probably keep the advantage and win the battle. He had faith in Arctos when it came to battling the infernal foe. If there was one dwarf here who could succeed, it would be him. And he had help. It appears that other hero's have rallied to the cause. This indeed was a good omen. Thank Vulcan.

Petra observed the enemy's plight;  his facade begun to crack -- the guise of fair humanity slipping from him, and unmasking the fire of the Pit that lay underneath.

"You are going to pieces, Abyssal-spawn," she said softly, through gritted teeth.  "Perhaps I can help you along."    She had sheathed her sword, and unlimbered her bow.  She nocked an arrow from the enchanted quiver, and imbued it with a bane for Abigor.  And let if fly, once she had clear shot.

"Ullr, may it strike true."  Fox-Callidus had gotten the staff away, and she noted the presence of Heolstor and other friends -- most particularly Cirostis, whom dealt Abior a resounding blow with his flung waraxe -- which then returned to his hand, as if were Mjölnir, wielded by Donner himself.

"For Light, Love, and Life!!" she yelled, voice lost amidst the clangor, if not the profound intent within her soul:  "Back to the bowels of the Abyss, with all of demonkind, and their foul ilk!"

Haakon remembers the enchantment on his blade, but others are fighting the demon while he rushes between, protecting the fox with the staff and hoping the fox will understand how to use it, or if not, will for once trust a weasel who most definitely knows how to use it.  "For the training of weasel cubs" he mutters as his battle cry.

2. Callidus scurries away, dragging the staff.  Each time an Orc gets close enough to try to take it, someone, usually Haakon, manages to cover Callidus.  The fox gets clear, dragging the braided olive wood staff towards the fortress.  If there’s some way of using it, he’s not sure.. simply willing it to do something doesn’t seem to accomplish anything.  Perhaps it was not meant to be held in one’s teeth.

Hopefully, whatever great Celestial Spirit is the rightful owner of this thing will not mind a little fox saliva on the magic staff.

Arctos’s Dwarves do fall back.. and quickly.  Seeing the glowing fractures spread across Abigor’s body, they have an instinct that something bad is happening.

Or perhaps something good… but sometimes if something good happens and you’re standing too close to it, that’s bad.

Arctos has no such concerns.  He hurls himself into the fight with the Demon.

Cirostis gives him some fire support with his axe, from behind.  He too sees the cracks spreading across Abigor, each one a tear through the Demon’s unnaturally tough hide, revealing the red-orange glow beneath.

The splintering of Abigor’s hide accelerates with each hit the Demon takes, until…

He bursts. There is a sudden flash of light and a loud boom.

Burning bits of white hot Demon are flung even as far as Cirostis.   Arctos… Arctos is flung as well.

He lands on his back, and for an indeterminate amount of time the world is a gray blur.  As things begin to make sense again, he has a sensation as if a chorus of happy little songbirds were gathered about his ears, all tweeting cheerily, loudly, and very much out of tune.

But Abigor is gone.  There is a smoking circle on the ground, and a broken black sword.  His elite guard, the survivors at least, were blown back just as Arctos was, and from the core outwards, panic is seizing the enemy.

Heolstor has seen this before.  Orcs seem to have no fear in battle… until it really turns against them, and then, when they break, they break.  But the Elves from the north and south are on their flanks now… fleeing the battlefield means passing through a deadly gauntlet.

Cirostis approaches the pit, having seen something fall from the Deamon he is concerned. But it is a sword, a black sword. He doesn't touch it but removes it from the field, he uses the magic in his cloak to bind it inside the cloak that he can later show it to Dunduin, Vulcan will know what to do with it.

With elves coming in from all sides this tired warrior calls on his brethren.
 "Gleedis, Callidan, Ortallo! Come retrieve Arctos and pull him to the fort! Dwarves to me! Defense!"

The dwarves Arctos led are directed to gather all of their comrades, the living and the dead while Cirostis and his dancing shield stay by to dissuade any interference.
 The elves can do the rest now, the dwarves need not be put further at risk. He works his way with the legionaires to Dunduin's side.
On the way he joyfully greets the omniforms by name reminding them not to sleep just yet.


He embraces the Master Smith

"Well met my Centurion.

It was a demon sir, looked almost like that fellow at the university. Arctos is a little dazed, I put the dwarves with him on the defense, what are your orders?"

He wants to know how aggressive they should remain.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:24, Sat 16 Feb 2013.

       The grayness finally fades away and the irritating birds fly off to parts unknown.
Arctos sits up slowly in order to nurse his bodies shroud of throbbing pain, notices the
disheartening actions of Cirostis, shakes his head in apparent disgust over his companions
lack of concern for his current well being, and uses his mighty Agnon for much needed sup-
port as he slowly rises to his now shakey feet.  The Dwarven Patre is quite a sore sight to
behold indeed, as his beard, eyebrows, and outter raiments have been severely singed by
the Demon's explosive fallout.  A bit of smoke can still be seen rising from his lithely
stout form.

       His orders having been successfully carried out, the wounded Dwarf stumbles across the
Field of Battle back to their Dwarven fortification, and finally into the confines of his
personally selected quarters.  Once inside the covered supply wagon the Patre will slake his
overpowering thirst, treat his wounds, and shall take a much needed rest for himself from
his souls recently accrued battle-weariness.

       The experience of having suffered through several exploding demons in his lifetime and
their accompanying schrapnel completely overwhelms him to say the least.  All that Arctos wishes
for now is peace, quiet, and perhaps dreams free of any nightmares that may stem from his most
recent combat . . .  all that he seeks now are happier thoughts, and hopefully he'll be able to
clear away the shroud of darkness that usually accompanies suffering from abyssmally Infernal
explosions.

       Arctos finds his mug, slakes his overpowering thirst, downing at least four good shots
of Dwarven spirits before removing his armor;  afterwards, the Dwarven Patre proceeds to dil-
igently check his wounds from the demon schrapnel that had pierced his exposed flesh . . . and
begins to worry over any possible side affects, being that Dwarven and demon flesh expectedly
doesn't truely agree with one or tuther at all!

       After having bound his wounds as best he could manage, the Dwarven Patre drinks until he
passes out in inebriated bliss atop several kegs of Dwarven Mead.  All thats now heard coming
from within the supply wagon are deeply unsettling sounds of sonorous snoring.


This message was last edited by the player at 18:46, Sat 16 Feb 2013.

Noticing Arctos' agitation to return to the spot Cirostis tells him -
"It's okay Patre, we did not leave anything there, I've got the weapon you can help inspect or destroy it later. Rest now, and heal. "
 

OOC: Dwarves!
This message was last edited by the player at 04:29, Sat 16 Feb 2013.

Haakon shouts as loud as he can, perhaps loud enough that he'll be unable to speak for days afterwards, in Latin first, then German, then again in mediocre Orcish and in even worse Elvish, "Leave the way clear to the East, let the Huns flee all the way back to their homeland."

Then, under his breath, he mutters once more, "For the training of weasel cubs."

Heolstor flung his shield infront of him and steadied himself, feet planted as firmly as ironwood roots. Bits of... something... bounced and ricocheted off his shield, followed in their wake by the shockwave that had thrown them. It threatened to knock him from his footing with the sum of its magnitude; it did not, Heolstor held.

The light that spilled forth from Abigor was intense for a human. That could only mean, Heolstor knew, that it was nearly blinding for an orc. Now the Huns were leaderless, they were nearly blind, and they were routing. Whatever threat this army's remnant could pose to the Ardennes - Heolstor saw an opportunity to end it now.

This was a tactical victory, Heolstor knew. They had held. These losses the Huns had suffered though. Were they enough to make the defeat real for the Huns? Would the Hunnic Emperor feel the pinprick? It had to be real. The Emperor had to feel it, all the way into the heart of his dark realm at the top of whatever gilded tower sat his throne.

Strang yelled out his orders, making himself heard over the cries of victory and suggestions to hold. "Pursue them! Give them no chance to return beneath the banner of another demon!" Enough would survive to spread the word of their shattering along the Celibus - you could not chase them all down. Men ran, they hid in dark places, his father Caedmon had once told him. After the shieldwall breaks they find ways to survive. Orcs, Heolstor assumed, were no different in that. So he would chase them. Harry them. Deprive them of whatever future soldiers he could.

In the coming days it could mean the difference between victory or death. It was more than that though - Heolstor's heart was cold when it came to orcs. He had seen the slavery at Lingones, the oppression and massacre at Tullum, had been ambushed and attacked by them and their dark allies. If there was a part of Heolstor that empathized with the Hun at all... It had gone away long ago.

Heolstor led the pursuit from the ground. He was not mounted, and his riders would surely outpace him and do the greater proportion of damage to the fleeing force - but Heolstor would do what he could.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:22, Sat 16 Feb 2013.

The Dwarves know they have done their part.  Solid defenders they are, but they are not as swift as Humans or Elves and not cut out for chasing fleeing opponents through marsh and meadow.  Well... some are, but the average Dwarf is decked out in enough metal to create a localized anomaly in the Earth's magnetic field.  It can be a hindrance.

So they regroup, and pull their priest back to the fortress for hot Dwarven beer and some battle bread.

One Dwarf inspects a "lucky loaf"; the stout chunk of whole-grain bread still has an Orcish throwing axe embedded halfway into it.  By old Dwarven tradition one wouldn't eat such noble bread- better to hang it up in one's haul with the family arms, for future generations to admire.

They leave it to the Elves and Humans.. who rapidly pursue the Huns back to the Celibus and then beyond... but not far beyond, because on either side of the retreating Huns, newly arrived Elves have formed up on the high ground and are shooting arrows.  Following the Huns further into that maelstrom could be very dangerous!

But by then, from the walls of the fortress, across the Celibus, and up to the banks on the other side, Orc bodies are everywhere.  The defenders have lost some as well, but the exchange has clearly been a lopsided one.  There are hundreds of dead Orcs here, certainly as much as a thousand.  And there are more along the retreat route to the east, between the two Elven forces.

Haakon works himself to exhaustion, finally too tired to stab another Orc.  The last few days have been punishing ones.

Tawna... well she is a Wereweasel, some things do not change.  She's following behind him, checking Orc bodies for anything of value they might have.

Brannoc regroups the remaining small force of Elven skirmishers up on the hill.  They are tired, and out of arrows- some have been shooting recovered Orc arrows, which they find to be very unpleasant.  Many of them are wounded- they have been in the fight the longest.  Adesse, herself covered in blood and bruises, merely sits next to him without saying a word.

Callidus manages to drag the staff back to the fortress.  It seems so very ordinary now.

*One of the hallmarks of ancient fighting was that so much Other than the basic strength, weaponry, armor etc counted that when battles were fought they were often very one sided, with the winner winning big even though on paper, it seemed much more balanced.  Thus at Agincourt the English lost 112, while killing 7-10 thousand of the much larger enemy force.  Such disparate losses were frequent.

Callidus arrives back at the fortress and shifts back to regular form, holding the staff in his hands as he stands up on his feet.

Cirostis tends to the wounded performing any surgeries that might be required in addition to the healing arts of the others. When Heolstor, and the men ride out, he arranges for a clean up crew including any omniforms in good active form to ensure all the omniforms are accounted for and allowed to rest on a waggon so they wont be left behind. They will also gather anything valuablme they can and cart the orc bodies to a place designated by the elves.

He is likely to remain busy throughout the day.

Beside managing the cleanup crew and the triage and surgery, The trainer will want to check on the artilliary teams.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:46, Sun 17 Feb 2013.

Heolstor brought his men to a halt before they entered the elven killzone. By then he was winded, his sword arm tired, and his mind weary of bloodshed. It was necessary work yes, but grim and tiring too. He was glad he didn't enjoy it - Heolstor hoped he never would.

Strang gave out standing orders to Gallus and the rest of his Lieutenants: gather up the men and form a defensive perimiter around the battlefield. The enemy was to be looted of anything of value, the spoils being distributed among all the dwarves, elves and humans under his command. The Hunnic dead were to be burned - a tall order, considering their great number.

Those allied warriors who had perished were to be given to their respective commands. To be buried here, in honor, beside their ad hoc fortress... Or taken home for whatever ceremonies their people demanded.

For those humans who had perished Heolstor's directives were simple: bury them here. The journey home was too long for anything else.

As his men saw to the mopping up of the battlefield Heolstor made his way back towards the fortress.

On his way he chanted a few simple words - meant to enable the detection of magic. He walked through the dead along the Celibus, on his way back to the fortress, searching just incase any items of power or magic were to be found among the fallen thousand.

OOC: Heolstor casts Detect Magic.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:48, Sun 17 Feb 2013.

Dunduin is quite happy to see a relative healthy Cirostis and that Arctos survived. Strong as stone that one is. He gives the order for the dwarves to retreat back to the fort. "Cirostis, you're welcome to search the demons elite guards, they may have something of value. I'll see to it that the dwarves make it back together."

Once back at the fort he assigns patrols out of those who are still able and tends to the wounded. The dead will receive burial and blessings and he'll request and an acceptable place from the elven leader. Once their brethren are taken care of he'll offer assistance with other fallen allies and finally the fallen enemy. It was going to be a long hard day.

Following orders, Cirostis searched the elite guards and returns to Dunduin with any loot, as well as the black sword wham all his duties are complete.

The Huns, falling back, pass through the Elven gauntlet, and once they are able to, they scatter.  This is typical for them- when broken, they break.

But even small groups can be troublesome on the way out.

The Elven Fifth and Sixth Mark forces, on the north and south flanks respectively, make camp.  In the morning, they will begin the process of driving the Huns from their land.

Those that had been with the local Elves- Haakon, Cirostis, and Tugdual- sense a change of attitude among them.  The Elves seem more aggressive, now.  More willing to engage and defeat the Huns, however they can.

Ilsyan Greenstag, the Elven leader Haakon, Tugdual and Cirostis had fought alongside, lets them know- there is no sense of obligation here; what they did was a great service to the Elves and the group will be welcome in their lands.   If they wish to join in one of the hunts to drive the enemy out, they are welcome.  It will not be easy- they know the Ardennes is rugged land, and it is winter, and the enemy will be desperate and in all likelihood fleeing quickly to the east- but if they want to join in, certainly, the Greenstags will be happy to have them along.

* * * * * * *

Callidus returns to his Human form, holding the staff.

The Werewolf general Texxor, who had spoken to him in Lucimburic, worried about his status as a “wild” Lycanthrope, sees him.

Actually, quite a few people do.  And they see a lot of him.  The Lycanthropes of Lucimburic are very used to shifting in civilized surroundings, and clothing and armor is commonly sold there with enchantments allowing it to shift with the wearer.  But Callidus hadn’t bought any yet, and his clothing is under a pile of Orcs.

Texxor drapes a cape around him.  “The wildling.. of course… well done, bravely done… but we’ll fit your for something that Shifts.. .when we are back in Lucimburic!”

* * * * * * *
Heolstor does a check with Detect Magic, looking for what odds and ends of magic might have been left around.

Huns frequently make use of minor, temporary magics- little charms and tokens that offer them some advantage or protection, but not forever.  Heolstor finds a number of these- typically rune carved bones or other totems.

He also collects up two swords of Germanic manufacture.  Obviously, won on some past battlefield, and the Huns decided the blades were worth keeping.

A shield… it couldn’t be that great, as it’s owner didn’t last long.

* * * * * * *

As Dunduin collects up dead and wounded, he runs into an issue the Elves have often faced in situations like this.  Orcs that are facing death and no longer have the will to fight will run… but those who cannot run will fight to the death, if they can.  Even so, there are always those that become incapacitated by wounds.  Not all those Orcish bodies are dead yet.  Even one of the Ogres is still alive, with one leg crushed and the other chewed, courtesy of a Mimic.

The experienced soldiers around know:  Other than a one in a thousand, Orcs do not “reform”.  Capture them, and they will stay bitter, hateful captives for the rest of their lives, and they will seize any opportunity to harm their captors or escape.  Heal them, and they will not be grateful.  Other than a few Orcs of special skills or other quality, there are none that the Hun lords will have any great interest in ransoming.

Although… Anakri notes that they do have quite a few.  For a lone Orc or ten, no Hun lord would ever make any concession.  But there are six score taken alive.  That is the equal to the entire force of a minor clan leader.  For this, would a Hun make some bargain?

Even if the answer is no, the Elf counsels against executing them.

”To be moral when it is in your favor to be moral, that is an easy choice,” she says.  “To be moral when it is the difficult choice, that’s the test the gods look for.  Even if they say there is nothing to be gained from it, we should be merciful.  We should hold them, and see if there is some deal we can make for them.”

* * * * * * *

        The Dwarven Patre finally wakes and soon finds himself sitting idley at the tailgate of
his supply wagon with a spicketed keg at his side and a full mug of spirits in his hand.  He
watches his fellow Dwarven Legionaires running hither, thither, and yon fulfilling their
assigned duties within their encampment.

        His pain wracked body requires rest and immediate relief, so with this in mind Arctos
has taken it upon himself to self prescribe a continuous consumption of spirits to this end.
The Patre's Agnon remains balanced twixt his legs beings that tricksy orcs or Infernal abom-
inations could still be running amuck within the area . . . and that it was better to be safe
than sorry . . . just in case!

        Patre Artos looks to the ether, raises his mug on high, and screams boldly in a drunken
prayer to the gods above . . .

        "Mine Great God Mars I hope that I hath pleased thee by mine acts during the
Battle most sacred against art Infernal Adversaries, and that I hath now earned thy favor and
pleased thee mightily!  Smile upon thy servant and the fine Dwarven Legionaires wot fought at
mine side.  I ask that those fallen Dwarven Legionaires be given a seat at thy table as
deserving brave warriors should!

         I hath run the gauntlet O' exploding Infernal demons several times now, and its
quite enough to last a lifetime!  Whence can thy servant and mine fellow Dwarves O' the Legion
return to art Dwarven Homeland . . . to art loved ones?  I miss mine wife Octavena and mine
son Augustus dearly.  Praises to the Dwaven gods O' goodness for having given us their blessings
and a Mighty Victory o'er art vile adversaries.  Huzzah Mars, huzzah Mars, huzzah Mars and the
gods o' goodness!!!"

        Arctos raises his mug to the heavens to toast his prayer and completely drinks the contents of his full mug.

        Passerbys notice that Arctos looks less than appealing at the moment, as he's currently
adorned in only a breechclout and a warhelm.  Bandages have been applied haphazardly to numerous
wounds and all of his unprotected flesh bears the marks of having been burned.  Some of his beard,
exposed hair, and eyebrows have been burned away as well . . . from the Infernal explosion that
he's managed to unbelievably survive.

        The Patre's raven hued orbs continually flit about in order to ensure that there indeed
isn't any foes lurking near by or sneaking up on him unawares . . .

        Besides, he didn't want to return to Octavena with any of his body parts missing!
This message was last edited by the player at 05:29, Mon 18 Feb 2013.

On the same day as the battle Cirostis takes council with Dunduin, he would invite Arctos as well, but it seems clear the Patre is taken to his libations.

He explains what happened briefly, the barges, the contingent of Orcs left behind on the river at Celtanc, the message he sent to the men of Trevernorum to deal with them for their own safety.

Likely as not they did not destroy the barges; you can't trust a man to save his own life if it wasn't his idea; and the survivors here will be heading back that way - They'll have numbers from those in Celtanc and the barges. They can still cause chaos and use the barges to do more damage, and there is another thing: There are some elvin captives back in Mogontiacum, they are being tortured regularly. It would be easier to rescue them if all these soldiers don't get there first.

I think, with all haste a contingent should be put together to sink the barges, and another to get back to Mogontiacum to help the elves there, and liberate the now undefended town.

Also we need you to talk to their royalty, I met the Marquis but that isn't the final deal and I did not make the best impression. We have done what was needed, we should be getting their quid pro quo and heading back to save our own cities from hell.

Cirostis is Frank and Earnest with Dunduin, but mostly he's just a Dwarf.

It would be the same day that he shares what he's found with Dunduin, and (if he is not too drunk) Arctos.


When they start talking about being moral and saving the Orcs he holds back from saying anything more than The fight's not over yet...

But the fact is, saving these things is just not practical. They want to die in battle, and who is going to nursemaid them all the way back, or worse how the hell will they move that bleeding Ogre, he will certainly not give up one of the Artilliary waggons, or the equipment .... well, he chuckles to himself, maybe he would let them ride with the mimics. That last brings a smile to the Dwarf, but he lets his senior do the talking.

The next morning Cirostis will discuss going with Ilsyan Greenstag depending on what Dunduin has recomended and what the owls bring as news. Are the Orcs at Celtanc and their barges still there? Is anyone going to destroy them and prevent a retreat? Is there a counterattack underway? He is actually expecting all that to be done by others and that he will be waiting for the results of Dunduin's parlay with Elvish leaders, but Cirostis is flexible.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:10, Mon 18 Feb 2013.

Heolstor slipped the two blades under his belt loop beside Brand. The shield he carried in his left hand by its handle - he would examine them later, for now there was work to be done. The Saxon made his way up the bank of the Celibus and into his fortress. The slope up to its pallisade was more uneven than it had been a day before. It'd been torn and ripped underfoot by the invading Hunnic army. He returned the salute of a joyous young soldier as his feet carried him upward. His arm felt too tired to do the movement justice, and he'd been caught off-guard to boot. Hopefully the youth hadn't noticed.

That alone was a happy moment. Heolstor felt himself smile, despite the grim remnants of battle all around him. That boy had survived, along with many others who had sworn themselves to him when this began. One more boy that would return home to a peace well-deserved.

What came next, Heolstor was not sure. He had no intention at the moment to march deep into the enemy's heart. Strang lacked the numbers for it. They had won a victory here, to be sure... But they had been on the defensive. They had been prepared. Things he could not count on balancing out superior Hunnic numbers were he to press past the boundaries of the Ardennes. This and more he thought on as he made the walk between the pallisades to the interior of his fortress.

A fortress he had never named, he now realized. Heolstor supposed time would see to that if left to its own devices though.

There it was that he spotted Anakri, Cirostis and Dunduin in the midst of discussion. "Sergeant Cirostis, I saw you on the battlefield. That axe! Well thrown." Pwyll was absent from Heolstor's company - though that was not wholly suspicious. The crow seemed to come and go as he pleased.

"You'll have to appraise me on our situation. It seems we have a few elven guests to our East that it might behoove me and Dunduin to treat with." Heolstor suggested. "And then there is the question... What comes next?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:51, Mon 18 Feb 2013.

         Realizing through his inebriated haze that he should now report to Dunduin, Arctos
whinces as he re-dons his bloodied raiments, armor, and accoutraments.  The Dwarven Patre,
using his agon to keep himself stable, manages to stagger over to the Centurions Command Tent
in spite of his numerous bandaged wounds, burned beard, brows, and hair.

         Once there, the Dwarven Patre approaches his commander, smacks his clenched fist to
his chest, whinces in pain, and addresses him boldly and forthrightly . . .

         "Patre Scopulus reportin ser!  Urrrp!

          I jus wontet to let ye know that l'e be a recooperatin as soon as I can ser.
Whence shalt we approach Anakri to ask the Elves bout their support n' returnin to the
Dwarven Kingdom wi us in order to return the favor we hath extendet to um?

          We hath carried out art High Kings will and won the Ardennes back for the Elves
as commanded.  Surely art Lord didst naught expect us to enter the Hun Lands, as it twern't
art orders at all!  Our orders dids't naught include continuin the fight to aide the
'Too Talls' as well.  We well know they'd never fight fore art lands like we didst for
theirs.  They offer us nothing more than a fight, and we couldst easily manage that in art
very own Kingdom fighting art own Infernal adversaries!

          Doth ye naught agree mine Commander?  The longer we art away from the Dwarven
lands, the stronger Masiphal becomes.  Wot O' art peoples O' Vipiacus, they need to
be saved and redeemed.  The Infernal affliction must be dealt with r'e art Dwarven kind wilst
be forever ruined.  I wishes it naught to ev'r become a horrid n' vile Dueregar!

          Most importantly, whence shalt I be back in the arms O' mine Octovena?
It hath bein far too long that we hath bein absent ser!!!"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:01, Mon 18 Feb 2013.

Callidus thanks Texxor for the cape and looks at the battlefield towards where he shifted to see if he can get a look at who or what happens to have his armor and weapons.

It's unlikely the fleeing orcs would have taken them, but you can never be too careful. They were gifts given to him by both the dwarves and the elves, so he made sure that he found them.. and his armor of course.

He see's if he can find an elvish magic user, perhaps Anakri or one of her kin, and seeks their assistance in finding his lost possessions.

Haakon sought out Tawna among the bodies and sighed as he found her.  "Perhaps we can go home now.  I have a shop in Besontio that I could sell or rent out or something, then we could go lo Lucimburic and set up a school for young weasels... but only if we're safe.  I can see the strings of this group of Orcs cut, but this demon was not the Emperor.  What do you think.  Do we settle down in this lull?"

If Heolstor was at all bothered by a besotted Arctos, he gave no sign of it. The Saxon stood rigid as always - like the trunk of an old maple, unbending and straight-backed. He was dirty still from battle. Strang hadn't had a chance yet to, nor did he care to, switch into new clothing or wash the old... So he bore proudly his stains of blood, some his own and some not, and the muddy clay of the Albach.

"Your biggoted second makes one point. You and yours have given much; noone has any right to ask you for more." Heolstor agreed, his voice calm and rational even as the drunken priest came into his presence and insulted him. "I know not where my path leads from here. We will see, I suppose. It may depend on what the elves of the Ardennes have to say. Lingones and Tullum lay too close to Hunnic lands for me to simply leave the fight to them, unfortunately. Even if it were not so, there are many yet in chains."

"It's hard now to ignore that. After what we saw at Tullum."

"It is tempting, if you are headed back to your own lands, to ride with you... But I do not know if I can choose that path, though I'd like to. How far it is appropriate for me to rove - when my people are at war, is hard to say. Though, I suspect it is not as far as I'd like. If I was back before the end of Winter... Maybe." Heolstor looked thoughtful but not overly hopeful. It was obvious the Saxon had not yet dismissed the idea - perhaps he was just looking for an excuse to justify further wanderings.

"We are on the Hunnic Emperor's mind in some small way, I suspect." Heolstor glanced behind him, olive eyes searching for eavesdroppers that ought not be present. Seeing none he continued; his voice bearing the weight of somber and relentless reality. "That is not the best place for us to find ourselves. This is not an age for sitting the sidelines though. This war belongs to even those who refuse to fight it, and I do not regret agreeing to march North to assist you and Anakri. Better to be the architect of one's own fate than to let others build it for you."

"I do not suspect this is farewell quite yet, so I will not say goodbye. Find me when you are done here battle brother - I would like it if we rode out together to meet with the elves together."

"By your leave, Centurion." Heolstor leveled a curt salute in Dunduin's direction, holding his fist to his chest and bowing deeply, taking the submissive's role out of respect for the dwarf's contributions. He paused there, uncut black hair falling from his shoulders to mask his face in part. Then, he turned to leave, footfalls soft on the earthen floor of Dunduin's tent.

He paused, face considerate, before he looked to Arctos. "Before you call my entire race cowards for not agreeing to a request you never asked of us - ask it. For a priest, and an apparent instrument of the gods, you have a lesson or two left to learn about righteousness."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:33, Tue 19 Feb 2013.

Brannoc repelled exhaustion and moved among the small band of elves treating wounded and the dying as well as he could. He was no healer but he knew basics of treating injuries and wounds of war. He made a small camp fire and asked one of the elves to boil water for herbal liniments. He and his band would stay here on the hill, next to the broken ballistaes, until word arrived what to do next.

Eventually, when he had done what he could, he sat down next to Adesse and surveyed the battlefield of destruction before them.

          The Dwarven Patre's raven hued orbs look directly into the eyes of Heleostar as he
begins to clarify his words as to their exact meaning and the whys and wherefores for his
current behavior and obvious intent . . .

          "Twistet mine worts ya hath ser Heleostar, as many a tuthers hath done n' the past
whar mine tongue twas concernt.  Nev'r didst I say anythin bout thy 'Too Talls' ev'r bein
craven at tall, as Dwarves O' the Legion doth na fight alongside r'e place themselves
in league wi the company O' cowards!  Truth O' the matter tis that art 'Divine Revelations' nev'r included humans n' givin aide to art Dwarven Kingdom nor didst we consder thy help n' art plans
for this reason.

          However from mine past experiences many a 'Too Talls' hath taken advantage O' us
Dwarves to serve solely their ends, then snubbed us to boot to art chagrin.  N' the end deemin
us unfairly greedy without cause, whence it twas quite clear that it twas really the tuther way
around, n' as plain as the light O' day itself.

          Twas the greed O' a 'Too Talls' Merchant House wot inevitably facilitatet the Gothes
placement O' the Infernal Monkey Demons n'to the Court O' mine Lord O' Vipiacus, n'
consequently led to his inevitable downfall . . . hastening the cursed plague pon mine very
own Clan and City, n' its being taken o'er by Infernal Forces.  Yea most verily mine opinion O'
thy folk tis tempered with a host O' bad experiences to say the least, n' the taint pon mine
soul doth na help mine biases tither.

          I apologize for any misunderstandings about thee r'e thy forces, and I freely admit
that thee art na the only Noble wot thinks the lesser O' mineself for mine blunt tongue.  I must
na taint mine Kings intent tither, as mine views art na his ser, as mine King tis naught O' mine
home Vipiacus . . . and na all O' Vipiacus mayst see things the way I do . . . as they hath
naught seen n' heard the thins wot I hath tither.  I hath lived through and seen that which
wouldst make tuthers worst nightmares pale!  The Dwarven Kingdom doth naught expects thee to leave
thy fight gainst thy Hunnish foes, nor leave thy borders exposed to any Infernal minions.

          Art God's designs o'er wot hath been revealed to me n'volved the savin of the Elves
O' the Ardennes, and then n'listin their aide in liberatin art Dwarven Lands as a returnt
favor concernin the downfall O' Mastiphal himself, n' na thy folk.  That tis
unless the Gods hath naught revealed all O' their plans to us.

          Art Kings Commants twere most clear, n' too tarry o'erly long n' this forest couldst
mean the complete loss O' art Dwarven Kingdom to the Infernal Lords O' the Dark Abyss.  Such a
loss wouldst na bode well for the tuther good alligned Kingdoms O' the World, n'cludin thy
Lands . . . as thy worries then wouldst na just encompass the Huns but the Gothes as well!"
   

         The dour Dwarf finds his anger over being misunderstood has drained him and overtaxed
him a bit and soon finds himself sitting upon a nearby bench as he continues to speak.

         "Excuse me for sittin n' thy presence, but my Infernal wounts art na healed as yet,
n' I weary from um.  Ser healin spells alone doth naught heal such infernal wounds
completely, as time n' rest art called for seech vile injuries."

This message was last edited by the player at 01:24, Tue 19 Feb 2013.

<slight back track in time here>

Dunduin speaks with Heolstor:
A tired, weary, battered and blood covered Dunduin makes his way to the leaders where he finds Heolstor, leader of the tri-army. There was a lot he'd like to say but both had, had a long hard day so he kept it short and simple. "He removed his gauntlet and helmet and extended his hand to meet Heolstor's in a firm grip. You led us to victory again today lord Heolstor. You've certainly earned honor and respect both among myself and the dwarven community. I will personally make sure your deeds are heard by our king. It's been an honor to serve under your command." Dunduin meant every word.

He returns Heolstor's bow with one of his own "Your welcome to dwarf lands anytime and if you need a strong arm you may send message to any major dwarven city and it will find me. Quickest would probably be notifying a temple of Vulcan." He watches Heolstor leave a brief moment and then turns to engage Anakri in conversation.

---

"Anakri, I am grateful for the opportunity to serve both the humans and elves. It is a great boon that we have won the day. However, I must humble myself and ask the elves for assistance." He gets down on one knee "Brute force is not the answer to free the dwarves from the Demons rule. If you can find it in your heart to help us, as you have compassion for the orc prisoners you will have my endless thanks."

---

Dunduin congratulates Cirostis on a job well done. "Outstanding work Cirostis. Your welcome to stay with us but it seems like you may have an eye for adventure. I hope our paths cross again. Thank you for the information. I'm not certain yet what our next move will be but hopefully soon we'll head back home to deal with our own demon threat." He gives him a hearty and meaningful dwarven clasp.

---

Dunduin frowns at Arctos' remarks. He's not sure why he holds onto his bitterness and applies his experience with one person to another. It not only makes himself look bad but the dwarves as a whole. But, he was a hero this day so Dunduin lets him have his say without interruption. It wasn't easy but alas he was determined to set a better example of dwarvenkind through his own actions. He hoped it would be enough.

---

Given the opportuntiy Dunduin will personally thank each of the hero's involved in the battle. Arctos, Brannoc, Calatin, Cirostis, Demus, Haakon, Heolstor, Petra, and any others.


OOC: I regret if I missed anybody it wasn't intentional.

EDIT: server->serve< & color speech
This message was last edited by the player at 21:05, Tue 19 Feb 2013.

There was another who slipped in while no one was looking.

Petra Faust looked well, but her expression was a neutral one.  Within her were a mix of some feelings --  relief, gratitude, a certain amount of grief chief amongst them.  In spite of the victory, it would not have been accurate to say she was happy.  Which had to do with, yet again, the price of that victory.  She had to wonder where that sat with her as a priestess of Aesir and Vanir. Her religion, her heritage, prized valor in combat, and the opportunities to exhibit it.  Enough so that it was indivisible from the rest of the faith and its philosophy.  A state of perpetual, or near-perpetual peace was not even entertained as a notion, let alone prayed for.

And part of her accepted and endorsed that as simply the woof and warp of the mortal world. The Heavens too, for that matter. At least, the Heavens where resided her Gods.

She supposed that, there was Petra the priestess, and Petra the woman.  And that concurrence betwixt the two couldn't always be total. But, that there were plenty points of union in the things which most mattered.  Her heart might feel sadness over the loss and pain this battle had wrought.  Yet, they had done what was truly necessary, and not more. As she had prayed and striven for.  And that was the defining mark of conscience that made them vastly different from those they fought.

Well, enough of such thoughts. Philosophizing was for the sages, wizards, and those Roman clerics. She walked to where her Dwarven allies stood.

"Well, if this in fact is goodbye for now, you two in particular I don't want to miss.  I count my association with your people as one of the brightest points of this conflict. For the comraderie, inspiration, singing, and the expert hair styling.  I will miss you." She leaned down to embrace both Dunduin and then Cirostis.

"But rest assured I will see you again.  I will miss the singing too much. And of course my hair will need a touch up. Flying so fast at great altitude, under the sun, is murder upon the tresses."  Petra winked and waved to the pair of Dwarves, and then departed in Heolstor's wake.

She intercepted the sorcerous Saxon lord as he walked. Physically intecepted him. She said nothing whatever --  but lightly impacted him, and flung her arms fully about him -- almost as if wishing to be assured that he was no phantom.  After a moment, she stood on her very tip toes -- she had to to reach -- and kissed his neck. She smiled at him after.

"Well met, once again, Heolstor Strang. I too go to see Anakri. And then would learn what you need next from we who follow you." 

OOC- Er, we seem to have a discrepancy on where Anakri is --  Heolstor's post implies elsewhere, and Dunduin's says she's here.  It doesn't matter to me, particularly, but pointing out to avoid any impliance of a clone. Or perhaps an evil twin. 
This message was last edited by the player at 23:01, Mon 18 Feb 2013.

Cirostis does not wince at being called Sergeant, for he had been a Decadon and a training instructor before his promotion as Dunduin's second. He nods to the kind words from Lord Heolstor.

Aye sir, I thought I was going to fail for sure but landed a solid on my return, these waraxes are very fine weapons. I'm just glad I was far enough away to not take the beating our hero the good Patre suffered. Don't mind his speach, while many among us are better at deeds than words there are some extreme examples. By the way, Ill be looking to lighten my load for the return home, I have one mastercrafted Dwarven Waraxe and some exceptional war saddles, if any of your officers care to trade I would be glad to consider it ...

Now I must say I was impressed by that charge, like a moving mountain you and those running after appeared from my point of view, if I were an Orc I would need some clean pants!

They chat a few minutes then Cirostis takes on a thoughtful look, and he says to Heolstor, Dunduin and the elves:

What about this method of kindness and mercy to the wounded.
1) take possession of their barges and destroy all but a few.
2) fill up the barges with the wounded enemy.
3) fill the remaining barges with weapons from the field that the warriors do t wish to keep.
4) have a contingent of elves take these barges to Mogontiacum. They can free their brethren (for there are elves being held there and tortured in prison barges) anyway just leave all the barges to the people
- the people will decide how to care for the wounded and what to do with the weapons.

How's that for mercy? I personally like it better than begging a Hun to trade something over the winter.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:57, Mon 18 Feb 2013.

Heolstor remained at the edge of Dunduin's tent as Arctos explained his meaning. He stood patiently - though he listened he did not analyze, did not search for hidden meaning. If there was one thing to be said for Arctos, it was that he did not lie. He did not bend the truth round his finger. Heolstor's eyes watched. His ears listened.

When Arctos had finished, Strang nodded satisfactorily. "I see. I am glad to know that me and mine have proved the exception to the rule." With a smile, he extended a hand to the priest and grasped Arctos' palm firmly. "This day is a victory; in no small part because of you, find whatever rest you need Arctos Demonbane. Whatever you think of Too-Talls, they will think well of you. I certainly do, Patre."

Then Heolstor shook Dunduin's hand too before he pulled the Centurion in to clap the dwarf on the back. "The honor was mine. If ever you need my swordarm, you have only ask." Then he released Dunduin and began to make good on his intention to leave. "No more goodbyes! You will have to come see me again before you depart. To share a drink and talk of battles won." Strang laughed. A free laugh, unchained by the weight of coming battles and dark days ahead. For now: there were none left to cloud the horizon.

Then Petra arrived - he was forced to agree with her about the dwarven chorus. "I cannot sing, but there will have to be singing. So you cannot leave yet." Heolstor pointed out. "Cirostis, I will mention your offer to my officers. You would do well to show your saddles to my cavalrymen. They may be interested."

"For now - let the Hunnic prisoners live. Anakri is right. What we will do with them, I do not know, but we will not slaughter them like chattel."

Then Heolstor began his walk about the fortress. He would speak to his lieutenants and then Anakri, to see what remained yet to be done. There were names of the fallen yet to record, weapons and armor to collect and store for the journey home, and elven nobility to - wait, but there was Petra. She set herself onto his path and ambushed him, wrapping her arms about the startled warlord.

He felt the warmth of her arms around his chest, the soft brush of her lips on his neck, and at once it was all forgotten. Heolstor's arms enclosed Petra's back, taut like iron as they refused to release her. He held her close - sheltering the Frisian between his shoulders. The ring she'd given him, feathers and all, hung intact beside her on his chest. "Forget Anakri. Just this, for a moment." Heolstor breathed, voice heavy with relief and regret both. Relief that she was here, whole, and in his arms. Regret that he knew it could not last.

"You burned bright on the field. I saw the Huns all around you." He did not mention that it had been that sight that brought him rushing down from his fortress. Whatever skalds would say of that day: that there was a wavering in the enemy line, a chance to exploit their weakness, he doubted they would mention that true motivator. Strange that something so small as a heart could change the course of a battle.

Regarding what to do with the prisoners Dunduin leaves the decision to Anakri and Heolstor but offers his input. "It seems like there are needs that require physical work. Rebuilding of structures, farming, moving supplies, and the like. Perhaps the prisoners could be used to assist in this work. Maybe even work towards earning their freedom if the Huns don't wish to negotiate for their release. I'd imagine the humans could probably make the most use of them since they enjoy building structures. Lumbering and mining are also two more labor intensive tasks suitable for them. Do what you feel is best."