The Acrimonious Adventurer Association

Jon Potter said:

Man you must be a glutton for punishment running games that big! Are any of the new PCs giants by any chance?

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Actually it's worked out great, the last couple of times we've played there's only been 4 people so it's probably a good thing we have 7 PCs to pull from.

None of them are giants, one is an elf, one is a drow, and the other is a karsite.

Hairy Minotaur said:

Actually it's worked out great, the last couple of times we've played there's only been 4 people so it's probably a good thing we have 7 PCs to pull from.

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That's still got to be tough to juggle characters between sessions if you have to break somewhere other than "in town".

...and the other is a karsite.

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Not familiar with that one. Sounds interesting though, with both an elf and a drow in the party.

Jon Potter said:

That's still got to be tough to juggle characters between sessions if you have to break somewhere other than "in town".



Not familiar with that one. Sounds interesting though, with both an elf and a drow in the party.

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It's hard when it's Doopa that's not there as I have to adjust some encounters, otherwise nothing really changes. For the most part the party has complete control over their TPK, mainly because they get over-confident not because the encounter itself is too hard.

A Karsite is in Tome of Magic, and he'll be a binder (the class they were designed for), I'm looking forward to trying to write the binder up, not for personality but for how the class works.

There will be a death in the party soon and that player's replacement PC is very odd. I don't want to spoil it as he kept it secret from the rest of the group for almonst 2 months while they tried to figure out what race/class he was.

Jon Potter said:

Yikes!

And my money's on Haimish!

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Did you plant a wire at our games?

That's spot on, now of course how he gets there and what he does about it are the stuff of legends and he is a bard of course.

To incite a dwarf....

The travel to She-Wolf was uneventful, save for Haimish waking up, falling off his horse, and then loosing a tirade of obscenities in four different languages at Menthos. Only after learning that it was Doopa who knocked him out did he clam down.

She-Wolf was as far from it’s name as could be, the dingy town was a co-op of dwarves and halflings which used it’s port on the Great River to move ore form Omen to Highcastle and ports east on the river and even to the coast. After travel through the Dearthwood became suicide from the vast numbers of orcs residing therein, the river route become the next logical course. Of course it’s proving to be far more expensive as it’s nearly impossible to protect the barges from bandits along the riverbanks and under the river’s waters. Some bandits would even launch alchemist’s fire, Molotov Cocktails, and flame arrows to burn down a barge and then salvage the gold and ores from the bottom of the river. The Overlord was paying patrols nearly double a routine route would pay to patrol the banks along the river between Highcastle and She-Wolf.

The town was merely a bunch of warehouses and shacks interspersed with numerous drinking establishments. The metallic smell of the unrefined ore and that of stale ale made the taste of dust in the back of the party’s throats seem better by comparisons. The only structure that looked anything like a permanent building was the huge barracks which housed the Overlord’s paid guards to make sure She-Wolf didn’t fall into orc, Skandit, or worse Virdistan hands. Xanthos estimated that a whole company could be housed there.

“Why couldn’t we just get half of the Overlord’s men to go up the road to Omen that should take care of the goblin problem?” Turgar wondered aloud

“I suspect the mobility the rangers posses in the wild is more advantageous than announcing one’s presence with a large moving force.” Xanthos answered

“That makes it seem as though Omen’s trying to be sneaky about their shipments, or …… maybe there’s some intentional missing shipments?” Haimish ponders

“That is a pessimistic view, but a viable one I suppose. I just think the money involved in staffing the trail with guards constantly on duty this far form Highcastle wasn’t cost effective so you use what you got, a bunch of wily wilderness people who know the mountains and trails like their own spider veins and pay them to ensure the shipments reach She-Wolf.” Xanthos counters

“Looks like I picked the wrong commodity to get involved in, this scam has my name all over it.” Menthos announces

The party leaves Doopa and Turgar to stable the horses while they pick out the first bar to try their hands at recruiting a band of dwarves to help defend their brethren. The first bar they come to has no sign, just the dwarven symbol for heavy and drink on the door.

“Looks like a good as place to start as any.” Xanthos states

“Ok, let me do the talking.” Haimish pipes up

“What? We agreed you’d be better off playing with you loot while shifty here transforms into a dwarf and I rile the patrons up.” Menthos objects

“That plan got scraped as soon as you decide it would be a good idea to leave me unconscious while you dragged me here, so I’m doing this my way.” Haimish countered

“Fine, don’t need me? I’ll go find a bar to get drunk in, come find me as you’re being tossed out of town so we can all ride to Omen in demoralizing fashion.” Menthos says as he brushes away the shifter and the bard to go find his own solace in good strong dwarven ale.

Xanthos transformed into a burly dwarf, while Haimish used his oratory skills to paint a picture of brotherly unity with stories of old dwarven heroes before the fall of their kingdom. Haimish compared the coming battle at Omen to that of finding one’s purpose in life, dwarves were meant to own the mountains not goblins. These goblins were going to take that which Korak created for them so long ago.

Xanthos spoke of tactics and the smell of battle, of blood and the sound of victory. Both speeches were moving and brought a tear of remembrance to many a dwarven eye, however they could not sway any to abandon their current role in the wheel of these to help “brothers” who didn’t want it.

Bar after bar the same scene replayed itself out over and over, and each time the results were the same.

“These dwarves have become complacent in their lives, instead of standing up for themselves, they’ve resigned to defeat before the battle is even engaged. This must be the most pathetic group of dwarves in a single location to ever gather. Not even once did we even get a maybe.” Xanthos bows his head in frustration.

“Well, we should try and head north to Omen as quickly as possible no sense in staying here overnight if all it’s going to do is get us both drunk, although the prospect of finding what I think will be left of Omen doesn’t exactly inspire me.” Haimish agrees

Fuming, Menthos heads for the opposite side of She-Wolf than what Xanthos and Haimish are carousing. He stops just outside a small building that has the sounds of dwarven signing inside and turns back to look across the rest of the town. Menthos decides to watch and see just how well the other two do before he goes into the bar. After pacing for what seemed an eternity, Menthos watched Xanthos and Haimish leave the bar and head to another one. Intrigued that they had no following, he continued to watch as the duo exited bar after bar more dejected than when they entered. Suspecting they were not faring so well, Menthos waited until the closed the distance to his location and then made his way over to that bar to here the speeches given to the dwarves. Moved by their words and yet confounded by the lack of enthusiastic response, Menthos ponders how to rectify the problem.

Menthos overhears the two ogres arguing about how to stable a horse, drawn to the exchange like a moth to it’s death in a lantern, the teifling’s legs steer the warlock in that direction.

“Music man say to stable horses, this horse already stable.” Doopa argues

“He meant put the horses in the stables for the night so they don’t wander off moron.” Turgar retorts

“Why not tie horse to tree and not pay?” Doopa counters

“Because the tree could care less what happens to the horses, this way we pay for someone to make sure they’re safe.” Turgar answers

“Turdgar pay Doopa and Doopa make sure nothing happen to horses.” Doopa offers

“I wouldn’t pay you attention, let alone actual money.” Turgar responds

“Doopa horse is stable, Doopa not need pay human to tell Doopa that.” The barbarian replies

“It’s got four legs of course it’s stable, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. I realize Kindoras doesn’t have a stable and your tribe eats horse meat rather than getting the most out of them, but I assure you this is what they meant by stabling the horses.” Turgar argues

“This not Cloudwalls where Turgar tribe foul up water for Kneegnash tribe so we no drink water and plants die so have to eat horse where Turgar tribe get to use horse as plaything and carry things because Turgar to weak to lift himself.” That comment elicited a fist to the face from Turgar

The two ogres roll around on the ground trying to out grapple each other as the poor stable master fled in fear to his home attached to the stables. Menthos watched the ogres and realized he had what he needed to inspire the dwarves to greatness. Peering through the dimming light with a vision accustomed to dark dank places, Menthos spied the largest building that would house a bar and headed there.

Menthos approached the rickety door, hanging from only its top hinge, the door looked like old driftwood that an elf wouldn’t even care for. Menthos smelled the strong alcohol and listened in on the boisterous conversations about the timid dwarf and his lute carrying pansy buddy, and realized his plan was perfect.

Menthos kicked the door in, careening the door off its frame and snapping the hinge out of the frame along with about a foot of wood as well. All conversation stopped as Menthos felt the weight of dozens of stares fall upon his nimble frame.

“I’m looking for some dwarves, anybody know where I can find some?” Menthos challenged

Laughter breaks out as someone from the back of the bar shouts out, “You found some teifling, now run along and finish your scavenger hunt somewhere else after you pay me for that door you broke.”

Menthos sets off a loud disagreement from his colon, “There, paid in full. Keep the change.”

“Don’t insult me boy, I’ll rip the ancestry out of your soul and crap all over it!” Comes the response

Menthos slaps the nearest dwarf I the face, “I’m waiting, this place has no dwarves that I ever heard of. What self-respecting dwarf drinks from an establishment that’s made form wood? Elves do that. What dwarf doesn’t welcome the chance to commit genocide against a race of sniveling barrel scrapping goblins? Apparently not you wussies.”

“Hey, your buddies were already in here touting your fight, we’re not going unless they ask for help, so trudge back to Omen and wish for a miracle.” Comes the reply

“Dwarves don’t wish for miracles, they make them. With axe in hand they carve a legacy that lasts longer than a treant’s memory. You sit on your elven stools, and drink your gnomish mead, Omen will defend itself with the dwarves that are still there and it will be their legacies that your poets lament, not the languid She-Wolf dwarves who couldn’t even mount an offensive after watching a teifling smack around one of their own in a bar full of them. Absolutely pathetic.” Menthos answers and heads for the open exit……..

Followed by most of the bar, a full forty three dwarves who grab their axes and shields and strike up a war dirge for the march to She-Wolf.

Xanthos heard the dwarves first, Haimish heard as soon as Xanthos stopped to discover where the sound was coming from, the sight of Menthos leading forty dwarves through the filthy streets of She-Wolf made him both laugh and cry at the same time.

“What’s this?” Xanthos asked

“I used this product I got from an old shopkeeper called army builder, works pretty good, I’ll have to get another one.” Menthos said with a wink

Haimish collected the rumbling ogres and led the dwarves north to Omen by the light of a waxing moon.

Ao the warlock's a better public speaker than the bard, huh?

Jon Potter said:

Ao the warlock's a better public speaker than the bard, huh?

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Different tact, the bard painted a picture of history and what he thought they should be doing. Then rolled low

Menthos said "I wanna piss them off, get them good and angry. In fact I want to throw in some intimidation with my speech." So I gave him a little bonus to his roll (based on how the dwarves in She-Wolf are personality-wise) and he rolled really good. That's the difference.

Haimish is good with diplomacy, Menthos is good with intimidation and G.I.

The battle is engaged

Xanthos halted the parade before they headed out on the road north to Omen.

“We need some supplies, forty boisterous dwarves marching against an army of goblins aren’t’ exactly stealthy.” Xanthos comments

Xanthos takes Turgar and Doopa to procure a large wheeled cart.

“Make sure it’s a new cart, I’ve heard used ones will get you off the lot and then collapse spilling dead bodies across the road.” Turgar laments

“Where do you shop? Need to get you to an elven craftsman.” Xanthos advises

They spot a large four-wheeled cart parked behind a shack of a home near the northern fringe of the town.

“That’ll do, Turgar knock on the door and see if the owner would be willing to sell it to us.” Xanthos asks

Turgar knocks for ten minutes before stopping to advise no one’s answering, “Let’s find another one.”

“No, that’ll take to much time. Turgar please go find us some pitch, Doopa please help me with the cart.” Xanthos instructs

“What? You’re just going to take the cart?” Turgar asks

“No, I will be paying for it ten fold. Now please hurry.” Xanthos advises and Turgar runs off to find some pitch

“Doopa please help me lead the cart away, take it back to Haimish.” Xanthos instructs

Doopa grabs the cart and leads it away from the home and north to rendezvous with the rest of the party. Xanthos takes a seed from his pouch and plants into the ground where the cart once rested. After covering it with dirt, he sticks his hand back through the loose soil and grasps the seed for a moment to cast plant growth on it. Soon a robust cherry tree erupts from the ground spraying the area with soil and debris as the tree’s upper branches make known the new presence of flora within She-Wolf. Even as the tree grew in stature, the smell of cherries began to waft along the slight southerly breeze.

As Doopa dragged the wooden cart to Haimish, the bard and Menthos watched in wonderment as a huge tree spread its arms over a small wooden shack beneath it.

“What’s that for?” Menthos asks Doopa

“Doopa not know, changing man said to bring to music man.” Doopa replied

“It’s probably for these.” Turgar answered carry four barrels of pitch as he approached the group

Turgar placed the pitch onto the wagon as Xanthos arrived to continue their journey north.

“What was the tree for?” Haimish inquires

“Payment for the cart.” Xanthos answers

“Doopa not like it, Doopa think dwarves will chop down.” The ogre comments

“Why would anyone do that? That tree is going to bring the owner many years of fruit and wood to come.” Xanthos responds

“Maybe because it’s the only tree in a two mile radius, you’ve just marked that dwarf’s home as a nature lover.” Menthos answers

“So? What’s wrong with that, someone has to grow the food they eat, aren’t they nature lovers?” Xanthos scoffs

“You wasted a spell to create firewood is what you did.” Menthos responds

Xanthos waves him off and takes point ahead of the wagon as the dwarves anxious to get moving exhale a collect sigh of relief at finally getting underway.

The dwarves march tirelessly, much to the chagrin of Haimish whose human body kept telling him time and time again that rest was needed. Still the bard pressed through not wanting to hold back the rest of the force just for him.

Halfway through their trip, the air began to get measurably colder. Both Menthos and Haimish felt the cool air bite through their clothes and gnaw at their bones.

“It’s it a little early to be getting cool Xanthos?” Haimish inquired

“It’s an aberration yes, however this far up the Majestics, who knows how early winter sets in.” Xanthos answers

The mid day sun shone brightly above which helped to warm them a little. Haimish admired the resiliency of the dwarves who seemed to plow forth as if each obstacle was placed there to be overcome, not dwelled upon. Menthos however had another word in mind when he thought of the dwarves’ obvious fortitude prominence.

Xanthos located a wide valley the cart could traverse that might cut a full six hours off their travel time; the party shifted directions and proceeded down the steep walled crevasse. Raising the paranoia level of the ogres, who imagined goblin ambushers all along the cavern walls raining rocks and spears down upon the party.

“Doopa not like this, feels wrong.” The barbarian announces

“It is wrong, quit touching yourself.” Turgar dug in

While not claustrophobic by nature, the dwarves felt uneasy amid the unnatural silence that seemed to permeate this valley. Most of the dwarves along with the party kept their eyes peeled on the ridges above. Turns out they should have kept them peeled on the caves below.

Four long snakes shoot out from a darkened cave and snapped up a dwarf in each mouth, then returned to the cave from whence they came. They moved so quickly it was the disappearance of the dwarves themselves which drew the shouts of surprise. The caravan lurched to a halt as Doopa spurred his horse towards the cave, the dwarves reached for their crossbows and like a company that had been training for years the clicking of bolts into place on the crossbow echoed as one loud sound.

The only remaining sound was that of Doopa’s horse as it galloped across the valley floor. The dwarves steadied their hands waiting for more snakes to emerge or re-emerge from the darkness. Doopa reached the cave entrance and dismounted as his eyes adjusted to the now dark conditions. Towering above him were ten weaving and swaying snakes, each attached to a bloated reptilian body with four massive legs and a tail twice as long as it’s body.

“Hydra!” Doopa yelled as he launched himself into melee with the creature

The dwarves steeled their gaze as Turgar rode up towards the cave as well. Both Haimish and Menthos stood their horse’s ground.

“Hydra? That’s odd, we’re nowhere near a swamp, the only hydra I know of that hides out in a mountainous region is a..” Xanthos started before gouts of freezing fire erupted from the cave’s mouth.

“Cryo-hydra!” Xanthos shouts back

“Hmm.. no wonder it’s so cold.” Menthos stated

Doopa tore into the creature with the savagery of an ogre who hadn’t killed anything in months. The initial apprehension of learning what they faced lasted longer than the battle it took to take the beast down. Soon Doopa and the dwarves were ridding the cave of the body and carving it for a feast worthy of a march to their deaths.

Menthos and Haimish both welcome the addition of a bonfire, as the death of the cryo-hydra did nothing to allay the frigid conditions. They both ate quickly and retired early to get some sleep before the finishing march tomorrow. Xanthos advised the gathered that he planned to leave in mid-early morning long before dawn so has to make Omen by late afternoon. This pleased the dwarves as well as Doopa who after getting his first action in months was looking for another fight.

The cold morning departure time arrived along with the accompaniment of a snow shower. Xanthos noted the extreme weather change for early autumn and could not remember a time when it was this cold this early, and thought its presence was a bad portend.

The rest of the march was uneventful, Xanthos guided the force though a small copse of fir trees where they would be harder to spot and allow them some prep time. The dwarves whispered amongst themselves a hope that Omen still stood, an idea that would allow them something to fight for in addition to the destruction of as many goblins as they could manage before Karak called them home.

Xanthos noted the lack of battle sounds and smells of any kind and thought that a good sign, as death usually permeates it’s odor over everything near to it. It wasn’t until the tree line came into view and Omen could be seen on the hill above that Xanthos figured out why the lack of senses detail existed.

A strong snow storm raged outside the fir forest, within the party was sheltered against the majority of its effects. The wind blew from behind the firs and up the hill. Omen’s walls still stood on the south side, although dark smoke clouds billowed up and out to the north from within the town. Xanthos could spot no goblins along the southern facing side of the town, he did however spot a lone figure suspended in midair above the town. Blue skinned and large, the ogre mage spun slowly in the air and shot what seemed as random lightening bolts into the interior of the town.

“Omen still stands but it’s under heavy siege, I’m going to fly out and get a better idea of what we’re facing.” Xanthos announced as he stepped out from the trees and felt the full brunt of the wind batter him like a ship’s sail. The shifter transforms into an eagle and takes to flight.

Xanthos nears the town and drops in low and lands next to a wall, transforming into a thoqqua, Xanthos burrows through the mounting snow and hardening earth to get under the wooden wall of Omen and up into the town itself. Xanthos then transforms into a rat and peeks his head out of the snow.

Above the maniacal ogre mage lung lightening all over the ground. What seemed random from hundreds of feet away, Xanthos saw was really the ogre mage focusing on large holes dug into the ground of Omen. Exiting his own hole, Xanthos made his way to the nearest hole and dove into it, transforming back into an elf as he did so.

Adjusting his eyes, Xanthos came face to face with a dozen Omen residents. Eight dwarves and four human rangers crowded in a small dwarven dug tunnel.

“Help has arrived.” Xanthos announced, to far less fanfare than he expected

“How long are we supposed to wait for the shifter to return before we attack?” A dwarf shouted as over an hour had passed from when Xanthos left.

“I don’t know, I suppose we should start drawing up our own plan b in case he doesn’t return.” Haimish spoke

“That won’t be necessary.” Xanthos’ voice broke the malaise, “Omen is in dire trouble, I have a plan to get us in the town and free the besieged residents.”

Xanthos explained that about a hundred of the town’s protectors remained, mostly dwarves which brought a cheer of greatness form the dwarven force. The town’s gate was being pummeled by hill giants while the ogre magic launched shards of electricity at the defensive positions of the survivors, seemingly without end. Goblins were present but had not attacked since unleashing volleys of arrows into the town yesterday. Xanthos proposed dumping the pitch and igniting it, then letting the smoke race up the hill to obscure the party’s advance to Omen. He assured the party without a clear line of sight, the prospects of getting electrified by the ogre mage was remote.

The dwarves agreed and Doopa and Turgar raced about forty feet out from the tree line and began dumping the pitch. Xanthos spotted the change in Omen as a growing darkness around the base of the wall, peering more closely, he spotted the ranks of goblins encapsulating the town.

“Hurry up, the goblins have surround the town!” Xanthos shouted

Doopa tripped in the snow and spilled the barrel of pitch his was carrying, Xanthos looked back to have a handful of dwarves run out to help the ogre, when his eyes caught black shapes racing down the hill toward the party.

“Impossible, we’ve been noticed. I don’t see how, we’re practically invisible down here!” Xanthos cried out in shock

Turgar looked up and recognized the jerky movement of the shapes, “Not seen, smelled. Those are worg cavalry, and we’re upwind.”

The truth of it sank in for Xanthos and he realized the pitch would need to be set far sooner than planed, “Set the fires!”

“Doopa not done yet!” Doopa shouted back from his kneeling position, thick pitch oozing off his snow melt frame.

Menthos lit the small pitch fire that the dwarves would use to dip their bolts in and fire into the pitch slicks the two ogres had created. Turgar was racing back to the tree line when the first slick went up in flames. Thick black impure smoke roiled up the hillside, the ogre mage almost instantly ceased his spinning and focused his attention to the blacken spot of Doopa rising on the hillside below. A shout of an order rang out of the ogre’s mouth and the gather goblins on the southern wall abandoned their current duty and began to trudge down the hill at Doopa.

A second pitch pile went up in flames, this one in-between Doopa and the tree line. Black smoke engulfed the ogre and his position was lost to the party as the smoky cover hid his location. Two more piles went up, and now neither side could see each other.

“Can you get me inside the walls?” Haimish asked Xanthos

“Yes, but why would you want to go there?” Xanthos inquired

“What if the giants break through while we’re trapped down here? I’d rather fight off the giant’s than a hundred goblins and dozens of worgs.” Haimish explained

Xanthos acquiesced and transformed into a pegasus, Haimish climbed aboard and the two of them took off for Omen. The ogre mage noticed them immediately.

“This is going to hurt.” Haimish said as they neared Omen

Xanthos dipped in low and into the pitch smoke to help conceal their approach and to allow Xanthos to estimate how far the goblins had come down the hill. They encounter no goblins however, which gave Xanthos a pause as he was positive they should be somewhere in the smoke. Xanthos pulled up and out of the smoke wall twenty feet from the wall and felt the first bolt of lightening tear through him.

The blast nearly tore Haimish off of Xanthos’ back, but he held tightly, another bolt connected as Xanthos cleared the wall.

“Get out of here, I’ll draw his fire!” Haimish shouted as he slipped over the side of the pegasus and plummeted twenty feet to the ground.

That however didn’t stop the ogre mage from lighting Haimish up with a bolt as he plunged towards the earth. Wracked with pain from the electricity, Haimish found some relief from his heated breastplate as he landed in the snow next to a hole in the ground. Shoving his left hand down into the snow and finding hard ground, Haimish was able to fling himself into the hole as another bolt crashed into the lip of the hole, melted the snow and sent dirt flying.

Xanthos circled around and cleared the wall heading back towards the party when the ogre mage’s lightening struck him. He felt his heart skip as his vision went dark for a second, he started to plummet and decided to use that to his advantage. Letting gravity pull him down, once his mouth tasted the smoke, Xanthos transformed into a rat and landed in the dirty snow below. Xanthos heard the mass of goblins ahead, waiting to pounce on whatever waded in the smoke towards them. Fearing for Doopa, Xanthos transformed into a wolf and headed to the western side of the smoke trail, he followed the edge of it back to its origins, transformed back into an elf and shouted for Doopa, “Doopa, they’re waiting for you. Come to my voice before the goblins reach you!”

“Doopa not afraid!” The barbarian shouted, much further to the east than what Xanthos expected, in fact it sounded as if Doopa had made it nearly out of the smoke bank.

Menthos spent his time picking off approaching worgs who had remained outside of the smoke, Turgar stood behind the dwarves waiting to give the order to fire at anything that sounded close or moved out of the smoke near the tree line.

“Doopa here, you want fight! Come get it!” Doopa shouted as he stepped from the cover of the smoke

“Doopa, No!” Xanthos screamed as hundreds of goblin voices lauded for the easy kill

Fear and apprehension washed over the faces of the heroes as the sight of this mass of small bodies waddled out from the dark smoke like a cancer. Not Doopa however, first the first time in four months his heart sang in preparation for the coming slaughter.

“Fire!” Turgar ordered as the dwarves unleashed thirty plus bolts through the opaque shifting wall of darkness. The sounds of dying and confused goblins told Turgar that the first volley succeeded.

Menthos had taken out six goblins riders before they could reach Doopa’s position, looking up he saw only one remaining mounted enemy on his side, this one was bigger than a goblin and carried with it a standard emblazoned with red and orange as they charged down the hill.

“Turgar, daddy goblin is coming up this side. Care to help me put him in time out?” Menthos asked

“What about Doopa?” Turgar answered

“He’s buying us time, let’s not waste it.” Menthos replied, knowing that Doopa was likely dead and knew it. The barbarian was going to go down swinging though.

Turgar hesitated, then ordered the dwarves to continue to fire into the smoke, angled best to assist Doopa. He then looked up and nodded to Menthos as the two of them left the cover and safety of the trees to meet the orc warlord.

Haimish counted four dwarves and two humans in the hole with him, “Can you signal the other holes?”

“Yes.” A dwarf replied, producing a curved horn

“Excellent, when the giants break through we’ll need to wait until they’ve gotten close enough for a coordinated attack to surprise them and do the greatest amount of damage.” Haimish replied

“Then what? We can’t kill them all.” A ranger piped up

“Then we escape the same way they got in, they want the town and we need to regroup. Can’t do that separated in a dozen small groups while the giants poke at us from above with that ogre mage up there blasting away as well.” Haimish answered

The sullen visages on the dwarves told him they weren’t going to abandon the town as readily as Haimish hoped.

“The dwarves of Thunderhold fear no giant. We’ll not take the easy way out.” A dwarf advises

“Who said this was the easy way? I fully expect to die trying to get past the giants and whatever else breaks in.” Haimish announces, taking a page form Menthos and using the prospect of death and a glorious fight to motivate, not to mention his own battered body which looked as if it could not withstand the spit from a kobold.

“Aye, that be worth seeing.” The dwarf replied and put his hand in, the remaining dwarves and rangers did so as well, now Haimish had to hope the rallying trumpet rallied the rest of the survivors when he needed them to rise up and attack as well.

Medic!!!!!

Haimish peered out over the lip of the punctured ground to get a look up at the ogre magic blasting the ground like a self-contained electrical storm, “If we could just get rid of him or at least cease whatever he’s using to keep blasting us constantly.”

“He’s too high for us to hit him with our arrows and bolts, believe me we tried. That’s what cost us most of our forces, while we were trying to take him down the stunted wretched fired upon us from the backs of their worgs.” A ranger replied

“Really? How odd, how far up would you say he is?” Haimish asks

“At least three hundred feet, but with this wind it might as well be three hundred leagues.” The ranger replies

“Interesting indeed.” Haimish answers and exits the hole

“What are you doing?!” yell the collective dwarves and rangers within the hole

Xanthos hoped to get under the smoke, but realized his plan worked too well as the smoke hugged the ground as it ascended the hill. He decided he would have to take to flight again to have any chance of helping, transforming into a bat and using echolocation to navigate the think smoke, Xanthos delved deeper into the smoke aiming for the source of it to get back to the dwarves to have them split and advance towards Omen.

Menthos and Turgar gave Doopa’s battle a wide berth. For the most part the mounted goblins ignored them; more focused on bringing down what they thought would be easy prey in Doopa. The ogre swung his club in swooping arcs, his upswing kicked up goblin bodies and flung them back into the gathered mass. Worg yelps and goblins screams drowned out everything, carried on the rushing wind the sounds ricocheted up the hill and off the walls of Omen.

To draw the attention of Karnak is to bring death upon you, for the god of slaughter likes nothing more than abject destruction. Doopa faced down hundreds of goblins and dozens of worgs, his hands slick with the blood of many, his clothes saturated with the dying life force of an enemy ill prepared to face death, his weapon singing the dirge of Charon overloading the death man’s barge with souls.

Doopa raged against death, battled the fatigue of war and plowed through the field of bodies sow seeds of destruction as he waded through the mass of flesh. His eyes flushed with splashing ichor, his mind more focused than it had ever been, his body went beyond a simple rage of determination and passed unto a state of utter berserk of a parent defending their child until their last breath has been drawn.

The deeds of the knight are well recorded in the annuals of their liege’s tower, the paladin’s conduct sung on high by the voices of angels. The barbarian’s actions are repeated by the coarse throats of skalds huddled next to a fire in dying landscape. Weapons of legacy and artifacts of the ancients are born from such legends, Excalibur’s greatness cemented by the man who wielded it. Doopa created two legends on this field, for ten bloody minutes the ogre slew over one hundred goblins and three dozen worgs. The assistance from the dwarven crossbowmen would be erased from history, this would become the Kneegnash tribe’s hero on this day another constellation was created to be named years later in memory of the one who brought the Kneegnash’s over the mountain.

Turgar set for the charge against the orc warlord barring down on himself and Menthos, the ogre lit up his defensive aura ready to give the orc a nasty surprise if he connected with his obsidian lance. Menthos distanced himself from Turgar, not wanting to get caught within range of the worg’s jaws.

The orc snarled as he drove his beast towards the defiant ogre. Thirty feet from contact, the worg lifted off the ground. Anger rose through Turgar, how could the orc deny him this battle? Turgar moved back to try and catch the orc when he landed, hoping the orc wasn’t headed for the dwarven crossbow line. The dwarves would all likely abandon firing and switch to hand-to-hand combat to deal with their mortal enemies, that would be a disaster Turgar could not allow.

Xanthos heard Turgar’s challenging shouts and changed directions, transformed back into a pegasus and lifted through the smoke bank. The orc warlord pulled on worg’s bit and made a hard left and dove for the pursuing Turgar. The ogre raised his longsword to fend off the stone lance, the orc feinted and Turgar swung his blade forward and down slicing the air in front of him. The orc rode over the top of Turgar and punched the lance down through the neck of Turgar skewering the dragon shaman along the spine.

Turgar dropped everything his was carrying as he felt a burning pain in his neck but found his limbs were unresponsive; his eyes saw that instead of falling he was being lifted through the air as an eldritch blast from Menthos slammed into something above him. It took Turgar another moment to realize he was adorned to the lance; the orc spun his worg in the air and pointed the tip of the lance down at Menthos. Turgar felt his chest squeeze as the very life-force was wrung from him along the length of the lance. A black bolt of foul energy shot forth at Menthos how managed to dive out of the way; he still felt the tendrils of negative energy as they dissipated around him from the blast site however. Finished with Turgar’s spent body, the orc shoved the desiccated corpse from his weapon and cackled as it fell lifeless to the ground below.

Xanthos arced in the air and gained height on the orc warlord, rolling over he went into a death dive on the orc from above transforming into a troll at the last moment and pouncing onto the back of the orc. Xanthos dug his claws under the breastplate of the orc and tried to both wrench the orc off the worg and tear into the orcs innards at the same time. The orc activated a power latent in his armor and turned into the consistency of air. Xanthos flailed helplessly as he fell through the orc and began to plummet to the ground below. Xanthos shifted into a pegasus again and began to ascend towards the orc anew.

Cursing aloud the orc returns to the land of materialism and receives another salvo of eldritch blasts form Menthos. Xanthos speeds towards the orc the fire of vengeance burning through his veins. Sensing the desire within him, the orc holds his hand out in a receiving manner and utter a single fiendish word “heart”.

Xanthos’ chest caves with pain as the shifter’s body convulses in midair. Menthos watches as the pegasus’ chest bursts open and Xanthos’ heart is expelled from it and into the waiting hand of the orc. Xanthos hears his pounding heart no longer as his body attempts to return to his base form of a centaur unsuccessfully. An amalgamated mass of flesh crashes down below the orc and begins to bleed out turning the white snow pink then bright red.

As a tiefling, Menthos lived on the edge of death all his life, never had he been able to taste it in the back of his throat like this moment. The orc warlord turned slowly in mid air as if taunting Menthos, realizing that he was all that was left capable of attacking him at this moment, the orc descended methodically drawing out the inevitable. Menthos searched the contents of his many pockets and backpack with his mind, trying to come up with something to save his skin.

Haimish yanked free from the dwarven hand that tried in vain to bring him back into the hovel. Haimish stared up at the ogre magic and cursed its existence in defiance of its apparent superiority. The ogre mage rained a bluish electron hell upon the armored bard. Bolt after searing bolt arced through his body, Haimish just smirked, never had he called a bluff with this many stakes on the table before. It felt good, liberating, it felt like giant-ass kicking time.

“The ogre mage is an illusion, ignore it, it can no longer harm you. Omen rise and defend!” Haimish’s inspiring words pierced the crackle of lightening and cracking of wood as the hill giants finally beat down the gate to Omen and began to wade into the center of town and entered the very hearts of the last of Omen.

The hill giants were initially disappointed to find their efforts wasted on one loud mouthed trueborn shouting in the middle of the town, then their spirits were lifted as Omen rose from the ashes of an oppressive illusion and began filling the giant’s vision with things to pound. Then the little ones shot their stinging sticks at the giant’s and their hopes turned to fear as dozens of arrows and bolts found their purchase into the bodies of the invading giants.

Shouting in giant, Haimish addressed the hill giants, “You grave is prepared! Come to me so that I may put you in it!”

The six giant’s snarled and began to advance, the dwarves and rangers of Omen began to question Haimish’s plan until the giants got within twenty feet of Haimish and then Haimish charged the giants. Blackened and bruised from what his body took as real damage from the ogre mage earlier, Haimish couldn’t let the giants strike him. However he could let the Omen people see fear and if he had to go out, at least he was going out on his terms.

Doopa’s weapon slipped from his hands several times, wet from blood and sweat the weapon careened off the mounting bodies to rest some distance away. Each time a brave goblin would race out to try and claim it as its own and each time its actions would be followed by several more of its buddies. This only created an artificial beacon for Doopa to trace to his weapon, and the backs of the goblins made for open shots form the dwarven crossbowman. Doopa switched to his won hands to smack and pound his way through the fearful crowd on a path of maiming to his club. Once he’d reached it he would pluck the lucky goblin that was holding it up off the ground and use its body to wipe the club clean, ignoring the inconsequential prods the rest of the goblins made into Doopa’s hide.

As the goblin horde began to thin the dwarves switch to axes and raced through the snow to engage the enemy on a now level playing field. The dwarves fought their way to the large ogre, using his position to adjust their movements. Several minutes later the two forces, one of ancestral determination and the other of pure rage met on the battlefield. A nod of respect was exchanged before Doopa collapsed, his adrenaline soaked body finally spent of its fury, the dwarves rallied and hefted the body of Doopa out of the carnage and back through the thinning smoke and into obscurity.

Menthos quick glanced over at Doopa’s last position and saw the dwarves lifting his body and carrying it back into the smoke and then disappearing after him. Thinking he was the last left standing and relatively confident no one could hear he scream, Menthos pulled the only card he had left and utter a word so black and foul that only Kador himself fully understood it’s meaning. Menthos felt the capillaries throughout his head burst as four new rows of small sharp horns grow from his skull as the last syllable from the word was uttered.



**** I used the mass battle rules from Cry Havok I just could never roll high enough to kill the ogre early enough, I haven't seen so many 1's and 2's EVER ****

Well, that was brutal. I was sorry to see the dragon shaman fall since I've never seen one in play. What's your/your player's perception of the class in retrospect?

And also, was the ogre mage always and illusion? When they met him the first time was it the real OM?

Hairy Minotaur said:

**** I used the mass battle rules from Cry Havok I just could never roll high enough to kill the ogre early enough, I haven't seen so many 1's and 2's EVER ****

Click to expand...

Haven't read the Cry Havok rules, but I love the way this played out. That random element's what makes games so much fun to play!

At least for me it is.

Jon Potter said:

Well, that was brutal. I was sorry to see the dragon shaman fall since I've never seen one in play. What's your/your player's perception of the class in retrospect?

And also, was the ogre mage always and illusion? When they met him the first time was it the real OM?



Haven't read the Cry Havok rules, but I love the way this played out. That random element's what makes games so much fun to play!

At least for me it is.

Click to expand...

Well, the class is really good for support, more often then not Turgar had to either get involved in melee himself or everyone was so far spreadout that his support value was nil. Needless to say his next character is a tad more traditional class-wise at least.

The Ogre Mage was real the first time, *I had more to write but took it away so as not to give away a particular character's fate*

The smoke screen would've been brilliant - had there been no worgs with scent available, still it did provider much needed cover at the beginning of the fight.