SDMB RPG: Shadows of Arcady

The Game Room
441

The longbeards with Dur’dan hesitate, unsure why their lord would have them break their shield wall. This hesitation is short and a moment later the entire block is breaking apart as the dwarves rush to meet the incoming horde.

Dur’dan rushes into the shadow of the giant, quarrels stuck up to their fletching all across its chest and shoulders. He slows as he enters the path of the charging behemoth, the giant’s roar paining his ears considerably. He lifts his axe, shouting “IRONBEARD!” and rushes the monster at a full sprint, shield hoisted high over his head. He ducks under the huge creature’s sweeping arm and leaps into the air, for a moment poised dramatically in silhouette, several feet off the ground. He passes the giant with his leap, axe tearing through its calf. The monster stumbles but doesn’t fall, gore spilling down its ankle and to the ground.

The first dwarves arrive behind Dur’dan, all of them circling around the giant and making an isle for it rather than charge it headlong like their lord. The giant comes to a stop, howling with pain. It turns to face Dur’dan, stepping forward and slamming down its club with a massive overhead chop. Dur’dan lifts up his shield and attempts to dive aside but is too slow: The club, huge as the trunk of a tree, crashes upon his shield, which explodes into quarters, and nearly drives the dwarf to the ground. Dur’dan can feel the SNAP as a bone in his left arm breaks, rendering it useless. The giant hefts up his club, preparing to bring it down again.

Dur’dan has taken seven points of bashing damage. Incredibly he remains standing.

The giant is much faster than any orc and was ahead of them on the field. The first of the greenskin line will arrive in a mere moment, during the next combat round.

John Fredrickson charges towards the mix of orcs and goblins arriving from the northwest. All but one of his men, with considerable hesitation, rush after him. John meets the first orc headlong, driving his sword up through its belly. The greenskin croaks, blood spraying from its mouth, and slashes with his own sword, the blade ringing off the chain at John’s arm, failing to cut but nearly knocking the human to the ground.

John has taken one point of bashing damage.

The Hadburgs and Yellow Suns arrive together, smashing among the greenskins, most of them goblins. The peasants under John’s command are untrained and poorly equipped and don’t fare well, almost immediately down to half their number as they are pulled to the ground beneath the crush of arriving greenskins. The Yellow Suns are hardened mercenaries and do much better, cutting and hacking apart goblins as they arrive, none of them fallen yet.

Here is a simple map to give an idea of the battle thus-far. It’s not drawn to any precise scale of distances or the like, it exists merely to provide a visual. Dwarven forces are brown on the map, Yellow Suns are yellow, Hadburgs are blue, Shelic are red and the greenskins are, of course, green.

442

Dur’dan falters for a second, shaking the stars from his vision. In a brief second it all flashes before his eyes. He can barely feel his arm, and what he can feel from it is pain. He sees his men, gathered around the giant, unmoving, waiting. He remembers home, his family, his brothers, Oshro… His family was counting on him. His men see Dur’dan, his shield is dust and his arm lifeless, dripping blood. They see him sway from the blow and they can see the fear in his eyes, but only for a moment. Thier comes a point in life when one must retreat to live another day, to fight another battle. For Dur’dan this was not an option, if it is indeed his time to go then he will not do it abandoning his Dwarves, looking like a coward. If it is his time to die, he will die like a Dwarf.

“Attack you fools!” He yells to his men

Dur’dan will blow Willpower and give everything he has to bring down the giant before the Greenskins are upon him. As well as say a silent prayer as he brings his axe above his head.

443

After doing his best to dispatch his opponent, John will utter the most fearsome curse he knows. He mutters, “That damn dwarf is going to get himself squished! Well, nothing I can do about it now.” He’ll roar to his men, “Keep fighting! We’ll chop these bastards down and show them why men live in cities and orcs live in caves!”

Then, to Hob: “Hob! You’re not going to be of much use in a shield wall. Try to get over to Dur’dan and stab that giant in the back, will ya?”

444

Hob kinda likes it just where he is. However, being an odd one for a hin, and seeing Dur’dan almost down for the count, he will scramble over to the giant and try to stab him where it hurts.

445

“Attack, you fools!” Dur’dan’s bellow carries loudly over the din of battle as greenskins collide all along the dwarven line. A cluster of quarrels flit over the heads of the gathered dwarves, most of them slamming into the giant’s back, the others soaring by and into the greenskins beyond. The titan, now bloodsoaked, roars to the sky in pain.

Dur’dan charges along the sandy ground, now soggy with gore, swinging wildly with his good arm. He buries his axe deep into the giant’s ankle, prompting a second roar, louder than the first. The monster howls thunderously, dark eyes immediately on the tiny insect attacking it. It shakes its leg, Dur’dan trying desperately to hold onto his axe but failing and getting tossed to the ground nearby, where he tries to push himself up onto his hand and knees. The giant swings at the ground with his club, smashing against the dwarf’s side and sending Dur’dan soaring several yards into his own line where he lands in a bloody heap. The dwarven longbeard rolls over, air escaping his lips in a rattle, and goes still.

Dur’dan has taken another seven points of bashing damage. He now has five health boxes filled with lethal damage and four boxes filled with bashing damage. He’s failed his check to remain conscious.

Hob follows Dur’dan with his eyes as the dwarf soars over the heads of his men in a deep arc before disappearing from view. The halfling grimaces and continues pushing his way through the charging dwarves on his way to his current location.

The dwarves, inspired by his example, push to follow their lord’s order and swarm the giant. They fall upon its calves and feet, hacking and stabbing in a frenzy. The monster lashes out with his feet, sending dwarves sprawling with each kick, before toppling backward. Three dwarves are caught and crushed beneath the falling giant, others diving to safety. The dwarves crowd on the thrashing giant. Its huge arms can be seen across the battle, rising and falling as the soldiers of Goldhelm swarm its body like ants, orcs engaging short and bearded warriors all around it.

John’s men and the Yellow Suns are fighting as a single island now, orcs and goblins crowding in from all sides. Fredrickson has only four men left with him, plus Tusk and the other Yellow Suns, all fighting for their lives. They are holding their ground, for now, under John’s leadership, but their commander is utterly inexperienced in such a position and cannot last in this position for long. John lunges at a spear-wielding goblin, killing the thing but taking a nasty cut on his arm for his trouble. Goblins are rushing across the short distance between the battle there and the half-elven archer firing into their number from the south. Kittix steps between them and Arrow, taking his scimitar in hand for the first time since embarking with his friend. “Come on! Come on!” He screeches, red-and-blue frills along his scaled neck rising on end and shaking. He disembowels the first goblin to approach before ripping his weapon free and squaring off with two more, one of which is sent to ground by an arrow from the south to the neck.

John has taken one lethal damage and two bashing, bringing him to one and three, respectively.

446

Karikhan hears the repeated booms of the screaming giant from the west as he sprints to join his allies in battle. The Shelic have ridden around the goblins’ sides and are dismounting to charge from the flanks. To the north he sees the war chief and others from the council, Jikhal among them. They are devastating the goblins that they encounter, Jikhal in particular a veritable engine of destruction and bloodshed, raining blows like meteors with his rescued tomahawk. Jote can be seen in the thick of battle to the south, far from the Shelic line, stabbing his way through the press of half-panicked goblins there. Jote has always been massive- not nearly as tall as Karikhan, of course- but among goblins it as if he is a giant himself. But even giants can be swarmed. The fool. He’ll get himself killed!

Khan elects to render aid to Jote, racing to reinforce the southern position. By the time he has arrived Jote is only deeper among the goblin line, nearly at its center, and Karikhan is faced with a choice: Fight alongside the other Shelic to the south or charge into the goblin horde alone to help Jote.

447

Here is an updated battle map. Note that, to an extent, approximate character locations can be seen (Hob among the dwarves, etc).

448

Karikhan views goblins with contempt. He can feel their terror, and knows the creatures’ biggest enemies are not the Shelic surrounding them, but their own cowardly nature. The aroma of slaughter is foul and intoxicating, and Khan wastes no time rushing to battle at Jote’s side.

“You’ll not die alone, brother!” Karikhan shouts above the melee. Hopefully seeing his charge inspires other Shelic to push through and crush the last bit of the goblins’ morale, but if not, Karikhan is happy to personally bring the Voice’s wrath upon as many goblins as possible.

449

Karikhan charges through the mob, spearing or knocking aside whatever goblins fail to move out of his way. By the time he gets to Jote’s side the two large men are both covered with the marks of battle. Jote has a fairly nasty-looking puncture injury below his left breast and his right leg sports a pair of wicked cuts, but it doesn’t seem to be slowing him down. Khan’s taken a serious vertical slash to his left thigh: He can ignore the pain for now but it will almost certainly leave a scar.

Karikhan has taken three points of lethal damage and two points of bashing damage.

Jote is uplifted at the sight of Khan. His grim scowl transforms instantly into a look of jubilation. He gives a shout, “Kari!” as he turns to face the shaman. Karikhan barks at the young warrior, gutting with his spear a goblin poised to strike Jote from behind, and delivers a sharp reprimand, reminding him that they are still in a battle. Goblins are scattering in their wake now, stumbling over one another in an attempt to clear the range of their spears. Those People of the Voice to the south are nearing them now and this battle is an almost certain victory. All that remains to be seen is if it will be won in time.

450

Realizing his forces will soon be overwhelmed, John shouts “Get back! Get back! We’re going to get back–while still fighting, damn it!, so that we have our backs to the dwarves instead of to more goblins!”

He’s giving it all he’s got now, realizing that this maneuver may save all of their lives. He will use as much willpower as necessary as he moves.

451

Dur’dan can’t help but think to himself, “What have I gotten myself into?” as he soars through the air, feeling nothing but pain. Pain of not knowing what’s coming next, of not knowing what will happen if he fails. Then he hits the ground, and is finally at peace. He dreams of family, living and dead, and the fact that the burden he was carrying for so long, may finally be out of his control, his hands untied.

452

Hob can’t quickly break through the mass of sweaty dwarves.

God, they’re even smellier than I remembered, he manages to think through all the blood-shed.

453

((Just so our good GM doesn’t miss it, I have a post on the bottom of the last page))

454

Khan will urge the Shelic to finish the goblins quickly as possible. As soon as it is clear the goblins are all fleeing, Karikhan will shout to all those around him, “Ride! Ride to the west! Show enemy and ally alike the spirit of the Shelic! Bloodjaw’s fate awaits him!” Karikhan will then mount the closest camel or horse, and urge it to the west, casting command beast to make the animal gallop at full speed without regard for fear or exhaustion.

455

Hob continues pushing his way through the crowd of dwarves, occasionally stopping as he is violently mashed between two or three soldiers here and there. He finally stumbles into a pocket a few yards behind the main line, Dur’dan’s corpse in an untidy pile at its center. A length of chainmail has been ripped free from his breastplate and his left arm is twisted at an impossible angle. The large battleaxe that has served him faithfully until now is nowhere to be seen, but his backup weapon, little more than a hatchet, is clutched firmly in his right hand. His shield and helm are gone and his beard has come uncoiled from his belt, settled in a puddle of gore beside Dur’dan where it is soaking up blood.

*“Why don’t we smoke them out?!”
“Bahahaha!”

“Can’t we just shoo 'em away?”
“Not an option, hin.”

“And hin, don’t touch a thing, including that crown, or I’ll be taking your hands as trophies.”

“Now is not the time for goodbyes hin! Try and get that door open!”
“Preparing to run away, yes sir!”

“None of us are dead yet!”
“Indeed. We all did marvelous.”

“For now, any way we can gather more of that mithril?”
“I’m sure there is more ahead. I can feel it in me beard.”

“That’ll do hin, that’ll do…”*

The halfling takes a tentative step closer to the fallen dwarf, at a loss for words.

And Dur’dan’s chest rises with a rasping breath. “… maybe…” He lives! It’s hard to hear what he’s saying, his voice is a quiet and weary moan. Hob rushes to the longbeard, taking a knee at his side. “… work to do…” Dur’dan’s weazing is difficult to make out. Hob casts panicked glances all around him for someone who can help. All the dwarves are engaging the enemy to the west. He’s on his own.

There is a ROAR from beyond the dwarven line, a monster’s earth-shaking bellow. [FONT=“Arial Black”]“I’M GONNA SHOUT YER EARS BLOODY!” Two dwarves are knocked back from the line, one falling to his side with his hands over his face and the other to his knees, left arm hacked clean away. “AND I’M GONNA STOMP YER LANDS FLAT!” Another dwarf is knocked aside, sent spinning with his breastplate gaping and spewing his lifesblood. Bloodjaw’s massive and wickedly-tusked boar rends through a longbeard that fails to move aside in time as its rider swings both arms, each hand gripped tight around the leather-wrapped handles of a pair of massive iron cleavers, weapons most men would struggle to merely lift with both hands, let alone wield with one. Neither the giant orc nor his mount have noticed Hob yet, but they are no more than twenty yards away.

Hob is in extreme danger: This is obviously not a particularly safe place for him to be. He can attempt to wake Dur’dan, but every second is critical now that the line is crumbling with Bloodjaw’s arrival. Alternatively he can try dragging Dur’dan, whose considerable girth and heavy armor will force the tiny halfling to make a Strength roll. Simply running is also an option. Whatever Hob decides, he must do it fast.[/font]

456

Hob looks around him, and doesn’t like what he sees. In front of him, Dur’dan lies in a heap of wrong angles and gore. A bit further on, the giant, whose name is apparently Bloodjaw, and his boar mount are thrashing the dwarven regiment around like rag dolls. Well, we’ve made it to the giant, go Team Hob! …Now what?, he thinks. He glances at the boar mount. It’s legs are taller than Hin is high. Even if I had a death wish, which I don’t particularly at the moment, I doubt I could even climb onto that overgrown ham.

Hob goes over to Dur’dan’s [del]corpse[/del] body and stares down for a brief moment. “OK Urist McBloody, time to get out of here,” Hob says and slaps him hard in the face. If that doesn’t work, he’ll shake him a bit and tug on his beard. Whether he wakes up or not, at that point he will attempt to start dragging him away.

457

Hob’s slapping and shaking fail to wake the dwarf, but when he gives the beard a tug Dur’dan rouses instantly. “Wha-? Who-?”

“OK Urist McBloody,” Hob grunts as he loops his hands under Dur’dan’s arms, “time to get out of here.” With a strained groan he manages to pull the heavy dwarf through the slippery muck caked over the desert ground.

Dur’dan has regained consciousness with Hob’s help. He still has five health boxes filled with lethal damage and four with bashing (and will have to make a new check to remain conscious whenever he takes more damage of any kind). Even as tough as he is he’ll be at -1 to all actions until he’s healed. He’s used two Willpower so far (attacks against the giant).

Up ahead the mounted orc is focused on another dwarf: The soldier who’d struck Dur’dan. Bloodjaw goads his boar forward and it drives the dwarf to ground, rending his shield apart with a tusk. Bloodjaw yanks on the animal’s chain and circles it around to face the dwarven soldier as he scrambles to his feet. [FONT=“Arial Black”]“AND I’M GONNA DRINK YER RIVERS DRY!” He hacks through the dwarf’s skull at an angle with one of his huge weapons, cleaving off a quarter of his body. Here the dwarven line is non-existent now, the nearest soldiers yards to the north or south of the greenskin warlord. Bloodjaw is screaming to the sky, both cleavers lifted over his head and showering him with gore.

To the northeast the Yellow Suns and John and his men are fighting to get closer to their dwarven allies. A pair of crude goblin arrows fly at the Hadburg group, one shattering against John’s chest and the other zipping through the humans and burying itself into a goblin’s leg. John is shouting now, putting everything he has into it, " “Get back! Get back!” An orc catches his him on the back of his head with a club, the human stumbling to a knee. His muscles burning and the back of his head searing, he gets to his feet and spins, hacking through the offending greenskin’s throat. He can feel blood trickling down the back of his neck where it mingles with his mail. “We’re going to get back–while still fighting, damn it! So that we have our backs to the dwarves instead of to more goblins!” Looking over his shoulder he sees only two of his men remaining. The Yellow Suns have lost a man as well.

John has taken four more points of bashing damage. He has two health boxes filled with lethal damage and five with bashing damage. He’s passed his check to stay conscious (he will have to make a new check whenever he takes more damage of any kind) and remains on his feet for now. He’s now at -3 to all actions until he’s healed. He’s used two Willpower so far (a Warfare roll and an attack).

Arrow is still a good ways back from the fighting, trying to pace himself as he burns through ammunition. Soon he’ll have only Khan’s mud-and-dirt arrows left. He and Kittix, clear of goblins now, move west, keeping pace with the rest of the mercenaries. “I’m hurt, Arrow! I’m dying!” The lizardfolk has a minor injury on his left leg, but keeps up with the half-elf despite his complaints.

Eventually the Hadburgs and Yellow Suns are back-to-back with the dwarves and fighting for their lives there. It is a slightly more defensible position but they are exhausted and cannot keep this up much longer.

Meanwhile to the east, the People of the Voice are continuing to slaughter the greenskins there. Before long the goblins are in full retreat, those along the western edge with nowhere to run butchered as they jam up against the crowd. The air is full of the panicked screams of goblins and the ecstatic whooping of Shelic warriors. “Ride! Ride to the west! Show enemy and ally alike the spirit of the Shelic! Bloodjaw’s fate awaits him!” Khan’s shouting is only barely audible over the roar of their victory. Other members of the council, now alongside the shaman, recognize the urgency and join him in his calls. Many nearby warriors give up the chase and turn to begin racing for their mounts. The war council continues calling to the rest, hoping to recapture their attention from the pursuit of fleeing greenskins.[/font]

Here is an updated battle map.

458

Dur’dan has a bewildered look on his face. Like waking up from a dream and at first forgetting where you are. He looks at the chaos befalling on his troops, bodies of greenskins, dwarves, and humans alike. The carnage of this magnitude he has never seen before, the living are in a panic, stumbling over themselves and walking over the dead, he himself had been trampled while being out cold. He turns to Hob,

“Get me on a mount! My Dwarves need me!”

He will get to his feet and find a steed, whether it be a horse, a donkey, or a camel. He will stay in the back and shout words of encouragement to his troops, he will do so as long as he is safe, for as long as he is safe, if anything tries to engage him, especially Bloodjaw, he will retreat as fast as his mount will carry him.

459

If there is a Dwarf within shouting range of Dur’dan, he will be ordered to help Dur’dan to safety, and will be ordered to protect him from anything that gets too close, even while Dur’dan is mounted and encouraging his troops.

460

“Has your beard taken over your brain? The only way you’re getting on a horse is if it’s to take you to a hospital!”

If Dur’dan responds that his dwarves need him, Hob will respond: “Your dwarves need you alive!” But he will not physically attempt to stop him. He will stay by him until the battle takes its next gruesome turn.