shilsen
Adventurer
Well, here's the conclusion to the siege.
Enjoy!
* * * * * * * * * *
Less than fifteen minutes later, Cedric stands in the middle of a giant ring formed by the goblinoids. Everyone from the army who can fit into the fortress to watch has done so, and the thousands who cannot fit inside are clustered in every vantage point that they can find, whether they be withered trees, the remnants of the broken walls, or a convenient ogre.
Across from Cedric stands Kurgash, looking even more gigantic than before. His massive club makes a thrumming sound as he swings it casually in a wide arc before him. The warlord grins fiercely and then, just to make a point, raises the greatclub in both hands and brings it down on the ground before him. There is a thunderous crack and a puff of dust, as a thick paving stone cracks and disintegrates beneath the blow. Oh yeah! thinks Cedric. I’m dead. With that bloody log he’s carrying, I’ll never get close enough. Only chance is to piss him off.
The paladin raises his sword and salutes, before assuming a ready stance. Then he shouts, “So, you going to stand over there and pose, or come over and let me kick your ass? Though I’ve got to admit, you look pretty.” He winks and blows Kurgash a kiss.
The warlord stares at the madman for a moment. Then he roars, hefts his weapon above his head in both hands and charges. Perfect! Cedric waits, balanced on his toes, and then as Kurgash looms over him, feints left and darts right. The giant club comes down in an irresistible arc, again smashing a broken furrow in the ground, but its intended target is already a couple of feet away. Leaping inside Kurgash’s guard, Cedric launches a powerful double-handed chop that smashes into the ogre’s wrist.
And then has to throw himself backwards in a desperate attempt to avoid the arc of the greatclub’s swing. It barely clips his side, but that’s enough to send him tumbling backwards, his hip already going numb. Kurgash flexes his armored wrist, laughs as he realizes no real damage has been done, and laughs as the human regains his feet and extends his little sword. “I would enjoy this more,” he rumbles, “If you were not so small.”
“Hey!” says Cedric, quietly channeling what little healing energy he has left into himself, “Isn’t that what your mama told your daddy?” And then desperately throws himself backwards as the warlord rushes in again. This time Kurgash is smarter, greatclub depicting a huge hemispherical arc before him as he comes in, leaving Cedric little option but to hurriedly fall backwards. As he does so, the paladin keeps an eye out for the boundary to the ring, and just before he is about to reach it he throws himself aside and to the ground. Unfortunately for the hobgoblins in the front row, they don’t have that luxury, and Kurgash’s weapon smashes four of them to the ground before he can stop himself.
More importantly for Cedric, the impact and resultant confusion keeps the warlord’s weapon busy for a couple of seconds, just long enough for him to run within Kurgash’s reach – and behind his back. The paladin calls mentally to the High Lord as he strikes, driving the longsword point-first like a huge dagger, aiming for the thin opening between the collar of Kurgash’s breastplate and the war-helm the ogre donned before the fight.
The sword hits the gap perfectly, sinks half an inch into the gray flesh beyond – and then stops as if it had hit a stone wall. Cedric winces as the impact jars his arm and then again leaps back frantically as Kurgash swings around, the greatclub depicting an irresistible arc before him. Thanks to the quick retreat, the paladin is almost completely out of harm’s way, but the tip of the weapon flicks his side with a force that spins him around. Feeling ribs creak under the blow, Cedric backs up, rubbing his side with one arm. And looking quizzically at his foe. “You have tough skin,” he says.
Kurgash grins back toothily. “Yes. Especially with a little help from Maunga.” He turns and smiles at a young goblin shaman standing nearby, who bows back at his leader.
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a personal duel?” asks Cedric, breathing heavily. Get him talking and buy a few seconds. “Are others allowed to interfere?”
Kurgash throws back his head and laughs, the spikes on his club ringing off the flagstones as he lowers it to the ground. “Foolish manling! We use whatever we have.”
Yes, we do! Cedric darts forward, trying to take advantage of the momentary lapse in his foe’s attention, but Kurgash is too quick. The greatclub leaps up with a flick of its wielder’s huge wrist, only barely missing Cedric’s face because he skids to a halt. And then Cedric is in full retreat, as Kurgash advances with giant sweeping strokes.
This time, Kurgash is canny enough to leave no space for the human to leap left or right, and Cedric is driven inexorably back into the first row of troops. The paladin feels his back bump against a hobgoblin’s breastplate, hears a snarl in his ear, and then multiple arms shove him forward. Already expecting this, Cedric throws himself forward and down, using the momentum to slide forward, armor clanging against the stone.
This at least is not a maneuver Kurgash expected, and he gapes in surprise as the human dives forward at his feet, and then slides between them. Before the warlord can recover, Cedric is through his legs and Kurgash growls as a blade slashes into his ankle. Only the combination of his armor and Maunga’s barkskin prevents Kurgash from a severed hamstring, and he quickly kicks the human away.
Cedric rolls over, stumbles to his feet and backs away, to see Kurgash move after him with a noticeable limp. The paladin draws a ragged breath and grins. “Foot problems?”
The warlord doesn’t smile this time as he charges, greatclub coming down in a huge overhanded chop like it did at the start of the duel. This time he is slower and again, the greatclub smashes into the ground rather than into its intended target, who has leapt back. The leap takes Cedric a little too far to run around the club, so instead he takes the most direct route. And runs right up it.
The metal studs clang against his boots, actually providing greater purchase for the two steps that drive him up the strange incline. Cedric chuckles inwardly at his own audacity and then leaps into the air, bringing down the sword in a two-handed chop. The gleaming blade hums through the air, descending with irresistible force on Kurgash’s upturned face – and then a huge arm blocks the descent. Even giant iron full-plate cannot fully withstand the stroke or the enchanted blade and the sword breaks through the intervening metal to sink into the warlord’s forearm. But it goes no further and Kurgash’s face splits in a triumphant grin, despite the blood flowing out of his left arm. And especially when his balled right hand shoots up to smash Cedric in the face.
The paladin flies backwards and hits the ground with a clang, and when he stumbles up, one eye is closed and the entire left side of his face quickly purpling. Well, it was a good try, thinks Cedric, feeling the shattered cheekbone, as he lift his sword. His breath rasps through his lungs, and his arms and legs feel leaden, he knows it’s only a matter of time. With one last prayer, the paladin attempts to both feint and block as Kurgash comes in, but he is too tired and slow. Cedric doesn’t have the breath to scream, so all he can do is moan as he feels his right arm shatter in multiple places and the sword go tumbling out of his useless hand.
Kurgash is breathing heavily too, but he grins triumphantly as the human collapses on the ground and reaches weakly towards his dagger with his one functional hand. “Very well, little human,” chuckles the warlord, “I’ll wait. Draw it, so you can die with weapon in hand. Kurgash is nothing if not generous.” He laughs as the howls of bloodlust from the watchers changes into laughter and waves his greatclub at his admiring army. Then he looks down at his fallen foe, who has pulled out a small potion instead of his dagger, and is raising it to his mouth with a trembling hand. “Really,” asks Kurgash, genuinely amused, “Do you think any healing can save you now?”
Cedric swallows painfully, feeling the warmth of the draught flow through him, and slowly shakes his head. “Not healing. Resistance to fire.”
“Huh?” Kurgash looks his confusion. “Why?”
“That’s why,” points the paladin, before he rolls over and pulls his cloak over him.
Kurgash looks behind him, seeing nothing besides his soldiers and, beyond them, the ruined tower where the remnants of the human rabble are hidden. And then he looks up, at the highest window, where he sees motion. Followed by three tiny flaming beads, which shoot towards him at incredible speed.
On any other day, when he was completely healthy and ready for battle, Kurgash would have walked through half a dozen fireballs. But now, wounded, tired, and completely surprised, things are different. When the blast clears, leaving a small ring of charred goblinoid bodies, in the center of them lies the warlord, with a still stupefied expression on his scorched, charred and very, very dead face.
The watching army holds its breath in stunned silence for a second, and then there is a sound. Horns, horns, horns. Great horns of war wildly blowing. Followed by shouts of alarm from those on the walls and those clustered on the fields beyond the broken fortress. “Attack! We’re under attack!” Shouts of “Kurgash! Kurgash is dead!” break out at almost the same time. Orders ring out at the same time from a dozen different sub-commanders, most of them contradictory, and some of the nearest troops to each attempt to obey, moving back and forth and throwing those around them into chaos. And more fireballs and other spells descend from the tower, individually weak, but slaying some and adding more generally to the confusion. That is the last straw and the goblinoids break in every direction, running and shouting and trying their best to escape from this accursed fortress.
Cedric throws back his cloak and rises shakily to a knee, staring in near disbelief at the charred and mountainous form lying beside him. Son of a bitch! We did it! The paladin’s broken face twists in a painful grin and he breathes a quick prayer of thanks to the High Lord for letting his plan work out so well. He begins to lever himself back to his feet and then realizes the one fatal flaw in his plan, namely that he would end up in the middle of a panicked mob of goblinoids. That might be a prob… is all he has time to think, before a stampede of terrified goblinoids runs over him.
* * *
Orion shakes Gareth’s hand firmly, though both men look exceedingly weary. “Congratulations, commander! The field is yours. And we thank you for our lives.”
“Thank you, sir. And if your men hadn’t held the fort with their lives this long, and especially kept them busy inside so we could maneuver into the perfect position…,” Gareth shrugs eloquently. As Orion nods, he adds, “Where is Cedric Galan? I’d like to thank him personally for his plan.”
Orion stares at the man for the moment and then says thickly, “Yes, the plan. I discussed it with him when…” His voice trails off.
“When I contacted him via sending a few hours ago,” says Gareth, looking out of a window over the battlefield at Kurgash’s legions fleeing in the distance, not noticing the other man’s expression, “He told me the enemy would be in a deplorable position and that we should attack when we hear the signal of three fireballs. Seems he was right. If so many of them hadn’t been inside the walls when we attacked, we might have been overwhelmed. Cedric and you’ll have to explain to me how you managed that. So, where is he?”
“Here,” says Orion simply, walking across the room to a curtained alcove. He pulls it back to reveal a shape draped across the large table beyond.
Gareth stares in first surprise and then horror as he walks over. “You mean…”
“Yes.”
Gareth stares at the battered corpse for a few seconds, clearly still trying to come to terms with the sight, and then he frowns slightly. “Why are there so many footprints on his face?”
* * *
Cedric opens his eyes and then immediately closes them again, lifting a hand to veil them. Bright lights and … no pain? Then he opens them again more carefully and, squinting slightly, looks around.
The paladin’s eyes are drawn instantly to the end of the chamber before him, barely noting the high, vaulted ceiling, the strange vistas visible through the long windows, or even the four winged celestials hovering patiently around the strangely carved throne at its end. All he sees is the glowing figure seated on it, an expression of calm expectation in his eyes.
Cedric gapes for a long second and then a slow smile spreads across his face. So this is it! “My Lord,” he says simply, inclining his head and bringing a clenched fist to his chest in salute.
“WELCOME, CEDRIC,” is the response, in accents that the paladin has heard only once before. Accents which, he realizes, sound faintly amused. “I THOUGHT YOU WOULD GET HERE SOONER.”
Cedric waits to see if there is any more, and then chuckles, “I got busy, my Lord. Doing your work – and some of my own.”
“YES,” the High Lord says, his tone dryer, but still slightly amused. “I SEE. BUT NOW YOU HAVE NO DUTIES, CEDRIC. NOW YOU MAY REST. YOU HAVE EARNED IT. COME NOW WITH ME.”
As the sentence ends, the walls around the chamber begin to fade away, gradually revealing a panoramic vista beyond. Rolling plains decorated with small streams, studded with small forests and a few hills. And in the distance, a giant mountain, its top hidden by the sky.
Cedric looks around curiously. So this is heaven. And then almost laughs aloud as he thinks of something. He hesitates for a second and then grins slowly. No time like the present. “My Lord, I believe you have forgotten something.” The paladin’s grin threatens to split his face as the nearest celestial turns to stare at him with an expression akin to horror.
“HAVE I?” The High Lord’s tone is now much more obviously amused.
“Well, perhaps. You see…”
Enjoy!
* * * * * * * * * *
Less than fifteen minutes later, Cedric stands in the middle of a giant ring formed by the goblinoids. Everyone from the army who can fit into the fortress to watch has done so, and the thousands who cannot fit inside are clustered in every vantage point that they can find, whether they be withered trees, the remnants of the broken walls, or a convenient ogre.
Across from Cedric stands Kurgash, looking even more gigantic than before. His massive club makes a thrumming sound as he swings it casually in a wide arc before him. The warlord grins fiercely and then, just to make a point, raises the greatclub in both hands and brings it down on the ground before him. There is a thunderous crack and a puff of dust, as a thick paving stone cracks and disintegrates beneath the blow. Oh yeah! thinks Cedric. I’m dead. With that bloody log he’s carrying, I’ll never get close enough. Only chance is to piss him off.
The paladin raises his sword and salutes, before assuming a ready stance. Then he shouts, “So, you going to stand over there and pose, or come over and let me kick your ass? Though I’ve got to admit, you look pretty.” He winks and blows Kurgash a kiss.
The warlord stares at the madman for a moment. Then he roars, hefts his weapon above his head in both hands and charges. Perfect! Cedric waits, balanced on his toes, and then as Kurgash looms over him, feints left and darts right. The giant club comes down in an irresistible arc, again smashing a broken furrow in the ground, but its intended target is already a couple of feet away. Leaping inside Kurgash’s guard, Cedric launches a powerful double-handed chop that smashes into the ogre’s wrist.
And then has to throw himself backwards in a desperate attempt to avoid the arc of the greatclub’s swing. It barely clips his side, but that’s enough to send him tumbling backwards, his hip already going numb. Kurgash flexes his armored wrist, laughs as he realizes no real damage has been done, and laughs as the human regains his feet and extends his little sword. “I would enjoy this more,” he rumbles, “If you were not so small.”
“Hey!” says Cedric, quietly channeling what little healing energy he has left into himself, “Isn’t that what your mama told your daddy?” And then desperately throws himself backwards as the warlord rushes in again. This time Kurgash is smarter, greatclub depicting a huge hemispherical arc before him as he comes in, leaving Cedric little option but to hurriedly fall backwards. As he does so, the paladin keeps an eye out for the boundary to the ring, and just before he is about to reach it he throws himself aside and to the ground. Unfortunately for the hobgoblins in the front row, they don’t have that luxury, and Kurgash’s weapon smashes four of them to the ground before he can stop himself.
More importantly for Cedric, the impact and resultant confusion keeps the warlord’s weapon busy for a couple of seconds, just long enough for him to run within Kurgash’s reach – and behind his back. The paladin calls mentally to the High Lord as he strikes, driving the longsword point-first like a huge dagger, aiming for the thin opening between the collar of Kurgash’s breastplate and the war-helm the ogre donned before the fight.
The sword hits the gap perfectly, sinks half an inch into the gray flesh beyond – and then stops as if it had hit a stone wall. Cedric winces as the impact jars his arm and then again leaps back frantically as Kurgash swings around, the greatclub depicting an irresistible arc before him. Thanks to the quick retreat, the paladin is almost completely out of harm’s way, but the tip of the weapon flicks his side with a force that spins him around. Feeling ribs creak under the blow, Cedric backs up, rubbing his side with one arm. And looking quizzically at his foe. “You have tough skin,” he says.
Kurgash grins back toothily. “Yes. Especially with a little help from Maunga.” He turns and smiles at a young goblin shaman standing nearby, who bows back at his leader.
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a personal duel?” asks Cedric, breathing heavily. Get him talking and buy a few seconds. “Are others allowed to interfere?”
Kurgash throws back his head and laughs, the spikes on his club ringing off the flagstones as he lowers it to the ground. “Foolish manling! We use whatever we have.”
Yes, we do! Cedric darts forward, trying to take advantage of the momentary lapse in his foe’s attention, but Kurgash is too quick. The greatclub leaps up with a flick of its wielder’s huge wrist, only barely missing Cedric’s face because he skids to a halt. And then Cedric is in full retreat, as Kurgash advances with giant sweeping strokes.
This time, Kurgash is canny enough to leave no space for the human to leap left or right, and Cedric is driven inexorably back into the first row of troops. The paladin feels his back bump against a hobgoblin’s breastplate, hears a snarl in his ear, and then multiple arms shove him forward. Already expecting this, Cedric throws himself forward and down, using the momentum to slide forward, armor clanging against the stone.
This at least is not a maneuver Kurgash expected, and he gapes in surprise as the human dives forward at his feet, and then slides between them. Before the warlord can recover, Cedric is through his legs and Kurgash growls as a blade slashes into his ankle. Only the combination of his armor and Maunga’s barkskin prevents Kurgash from a severed hamstring, and he quickly kicks the human away.
Cedric rolls over, stumbles to his feet and backs away, to see Kurgash move after him with a noticeable limp. The paladin draws a ragged breath and grins. “Foot problems?”
The warlord doesn’t smile this time as he charges, greatclub coming down in a huge overhanded chop like it did at the start of the duel. This time he is slower and again, the greatclub smashes into the ground rather than into its intended target, who has leapt back. The leap takes Cedric a little too far to run around the club, so instead he takes the most direct route. And runs right up it.
The metal studs clang against his boots, actually providing greater purchase for the two steps that drive him up the strange incline. Cedric chuckles inwardly at his own audacity and then leaps into the air, bringing down the sword in a two-handed chop. The gleaming blade hums through the air, descending with irresistible force on Kurgash’s upturned face – and then a huge arm blocks the descent. Even giant iron full-plate cannot fully withstand the stroke or the enchanted blade and the sword breaks through the intervening metal to sink into the warlord’s forearm. But it goes no further and Kurgash’s face splits in a triumphant grin, despite the blood flowing out of his left arm. And especially when his balled right hand shoots up to smash Cedric in the face.
The paladin flies backwards and hits the ground with a clang, and when he stumbles up, one eye is closed and the entire left side of his face quickly purpling. Well, it was a good try, thinks Cedric, feeling the shattered cheekbone, as he lift his sword. His breath rasps through his lungs, and his arms and legs feel leaden, he knows it’s only a matter of time. With one last prayer, the paladin attempts to both feint and block as Kurgash comes in, but he is too tired and slow. Cedric doesn’t have the breath to scream, so all he can do is moan as he feels his right arm shatter in multiple places and the sword go tumbling out of his useless hand.
Kurgash is breathing heavily too, but he grins triumphantly as the human collapses on the ground and reaches weakly towards his dagger with his one functional hand. “Very well, little human,” chuckles the warlord, “I’ll wait. Draw it, so you can die with weapon in hand. Kurgash is nothing if not generous.” He laughs as the howls of bloodlust from the watchers changes into laughter and waves his greatclub at his admiring army. Then he looks down at his fallen foe, who has pulled out a small potion instead of his dagger, and is raising it to his mouth with a trembling hand. “Really,” asks Kurgash, genuinely amused, “Do you think any healing can save you now?”
Cedric swallows painfully, feeling the warmth of the draught flow through him, and slowly shakes his head. “Not healing. Resistance to fire.”
“Huh?” Kurgash looks his confusion. “Why?”
“That’s why,” points the paladin, before he rolls over and pulls his cloak over him.
Kurgash looks behind him, seeing nothing besides his soldiers and, beyond them, the ruined tower where the remnants of the human rabble are hidden. And then he looks up, at the highest window, where he sees motion. Followed by three tiny flaming beads, which shoot towards him at incredible speed.
On any other day, when he was completely healthy and ready for battle, Kurgash would have walked through half a dozen fireballs. But now, wounded, tired, and completely surprised, things are different. When the blast clears, leaving a small ring of charred goblinoid bodies, in the center of them lies the warlord, with a still stupefied expression on his scorched, charred and very, very dead face.
The watching army holds its breath in stunned silence for a second, and then there is a sound. Horns, horns, horns. Great horns of war wildly blowing. Followed by shouts of alarm from those on the walls and those clustered on the fields beyond the broken fortress. “Attack! We’re under attack!” Shouts of “Kurgash! Kurgash is dead!” break out at almost the same time. Orders ring out at the same time from a dozen different sub-commanders, most of them contradictory, and some of the nearest troops to each attempt to obey, moving back and forth and throwing those around them into chaos. And more fireballs and other spells descend from the tower, individually weak, but slaying some and adding more generally to the confusion. That is the last straw and the goblinoids break in every direction, running and shouting and trying their best to escape from this accursed fortress.
Cedric throws back his cloak and rises shakily to a knee, staring in near disbelief at the charred and mountainous form lying beside him. Son of a bitch! We did it! The paladin’s broken face twists in a painful grin and he breathes a quick prayer of thanks to the High Lord for letting his plan work out so well. He begins to lever himself back to his feet and then realizes the one fatal flaw in his plan, namely that he would end up in the middle of a panicked mob of goblinoids. That might be a prob… is all he has time to think, before a stampede of terrified goblinoids runs over him.
* * *
Orion shakes Gareth’s hand firmly, though both men look exceedingly weary. “Congratulations, commander! The field is yours. And we thank you for our lives.”
“Thank you, sir. And if your men hadn’t held the fort with their lives this long, and especially kept them busy inside so we could maneuver into the perfect position…,” Gareth shrugs eloquently. As Orion nods, he adds, “Where is Cedric Galan? I’d like to thank him personally for his plan.”
Orion stares at the man for the moment and then says thickly, “Yes, the plan. I discussed it with him when…” His voice trails off.
“When I contacted him via sending a few hours ago,” says Gareth, looking out of a window over the battlefield at Kurgash’s legions fleeing in the distance, not noticing the other man’s expression, “He told me the enemy would be in a deplorable position and that we should attack when we hear the signal of three fireballs. Seems he was right. If so many of them hadn’t been inside the walls when we attacked, we might have been overwhelmed. Cedric and you’ll have to explain to me how you managed that. So, where is he?”
“Here,” says Orion simply, walking across the room to a curtained alcove. He pulls it back to reveal a shape draped across the large table beyond.
Gareth stares in first surprise and then horror as he walks over. “You mean…”
“Yes.”
Gareth stares at the battered corpse for a few seconds, clearly still trying to come to terms with the sight, and then he frowns slightly. “Why are there so many footprints on his face?”
* * *
Cedric opens his eyes and then immediately closes them again, lifting a hand to veil them. Bright lights and … no pain? Then he opens them again more carefully and, squinting slightly, looks around.
The paladin’s eyes are drawn instantly to the end of the chamber before him, barely noting the high, vaulted ceiling, the strange vistas visible through the long windows, or even the four winged celestials hovering patiently around the strangely carved throne at its end. All he sees is the glowing figure seated on it, an expression of calm expectation in his eyes.
Cedric gapes for a long second and then a slow smile spreads across his face. So this is it! “My Lord,” he says simply, inclining his head and bringing a clenched fist to his chest in salute.
“WELCOME, CEDRIC,” is the response, in accents that the paladin has heard only once before. Accents which, he realizes, sound faintly amused. “I THOUGHT YOU WOULD GET HERE SOONER.”
Cedric waits to see if there is any more, and then chuckles, “I got busy, my Lord. Doing your work – and some of my own.”
“YES,” the High Lord says, his tone dryer, but still slightly amused. “I SEE. BUT NOW YOU HAVE NO DUTIES, CEDRIC. NOW YOU MAY REST. YOU HAVE EARNED IT. COME NOW WITH ME.”
As the sentence ends, the walls around the chamber begin to fade away, gradually revealing a panoramic vista beyond. Rolling plains decorated with small streams, studded with small forests and a few hills. And in the distance, a giant mountain, its top hidden by the sky.
Cedric looks around curiously. So this is heaven. And then almost laughs aloud as he thinks of something. He hesitates for a second and then grins slowly. No time like the present. “My Lord, I believe you have forgotten something.” The paladin’s grin threatens to split his face as the nearest celestial turns to stare at him with an expression akin to horror.
“HAVE I?” The High Lord’s tone is now much more obviously amused.
“Well, perhaps. You see…”
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