Magnus trudged up the hill, significantly lighter than he would have been in his armor and equipment, but a larger specimen none the less. As he kicked up clods of earth, he stopped when he felt as much as heard the riders behind him, and turned to buy the archers time.

He heard Giles, and echoed his sentiments. "Kill the horses and run!" he encouraged the man, and then dug in his feet with his shield presented.

The two horsemen crash forward, their steeds churning the earth as they climb, their wide-bladed sabers flashing over their head as they shout encouragement to the men behind them.

Giles takes a sideways step behind Edenburg, keeping his eyes on the two foes, his finger flicking the jagged-edged disk that he had found in the harpy cave.  Giles flings the weapon as the horses approach, though he misses the mark, the chakram flying wide to the right.

Edenburg too attempts to get the first hit in, putting his arrow to the string and pulling backwards, releasing it as soon as the fletchings have touched his cheek.  Though he had not even a moment to aim, the bolt flies true, just wide of the horses chest, burying shaft deep into the rider's leg.

The man screams, though his saber is already cutting downwards in a swing!  Giles throws himself out of the way onto his chest, his sword barely gripped in his hand before he had to jump away.  Edenburg however, swivels his body masterfully, the rider compensating overmuch, his body leaning too far out to make the hit.  Unbalanced, the man careens past Edenburg and Giles, pulling at the reigns feverishly to reright himself in the saddle as his horse begins to turn.

The other rider charges low as well, this one just to the right of the others, his sword cutting a low arc that cuts a wide slash through the chest armor of one of the scouts, sending him falling down to his back, blood already churning from the wound.

Magnus takes a tentative step towards the top of the hill, his mace held ready in his hands and his shield propped up by his forearm, though the riders pass by out of range of his weapon.  Behind him, the closest archers scramble back up to the top of the hill, some of them without even an arrow left in their quiver.  "El tee's in trouble!"  One of the men shouts, pulling a small axe from his belt.

OOC:  To answer your question, yes Giles, there was consideration to your less sleep required advantage, however, you failed the roll so badly that you still took significant fatigue.  The real rules would penalize you the same after a missed sleep cycle regardless of how much sleep was required, but for me it's just easier to go for a roll rather than keep track of the time so precisely.

I had a little trouble interpreting each of your instructions this time around.  Giles, since you never declared what you had in what hand, I opted to put the chakram in your right hand so you could actually throw it on turn one.  Your roll missed due to the distance modifier, and then you drew your sword on turn two (you have neither ambidexterity nor fast draw so both holding it with your left hand and pulling it quickly weren't realistic options).  Your roll of dodge+3, per my post had to be diving (you can't retreat from an attack who is passing at 12 hexes per second).  There is no "rolling" dodge unless you are already laying down.  You are currently prone, with your chest in the hex shown and your sword in your right hand.

Magnus, you said you wanted to take a step towards the fort, which would be northwest.  The rest of the archers had been retreating down the NNE side of the hill due to the rougher and steeper terrain (harder for the horses to follow).  I had you take a step southwest, towards the fight, which is the same direction everyone else is going.  The two horsemen are facing south or southeast and are turning their mounts as the mounted troops are approaching from the bottom left.

1 is the injured scout who is supine and stunned.  2 is the injured horseman who has an arrow protruding from his right leg and is off balance.

Another two turns of action please.

"Shoot the cavalry! he repeated as he stood back into position and re-readied his sword. He then took a moment to glance around and grab his fallen comrade dragging him as best he could with one arm towards Magnus and the others ( OOC: Essentially towards Magnus and the main body), while grabbing the man next to him. "Let's go here!". He then turned to face the oncoming force of infantry, ready to defend any attack at all costs.

OOC: Full turn to run to magnus, with the guy next to hime
then full turn all out defence (double)

That's fair, I had assumed the following:
 - He had the chakram in his off-hand as he'd indicated in earlier post (and even due to his fighting so far) that his sword was held in the main hand. But it's not an issue really, he can draw it next time.

 - The rolling dive, essentially just meant 'diving dodge'. He was attempting to roll, so that next turn he could standback up too.

 - Re: Fatigue, fair enough!


EDITED: do not leave the man behind

Sorry for the confusion Magnus!
This message was last edited by the player at 11:50, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Magnus immediately stepped in to help once he realized that Giles was going to attempt to rescue the wounded man. He let his mace dangle from it's tether as he too lent a large hand, and taking up the opposite should he pulled with all he had in order to try and get the isolated man out of the path of the circling Calvary and the pursuing infantry.

OOC: Edited
This message was last edited by the player at 21:33, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Still concerned about the horsemen, Giles shouts out his commands as he scrabbles back up to his knees with his sword in hand.  Though he initially intends to remove his fallen comrade, he finds that the charging infantry are far too close for him to turn his back!

Magnus, seeing Giles's intent, charges towards the fallen man even as the closest rider is in a turn to double back.  Increasing his speed, his hooves cleaving up giant clumps of the uneven terrain, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.  Though as Magnus comes near the man, his shoulders thrust forward, his hand reaching out to grip about the man's collar, he wonders if the effort is too late.

The close horseman rears up on hind legs before the fore-hooves come crashing down, landing solidly on the scout's leather armor.  Magnus can clearly hear the cracking of ribs, and the blood from the laceration smears all across the man's chest as the man's eyes balloon, his body rigid in shock.  The small and wiry horse whinnies heatedly as it repositions its hooves back onto solid ground.  With effort, Magnus begins to heave the man backward.  Beside him, one of the archers runs full tilt at the horseman, swiping his hatchet in an unbalanced and ineffective attack.

[Language unknown: "Enus ni urssma!"]  The horseman shrieks at the top of his lungs.

A spear lances towards Giles, though luckily the blow is wide, and he manages to sway to the side of it as he twists his way back to his feet.  The Wazifi soldier in front of him is clad in leathers, his chest heaving with massive breaths as he slows his pace to start the battle.  His face is red and lathered with sweat from his climb, though his eyes are hardened with determination.  The others charge forward too, and beside him, Edenburg dodges his own spear as he pulls his axe from his belt and slashes wildly at the approaching column, hitting nothing but air.

OOC:  Giles, you put a lot of action in your post that would take you well over the two seconds.  So I cropped it down to what I think your intent was:  Turn 1, move to kneeling, turn 2, move to standing.  You have your sword ready in your right hand.  1 has sustained another serious wound to the chest, though he still appears to be conscious (but unresponsive).  Magnus has let his mace drop to its strap and has grappled the man's collar from a crouch.  You still have your shield ready in your left hand.  You can move backwards, dragging him at a rate of 1 hex per turn.  2 (still injured with an arrow in his leg) is in the process of turning his horse and is facing the northwest.  Note that 3 is Edenburg, who has a readied axe.  The Wazifi Troops are all equipped with spears in a one handed grip and shields in their off hands while the horsemen have a sabre in one hand and the reigns in the other.

2 more seconds worth of action.

Giles saw the oncoming spearman and instinctively cast a glance behind him so he could see where the rest of his allies were. Giles wouldn't leave Edenburg, they'd been through a lot together and so he pressed the attack, stepping directly forward while swinging his sword to parry the spear, to get on the inside, before swinging his sword (OOC: Am I correct in thinking +3 parry for retreating, +2 for sidestepping into a side hex, and +1 for moving towards (i.e. slipping))?

"I'm with you Edenburg!" he called out to let the man know he was at his side, while swinging the sword down on the Wazifi infront, in quick succession.



OOC: Oops, sorry, I forgot that getting to feet was 2 turns.

1) IF i'm 1 hex away, that means good sword range but bad spear range right? 1 vs 2 range? Giles will 'stay' at range 1, he's trying to stay inside the spear, but will stay at optimal range for his sword, without risking getting shield bashed.

Action 1:
 - Range 1
 - Chop at the spear
 - Any reactionary parry

Action 2:
  - Stay range 1
  - swing broadsword (random location) at the man
  - any reactionary parry (retreating)

Rolls:
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 12 using 3d6.  random location.
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 9 using 3d6.  attack 2.
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 13 using 3d6.  parry 2.
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 6 using 3d6.  attack 1.
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 10 using 3d6.  parry 1

This message was last edited by the player at 21:08, Mon 13 Apr 2020.

Magnus had never actually gored anybody. Thankfully it was not something that had ever come up, but the horns on his head were not just for show. If his teenage antics around the campfire with his father were any indication, their skulls were pretty thick. But in all the scraps he had ever been in he had only used them once, on a skeleton of all things, which had not turned out very well.

The truth was he was more than a little scared of damaging the things. He took a certain amount of pride in them, that they were clean, unmarred, and symmetrical. Taking a blow to them, or chipping them had been a concern of his for some time, but as he watched the horse trample the young legionary before him, all that sort of went out the window.

A "bum rush" is about as simple a move as there is. Even drunken brawlers could pull it off three sheets to the wind. You put your head down to protect your face and eyes, and you charge. But when Magnus did it, he had about a foot of sharp horn sticking out the front and the few inches of bone that it was anchored in to back it up.

The horse was a big, soft target. And while he might be exposing himself to the rider a bit, he was just about done with getting chased around in circles by the nimble little steeds.

He bellowed, and he charged, and he hope to God that he hit more than air or a sword to the top of his head.

Giles braces as the full weight of the spear troops reach the summit, their shields are brandished forward as their weapons slash, thrusting at Giles as he swipes his sword to swat one away while sidestepping another thrust.  He cuts out with his own weapon, trying to damage the man's spear, though the man takes the sword off the rim of his shield, swatting the blow aside without harm.

Edenburg too neatly dodges away from the savage thrusts, his own blow likewise taken across the face of one of the shields.

Twang!

An arrow flies from behind, lodging a horse's lower leg, sending the animal tumbling forward, the lame-legged rider caught in the stirrup as he tumbles forward, caught beneath the horse as it crashes to the ground!

Gripping the fallen man by the collar, Magnus feels him go limp in his hand, his eyes slipping closed.  The second horseman now right in front of him, swinging a saber high at his shoulder, Magnus knows there is no good way to pull him back without dealing with the enemy at hand.  Putting his shield high, and batting the saber away, Magnus thrusts forwards and up with his legs, tilting his head upwards to tear at the supple flesh around the horses abdomen...

Though Magnus had always known the horns were a natural weapon of his people, he had always hesitated to use them.  Some fear perhaps of damaging himself, or worse, losing himself in their simple savagery.  He had never really seen them used to effect, that is anyway, until this very moment.

His head slightly turned, one of Magnus's horns rends upwards into the soft flesh of the horse's belly, tearing at the skin as Magnus drives his legs and head farther.  The horse shrieks, rearing up on hind legs in panic and pulling Magnus up to a full stand as blood pours down down his face and neck, matting the fur around his ears and tricking down the top of his muzzle like thick, red tears.

Magnus can feel the pressure building up behind his eyes, the thin red film of adrenalin rage coloring his vision, surging for release.  In his back ribs, he feels the pinch of a spear slicking across his side and tearing at his skin...  Undoubtedly one of the spearmen looking for an easy shot.  Magnus grips his mace tighter, his pulse throbbing in his fst, fighting to stay in control.

The horse, still high on back legs, topples over backwards, the rider shoving himself off at the last moment and landing in a roll a few feet behind.  The horse crashes down to the side, shockingly missing both of the men now sprawled across the ground.  Another of the archers swats his axe at the fallen rider, thought he man rolls, barely missing the attack and scrambles to a single knee, his saber still in hand.

"How about a fucking hand!"  Edenburg shouts at the top of his lungs, swatting his axe ineffectively off the face of another shield even as he leaps back, a spear narrowly missing the meat of his chest.  But even as he dodges one, another one of the savage weapons strikes true right in the meat of his thigh!  Edenburg screams and crashes to the ground, flat on his back and exposed to attack!  Another of the scouts charges ahead, his attack too smashed off the face of a shield, though the front is still outmanned and ill equipped for the pitched fight!  Giles leaps back to evade an attack of his own, though he misses parrying another off his sword, taking the tip of the spear off the edge of his rips, barely scraping the skin and brining forth a sting of pain!

OOC:  A lot happened those two turns - the first scout (the one injured that Magnus had grabbed) has passed out and is no longer in the fight.  Wazifi troops 1/2 are attacking Edenburg, with 3/4 attacking Giles, and 5 having taken a potshot at Magnus from behind.  6 is dismounted and on hands and knees at the moment.  Both horses have fallen, and though they aren't likely to intentionally attack, they are panicked and thrashing about.  Edenburg (7) is supine and horribly exposed to another attack.  As a note, some of the archers are still loading/aiming arrows and others have been impeded by the terrain.  I'm not intentionally keeping the fight against you guys.

2 more turns of action

For a moment everything was chaos. Horses shrieking, men shouting, arrows, hooves and bodies flying. Somewhere amid it all he realized the blood was dripping in a trickle from his horn, and he felt his vision start to close in from the sides, his gut burned and his teeth chattered...but no, no he had to keep it together.

If he ran head first into a spear wall, there would be little chance that he would live longer than the next few minutes.

"Giles!" Magnus bellowed as he retrieved his mace from the tether, and side stepped opposite of the soldier that now stood between them. His tactic was obvious, a miniature version of their long awaited cavalry charge. Magnus would flank, and between the two of them, they might stand some chance. They could not fight on two fronts after all.

OOC: Round 1: Retrieve Mace, Sidestep "West"
     Round 2: If he is willing, work with Giles to flank the soldier between them.
            - If he is now willing, attack with mace at any available target.
     Preferred Defense: Block

Giles was now feeling the effects of tireness, and his arm felt a little stiff. Pressed on all sides and really the only way he could win now was if the archers started landing true. Even though his own force outnumbered the enemy, Giles was right in the thick of it and he felt it viscerally as the adrenaline surged.

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!" he screamed at the man to his left, trying to draw attention while swiping at the man with his sword, he felt that an opening for Magnus might help turn the tide of battle, as the big Minotaur was on the flank of the footmen, it seemed the most logical thing to do.

He didn't turn his back though, facing all the men infront directly and having screamed to draw their attention from Edenburg. "Death to <God>" he roared again, hoping to anger them well enough to make himself the focus of their efforts, and spare Edenburg a sharp point. Oh he missed his shield but he kept chopping anyway.

OOC:
     Round1: Attack "5" (deceptive -2/-1)
     Shout curse

     Round 2: Attack "3" (deceptive -2/-1)
     Preferred Def: Parry

Rolls:
11:19, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 7 using 3d6.  intimidation. // for the warcry


11:18, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 9 using 3d6.  Attack (14) (-2/-1 deceptive attack) (rand loc).
11:18, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 14 using 3d6.  Attack (14) (-2/-1 deceptive attack) (rand loc).
This message was last edited by the player at 10:20, Sun 19 Apr 2020.

It can be said that the Wazifis are a prideful race.  Where Megalans can often sling insults pell mell and expect little more than a good natured brawl, Wazifis instead take an attack of words much the same as that of a deadly weapon.  To defame their god was the surest way to gain all of their furious attention.  Perhaps Giles was ignorant of this point as he threatened the Wazifi diety... or perhaps it was exactly what he was counting on.

Regardless of his taunt, the two spearmen at the far end of the line, too far from Giles to avenge the insult, continue their attack on Edenburg.  The corporal rolls feverishly away, one of the spears missing just shy of his body though another plunges deeply into his side as he rolls!  Edenburg screams, though he manages to put some ground between himself and the fight, and another of the archers leaps over his tumbling form to take his place in the fray!

Thunk!  An arrow suddenly appears in a shield of one of Edenburg's attackers, causing the man to stagger back in surprise!

Meanwhile, on the other side of the fray, Magnus grabs at his mace, readying the weapon as he sidesteps to his left, keeping the spearman on the edge of the line between himself and Giles.  Having to pick between the two, the spearman seems unable to decide, trailing his shield in his left hand back towards Giles while he brandishes his spear with his right, thrusting it out towards Magnus!  The strike is bad though, and Magnus easily knocks the weapon away with his shield.

Zip!  Magnus stares as an arrow materializes in the man's arm, buried through and penetrating out the back side of the man's bicep!  The man shrieks as he drops his spear, and Giles slashes his sword to take advantage of the distraction, slashing a neat tear about the man's left side.  Magnus too, heaves his mace at the disarmed opponent, though his mace crashes hard into the man's shield as the fighter staggers backwards in pain!

But Giles's attention, focused on the far end of the line, neglects his right flank...  [Language unknown: "Leos Wievpl!"]  A fighter shrieks as his spear is thrust forward with wanton rage, burying the lance deep into the back of Giles's shoulder!  Giles's eyes bulge with pain as he stumbles forward, his breath caught in his throat as he feels his back and armor swell with blood!

Ahead of Magnus, spears and axes trade ferocious blows.  Somewhere at the end of the line, another of the Wazifis drops with a shriek.

Madness!

OOC:  Giles's taunt seemed to work a little too well.  He has taken a life threatening injury to the torso and is in danger of passing out at any moment.  Giles, roll vs. HT twice, once labeled Stun and another labeled Conscious.  If you make both rolls, you can act normally next turn, although you are at 1/2 move and dodge and have a -4 shock penalty to any non-defense roll.  If you fail the first, you are stunned and fall backwards, losing your grip on your sword, but are still in the fight.  If you fail the second (or the first by more than 5) you fall unconscious and are out of it.  I thought briefly about about not adding a map this time around, because there is no way either of you would be able to process all the information in the combat as it is, though in the end I decided against it, as it's just too hard to make an informed decision without some sort of geography to base it on.  Magnus at least can see that 1 has fallen over.  5 has a crippled right arm and is obviously feeling the effects of his injuries.  The other three ahead of you seem to still be in some sort of fighting form.  Edenburg (7) has been seriously wounded and has come to a stop a few feet behind the line of combat.

Just one round this time.


This message was last edited by the GM at 17:37, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

What was that? Surely he couldn't have been hit, then he felt it, the surge of pain and then the free flowing of his essential self. "Oh damn..." was on the tip of his tongue, but never quite came out. Giles felt the spear go in, and then felt momentarily confused at the warm and fuzzy feeling he could feel flowing into his full body. It was odd, and kind of comforting before he felt his vision narrow. The sides closed in and in almost three heartbeats the world had disappeared and he went into darkness.




OOC:

Oh well,
18:48, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 16 using 3d6.  HT 2 (Consciousness).
18:48, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 15 using 3d6.  HT 1 (knockback/stun).

Pretty damn terrible rolls.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:53, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

Magnus, with his big eyes mounted more sideways on his broad skull than forwards, caught more of the viscous melee than some of his neighbors. Men hacked at men, they stumbled, they fell, they screamed. Some were a mask of rage, others of fear, and it was almost as if he could smell a faint but horrid charnal house odor of urine, blood and sweat.

Magnus focused on his breath, in, and out, in and out. If he exhausted himself early he would be unable to do most of anything, and he had heard more than one soldier say that strength won duels, but stamina won battles. Magnus was beginning to understand some of the wisdom in that.

All at once his enemy had been wounded, his spear had fallen, Giles had been impaled.

Where's the cavalry? he found himself wondering.

But it was a brief and transient thought. The mace rebounded hard off the Wazifi shield and Magnus sought to take advantage of the distraction by stomping on the soldiers foot. In the chaos he missed by a few inches and swung again to alternate high and low attacks in an effort to keep the enemy off balance.

Reeling from the blow, Giles stumbles forward, his foot pedaling forward to catch his balance, though it never lands properly and the soldier trips, unconscious before his body collapses to the earth, unmoving.

The lines clash, archers heaving their small hatchets as the spearman swat the blows away with their shield, and stab forward with their longer weapons.  At the end of the line, one of the archers steps forward, hacking down at the last disabled spearman in the line, hacking through armor and driving a fountain of blood into the air.

Magnus slams his foot down, trying to disable or distract his foe, though without looking, his hoof falls short.  The man swats his shield forward, his weapon still lying useless on the grass below him, though Magnus meets the blow with his own shield, knocking them together like rams butting heads.  Trying to redirect his blow higher, Magnus swings his mace high, this time managing a glancing blow across the man's shoulder, causing a pained grunt and sending the man spinning backwards in reaction.  The man flails to regain his balance, though the effort seems to fail him, and he falls.  The man's shield arm is sprawled out, leaving his body exposed, his eyes fluttering backwards in his head.

Just ahead, one of the spearmen thrusts out, jabbing the fallen Giles in the leg even as he falls back a step.  The last of the archers leaps over the fallen lieutenant his hatchet smacking off the face of the spearman's shield.

[Language unknown:  "Ertiev!"]  One of the Wazifi's shrieks out from across Magnus's right shoulder, his voice wrought with emotion.

OOC:  I ended up doing two rounds that time, since Giles ended up failing his consciousness roll on the first turn and Magnus gave me two seconds.  Map is posted below.  1 and 5 are unconscious, as is Giles.  13 seems to be taking extended injuries and is likely very close to failing.  The other archers seem to be mostly holding up though.

Magnus was a grunt, at best, and has has been mentioned before was not even a trained Soldier. He was big, and strong, and had his own set of experiences and skills to bring to the table, but military matters were not among them.

But even he possessed the "low cunning" to recognize that if the enemy had to fight on both sides, it was that much easier to get at them

Instinctively, if not completely intentionally, he rounded the right flank of the tiny Wazifi formation and went to work with his mace, pressing down the line as he swung hard at anything that presented itself. He was still quite aware of his own safety, naked and exposed as he was, but he had definitely gone on the offensive in an effort to rescue Giles and the others.

Or to at the very least, buy them time.

More now than ever was his hard won experience now in display. Months of conditioning, and facing the constant dangers of the jungle, ruins and enemy fortifications had sharpened him, and he felt confident even as he was faced with the greater numbers of the enemy.

They could do this, it was not over yet, and the cavalry was coming.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:22, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

Shouting continues on both sides, most of it entirely unintelligible as axes and spears continue to slash and fly in all directions.  A scream staggers the Wazifi at the end of the line, his spear dropping to the ground before he is consumed by the two archers attacking him.

Magnus steps forward, swinging his mace with an enormous heave that catches his new foe completely unawares, crashing through his hip with a thunderous crack! The man's leg buckles as he screams out, though he somehow manages to keep his feet.  In the end it matters little, for Magnus is already swinging again, not even repositioning his mace but instead redirecting his momentum in a backhand swing that shatters the man's spine!  The man drops to the ground, utterly dead.

The last Wazifi in the line throws down his spear, shouting at the top of his lungs as his hands rise in the air... But Magnus's blood is pounding in his ears, his pulse hammering in his hand as he squeezes his mace ever tighter.   He had never really been one to forgive those who had initiated combat with him.

OOC:  No need in a combat map this time.  Roll vs. Bloodlust-2 to accept surrender (as you can't really understand what he's saying, and he still has his shield in hand).  The fight is well and truly won though.  If you fail the bloodlust roll, just roll vs. damage and assume you hit, the last man standing isn't really trying to defend himself.  After your battle rage is sated (role play as appropriate), give me your intentions for the next minute or two.

Men had been swinging sticks at each other from the dawn of time. Long before the secrets of metallurgy had been deciphered, and the first lumps of bog iron had been found in fire pits. Before meteoric iron had been pried from craters and fashioned into jewelry, the stone and the stick ruled the day. It fed men, protected them, and slew them in numbers uncounted.

The miracles of bronze, iron, and carbon gave way to steel. The spear and the sword, and eventually to armor to protect against them. Only then did the humble stick regain prominence, improved, weighed, an old friend refashioned and reintroduced in order to bypass armor and pulp the softer flesh, the brittle bone beneath. The humble mace, omnidirectional and nigh unbreakable was simply the latest in a long and grisly tradition.

Why the elves had fashioned this one, and against what foe was a mystery lost to the ages. Dwarves, Orcs or Men, it had undoubtedly seen violence of every stripe over its remarkably long existence. The blood of the Wazifi but a layer upon a layer, yet another shade of red to stain the unknown metal.

A Wazifi conscript, a Minotaur mercenary and an Elvish mace, all with stories in their own right met for one terrible instant in a retelling of a tale as old as time. Territory, greed, pride, honor, glory, fear and rage.

It would be impossible to remark on everything that drove Magnus onward towards the hapless man, who was no doubt far from home, afraid, having lost friends and wishing to return to his loved ones.

Magnus's concern for the fallen Giles Hind, his other friends and acquaintance's at the fort. Anger at having to risk his life yet again, a quivering fear of death, dismemberment and capture given the chance of physical release. All of these stoked his ire.

The terrible acknowledgement that this man did not get to live through this. He did not get to provoke this trouble, to cause such harm and to survive. There was a cost for such belligerence, and it would be paid in blood.

As the life went out of the eyes of the man before him, his spine shattered, his mind given over to oblivion , Magnus saw the other soldier surrender, he had thrown down his weapon, cried for mercy and raised his hands.

But those big dark eyes, those bared teeth and blood stained horns gave no hint of mercy. One step, then two, and the head of the mace fell squarely on the top of the man's skull.

The eyes blew out of their sockets and blood erupted from his nose and ears as the skull caved in, obliterated by the brute strength and magical energies unleased into it.

If there was any mercy, it was that it was quick.

Magnus did not realize that he was crying, the corners of his eyes dark with tears. He did not realize that he had been wounded, or that the last throws of the battle were playing out in violent spasms all around him.

He started to regain awareness when his foot started hurting. He had tweaked his ankle stomping on the man's rib cage again and again, the fragile little bones crackling and buckling under each heavy blow. He was very tired, and thirsty, and hot.

He stood there, chest heaving, mouth hung open when he remembered that Giles had gone down in the melee. In a frantic hurry Magnus hurdled the dead and dying and rushed to the fallen man to see if there was anything to be done.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:44, Thu 23 Apr 2020.

Reality seems to fade in and out, like a thick fog drifting through Magnus's mind.  One moment, he was still in the fight, his foe threatening death - the next he was standing over a man who had been long dead...  His hoof sore from repeated stomping of the Wazifi man below him who was long dead with a frothing, red pool of blood surging from within his mouth, his eyes fixed on the heavens.

It takes a moment for Magnus to realize exactly where he is.  He turns and finds some of the archers caring for the wounded, though the closest ones are staring at him, pale and open-mouthed.  "Glad you're on our side."  One of the men says, still staring.

It does not seem to be meant strictly in kindness.

Magnus drifts his attention down the hill as the sounds of far off steel on steel reach his ears.  The site is something of a wasteland.  Fragments of canvas tents smolder in the breeze, sending threads of black char skyward.

Far off, Magnus can see the pell-mell flight of men on foot, hurtling toward the river.  In the ruins of the camp, several dozen men on horses, the cavalry that Magnus had been waiting for, fight the remainder of the force, clashing with those too stubborn or too stupid to flee.  It seemed that their plan had worked.  Brashear's strategy, modified slightly with Giles's suggestions had routed the enemy and won the day.

It was the thought of Giles that brought Magnus back to the present.

His head jerks back to the scene on the hill, finding the soldier quickly and rushing to his side, his first aid kit already half out of his satchel as he drops the ancient mace to the earth of the hill.  One of the archers is already there, cutting away his armor at the worst of his injuries, a brutal gash that has pierced through the back of his shoulder blade and likely through the backside of the ribs.  Blood wells up from the wound along with tiny bubbles, a nefarious sign that this wound is well past Magnus's ability to mend.  He attempts anyway, putting a thick layer of bandage on the wound before wrapping it tightly as he watches Giles's pale and motionless face.

OOC:  Magnus, roll vs. First Aid to stop the bleeding, you do get the +2 to your roll for the first aid kit.  If you wish to take the full 30 minutes to treat the wound you can roll for the normal, TL/3 hit recovery as well (1d6-4 I think, but that's from memory).  If you can think of any other options, you are welcome to take them, but Giles is in bad shape.

Magnus was no expert, but he had seen all sorts of wounds from all sorts of implements, and from the color of the blood, to the volume, to Giles ashen features he knew it was bad. It was entirely possible that it was already too late, but he moved frantically none the less. It was not over until it was over.

He had one potion, one precious vial that Finn had not gulped down to hurry along their looting and plundering. He had been saving it for an emergency, and damned if this did not qualify. If there was any sign of a heartbeat, the clear liquid could be dripped in gradually and potentially massaged down his throat.

After that Magnus took a folded up bandage and mashed it into the wound with one palm, the linen soaking up the blood like a sponge instantly until the thing was just a wad of red mush in the span of a few seconds. He just kept piling more linen strips, and he kept pressing, having to alternate hands at times as they got tired or numb.

Rarely he would glance up and around, both for in own safety in the case some wounded Wazifi decided to go out in a last gasp at glory or vengeance, and also for any signs of help. Magnus did not feel that he could move Giles safely, so they were more or less stuck where they were.

He pressed, and hoped, and silently prayed that the elixir would work its magic, and that Giles could pull through such a grievous injury.

"Stay with me Giles, come on man...don't do this..." he pleaded as he looked around again and leaned in to check his breathing.

2:48, Today: Magnus rolled 5 using 1d6.  Poiton of minor healing for Giles.

09:05, Today: Magnus rolled 12 using 3d6.  First Aid +2 (14).

Magnus works slowly, unstoppering his potion and dripping the faintest trickle of the healing liquid into Giles's mouth, cautious not to make him choke before he goes about treating the wound.  Every so often, he tips another bit of the clear liquid into a corner of Giles's mouth, ever thankful that he had maintained the foresight to keep the potion regardless of his own resistance to its magic.  Little by little, Magnus thinks he can hear Giles's breathing ease.  The bleeding stops.  Though Magnus is still fearful that his efforts have not been enough.

---

Many hours later, Magnus stands in the remains of the Wazifi camp.  The threatening clouds from earlier in the morning had finally made good on their promise and sent downward a tumultuous rain, pierced by crackles of thunder.  Around him, the smoldering ruins of the war tents and been doused with the rain and the field of this morning's battle was quickly turning into a muddy bog in the highly trafficked areas where the grasses had been worn away by the repeated steps of men and horses.

Once the injured had been retrieved, the decision had been made to send a scouting mission into the camp to try and glean whatever post-battle intelligence still remained.
 Magnus had agreed to come mostly because he could feel the rumors of his battle rage spreading all about the fort.

Standing next to Magnus was Lieutenant Hetrick, his mission to rescue Lieutenant Kalid having come to an amazing complete success.  Amazingly, Hetrick's party had suffered only a few minor injuries from a scuffle as they pulled the prisoners free from their captivity.  Though he was wearing a bandage (a shallow gash across his ribs), he was one of the lucky few officer to escape the battle without lasting injury.  Giles had been, and perhaps still was, a hair's breath from death.  He had yet to regain consciousness, though Magnus was happy to see that he had suffered the trip back to the fort on the makeshift stretcher well enough.  Brashear too, had taken serious injury during the fight and had fallen from his horse as he had led the charge into the center of the enemy, though he was now at least awake.  Broskow too, seemed to have suffered some pains, which seemed less clear as to their origin, though he at least was able to recuperate in his own room.  Added to that Lieutenant Kalid, who was half starved upon his return, and Hetrick was really the only officer left in fighting shape.

Still, the fight had gone off remarkably well.  All told, only thirty or so men had taken serious injury.  Though it was nothing to sniff at, at nearly a quarter of their own force, it was perhaps a third of the Wazifi dead and injured that had been unable to retreat with the others.  It was an amazing feat given that they had assaulted a force that had numbered somewhere over three hundred soldiers.

"These were no soldiers."  Hetrick seems to have read Magnus's mind, standing up with a scrap of torched canvas that he turns over in his hands.  "Their camps are disorganized, their position was exposed, few horses and archers...  They didn't even dig a single defensive fortification."  Hetrick sighs and shakes his head.  "Brashear was right, these men were duped into thinking they could win a quick moral victory, forcing us to quit over a few baubles that they must have known we didn't have.  They were thinking they could win without a fight or else that they would provoke the rest of the nation to follow them to war...  I only hope we've averted that possibility for now."

Hetrick continues forward through the camp, pushing southward to towards the river and looking in each direction at the remnants of sleeping rolls and supplies that lay strewn about.  The soaked earth groans and buckles underneath their feet and hooves as thin wash carries the muddy water downhill just bedside them.

"I wonder what they told them to make them think it was worth it?"  Hetrick wonders aloud.

OOC:  It is about 1400 on the 17th of July.  Giles still lives, though it is still touch and go and he is unconscious as of yet.  The battle was an overwhelming success, despite the significant injury of a number of the ranking officers.

It had been a day that Magnus would remember in various shades of clarity for the rest of his days. The low dark clouds, the distant flashes of lightning, the rumble of thunder and the patter of rain. Broken shapes of men lie strewn about, the carrion birds already circling and calling to one another, some curled up to shield themselves in their last moment from the pain and fear, others stretched out as they tried to crawl away from the madness or play dead.

The earthy smell of rain commingled with the acrid smoke and the faint accents of horse manure, raw iron and blood.

He could feel the stares on his back, and could see the rumors spreading in the periphery. The cautious half glances and the occasional open glare. There were rules even in war, you could kill a man, you could stab him between the shoulder blades or smash the light from his eyes, but you did not murder surrendering boys, and you did not desecrate the dead. That was a path to often trod by those who had seen too much, endured too much, and now counted themselves among an infamous few.

Magnus found himself trying to remember how many men he had killed now, and he proved too tired to get an accurate figure. That fact alone made him feel more like a monster than ever. He had tried so hard for so many years, to speak like they did, to walk like they did, and now he had thrown so much of it away with a lapse of control and a few seconds of catharsis.

Had he been doing this too long already? What else could he do?

The news was joyful and somber in the same stroke. They had won a great victory, but the men that led it had paid dearly. The cost of real leadership, some of the best of them the first to meet an enemy that was eager, full of vigor and filled with dreams of glory and promotion at having felled a Megalan officer.

"I imagine it was different for each of 'em" Magnus responded to Hetrick. "Pay, fear, hate...hell, like you said, their just levies. Some were probably out tilling a field just a few days ago." he heaved a sigh. "Hopefully we killed enough to them to make them think twice next time. Don't come north, it's just not worth it..." he paraphrased as he lumbered through the mud and churned grass.

"Guess you're in charge now then?" he asked.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:50, Tue 28 Apr 2020.

Hetrick and Magnus keep walking, the former with his eyes scouring the remnants of the camp, not sure what he is looking for.  All around them, those soldiers still fit enough to work were assisting the injured or moving the dead, not to mention searching through and displacing what remained of the soaked and burned enemy camp.  Still, the only sure way to find nothing was not to look in the first place.

"Yeah."  Hetrick answers simply as Magnus reframes many of the same things that the lieutenant had said only moments ago.

But as Magnus asks if Hetrick is in charge, the other laughs good-naturedly.  "No, we've managed to keep the Captain to his bed for the past few hours, but if I know him, it won't last long.  He's well enough to call the shots anyway.  If there's anyone who's in charge of keeping things normal until he's back on his feet, that'd be the First Sergeant - we're all probably all better for it, he's got more experience than the lot of us.  I'll keep people from working too long out today... It's been too long already... but that authority will only stretch so far."

The two walk past the edge of the camp, climbing the last short rise before making their way to the river.  "What about you?  Still heading back to Raphael the first chance you get?  Seems like things aren't getting any easier around here."

Before Magnus can answer, the two crest the hill, and have a full view of the riverbank below, where a thirty foot machine of war is in a state of half-construction.  Strewn about the bank are four more long tree trunks, with various bits of woodworking tools half sunk in the well trodden mud.

"Shit."  Hetrick exhales.  "I suppose that changes things."


Picture for reference.  The artillery piece is not fully constructed, nor is there anyone standing around it.

OOC:  I relocated Giles's post into the netherworlds until I can put it in his new thread and I made a small edit to your previous post.   You are probably right, that the common soldiers would be looting the bodies for everything they could get, though it would be against Brashear's direction and Hetrick certainly wouldn't have allowed it right in front of him.  I just didn't want to you to walk away with the impression that looting was condoned.

Magnus stared up at the partially constructed machine of war with his hands on his hips. H e has never seen anything quite like it, although he had heard of such things in stories of course. It was entirely different to see one in person, and the thought of being hemmed up inside the fort while this thing hurled stones and God knew what else at them was a grim one.

It seemed that the Captain had made the right call.

"Well damn." he began to walk closer to have a better look. "That could have been ugly. Well, uglier than it was already." he added in a lower tone. Many men were dead and more than a few would probably not live out the night. Others might carry their wounds for the rest of their lives.

As they closed the distance through the mud Magnus looked over at the question of what he was going to do. "I'm gonna try to track down a good armor smith I think" he stated without having to give it much thought. It might have been a mundane errand to most soldiers, but even fairly simple tasks required special effort for the inhuman mercenary. "I've been meaning to pick up a helmet for a few years now, but I've had trouble finding a smith that will do the custom work." he reached up and rapped one horn with a knuckle, and was mildly surprised that he found it sticky with drying blood.

"It's that or a wagon...gettin' kind of tired of always sleeping on the ground so a covered wagon has always kind of been a dream of mine. Something I can lock up when I'm away." he glanced over at the Lieutenant. "I don't suppose you can recommend anybody, a smith I mean?"

Hetrick stares up at the monstrous construction of wood along with Magnus, the hundreds of possibilities and alternate endings plaguing his thoughts.  After several moments, he simply shakes his head and glances over at Magnus.  "No, can't say I have much experience with any smiths.  The quartermaster's made a few adjustments for me here, though I don't imagine he's what you're looking for..."

Hetrick tips his head back in thought for a moment.  "Come to think of it, I think it was Dorian that raved about a place called Angel Armory...  in Raphael maybe?  Supposedly they make the best stuff available and it's all custom work.  Pricey, but they'd have the skills to do anything you'd need from them."

Hetrick lets the silence mull on for a moment before he starts again.  "I need to report this.  I imagine we're going to have to take it down before anyone comes back looking for it.  Chalk that up to one more thing we'll need to do today.  Shall we?"

OOC:  Thanks for the patience Magnus.  This concludes the thread and you can feel free to write up a post to close things up.  You have heard of Angel Armory, though it is not in a part of town you frequent.  From here, I assume you accompany Rudyard back to Raphael and try and get your helmet made - shoot me a private if you are looking for something different.  Both Magnus and Giles can expect CP rewards in a later private.

Magnus had experienced a lot of long days in his life, but "that day we broke the Wazifi siege" would prove to be one of the longer ones, and one that stuck with him.

The thing that he would probably remember most was the senselessness of it all. War over land, or food, or faith, that he at least understood to a point. War over some posturing, a "little war" in which dozens of men had died or been seriously wounded fought over what had amounted to pride, or a disagreement. That was what stuck with him, the fragility of life, and the ease in which it could all be thrown away. Most people in Megalos would never even hear about it, but it had happened, and Magnus had been there.

After he had caught his second wind Magnus managed to stay busy until the early evening, and which point he collapsed into bed and slept again. It was the next day, after a good meal and some catching up, including a check on Giles, that plans had to be made.

He was bound for Raphael, with Rudyard, in order to try to get his armor commission accepted. He had not specifically asked for pay from Brashear, but he had asked for a letter of reference. There was a good chance that he might get turned away at the door of the Angel Armory, but between his guild coin and a letter from a Major in the Imperial Army he figured he might have a shot. That and a pile of coin.

Magnus hated cities, and he hated crowds, but it was not the first time that necessity dictated that he had to deal with them for a time in order to handle his business. From there? It was hard to say. Probably more guild work, but he was intent on tackling one problem at a time.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:40, Sat 09 May 2020.