Session 12 pt2: Speeches, Surprises, a Sad Loss, and a choice
"What of Maissen?" Bessie asked.
"Maissen," Karkove said, "will fall, of course. They take more than they need, enslave their own kind, refuse free entry or exit, starve their people, and all in the pretend service of ‘gods’.”
Those were all true points, though slightly exaggerated, and he made a tempting case. But his arguments had the flaw of all warlords’ arguments. He craved power for its own sake.
Ren pressed this point with a question. "So once you get all this done, what are you going to be doing with all this power?"
Karkove’s only answer was that he would seek more power. He couched it in terms anyone can sympathize to – a desire for security, to see his offspring raised in the best of environments – but under it all was a greedy lust for control. Not the control that an architect has over a construction gang. Not control in order to accomplish something. Control for fear someone else will have it and do to them what they would do to others.
The more we pressed him on this issue the more uncomfortable Karkove became. Again and again he tried to impress us with how powerful his army was and that we could share in its power. We could join his forces to our powerful benefit or we could die with the other resistors. Then came the surprise.
BOOM
From the mountain there was an explosion. Scores of ogres flew backwards from out of the cross, followed by a gigantic ball.
At the table, we all turned and gaped for a moment.
Pointing up to the pile of devastated ogres, Ren grinned and asked, “So was this part of your plan to defeat the dwarves?”
Karkove snarled and leapt up. “Kill them all, but save that one.” He pointed at Aneirin, the “antique” he’d said Bran wanted to meet; “Bran wants to drink his soul.” With that the blue ogre flew over the gate, presumably to see what had gone wrong with his plan. The gates opened and two horrors marched out. Two monsters that looked vaguely like men, but with their limbs replaced by metal parts. Steam hissed out of their joints as they moved toward us.
Bessie began a summoning spell. Ren reached in a grabbed a something from the pile of treasure on the table, noticed what Bessie was doing and how close the mecha-men were to her, and realized she’d be dead in twelve seconds if he didn’t act. He slipped an arm around her waist and began pushing her toward the mounts and away from the mecha-men. Her spell was wasted, but she would live.
Aneirin, meanwhile, was facing his own hard choices. Escape for himself would be easy. He chose otherwise. Aneirin scrambled quickly to Avarshan and wheeled around to get the mecha-mens’ attention from the rest of us, still on foot. As Bessie, Ren, and Barbrack climbed atop their mounts with a mecha-man close on their heels, Aneirin sped with Avarshan to charge the second mecha-man.
Alas, the lance hit the metal part of the horror and did little damage. Emotionless, the mecha-man brought its arms up and hit Avarshan hard with its metallic left fist. Blood sprayed from Avarshan's mouth, but the horse never flinched, carrying his master steady on, ready to wheel around for a second attack. Then the mecha-man pivoted and its right arm drew back further than natural, steam hissing out and metal clicks sounding out like some twisted version of a catapult. Then as Avarshan galloped by, the perverse creation released the pent up power in its arm with a follow up blow to Aneirin’s noble steed.
It was more than the grand horse could stand. There beside a table of riches, the mount Aneirin had raised from a colt, the steed had adjusted without flinching to fighting beside a giant lizard, the equine warrior that had recently killed an ogre, collapsed. Aneirin's triaining and instinct spared him from being pinned under his beloved friend; he dove and rolled away, springing to his feet a step away. Only then did his eyes land on Avarshan's still form. Aneirin’s grief was silent, but shook the stars.
The mecha-men had no sympathy. Nor did the ogres that were strolling out of the gate, confident they would be needed for nothing but mopping up the blood of the humans before them. Bessie rode around to pick up Anierin, who hadn’t let his grief cloud his mind. Without delay, he remembered what the rest of us had forgotten. Reaching under his equine companion, Aneirin pulled the dwarven sword of runes free before mounting up behind Bessie.
And then we all demonstrated the advantage of being mounted. We left the deathtrap behind us at full gallop. Glancing behind us we saw the mecha-men, ogres, and kerbals were pursuing us, but that wasn’t what captured our attention. High in the sky over the white cross there was a battle between two blue ogres, Karkove and, we presumed, Bran, and three richly armored humans. It would surely have been an amazing thing to watch, but we didn’t have the luxury. We had to keep riding.
One we were confident our pursuers were well behind us, we slowed – but didn’t stop. Now there was even more reason to get to the dwarves.
The trail to the hill dwarf community had seen much recent traffic, and we soon saw why. The first of the great iron gates was hanging loose on its hinges. There had been a battle here and from the looks of things, the dwarves lost. Our hearts sank, but there was a ray of hope. The dead had been retrieved from the battlefield. This suggested the hill dwarves had been pushed back, but not conquered.
When we approached the second of the great iron gates, our hopes were confirmed. It still stood as strong as ever. What had been a border post on our last visit was now the gate of a fortress, ready for siege. Armed dwarven guards were everywhere.
Including the road we traveled. Apparently our dust trail had been seen. Waiting for us before the gate was a unit of armed dwarves. With them was a dwarf in robes who seemed to cast a spell as we strode forward. Whatever he did satisfied him. We were waved forward and eventually recognized. When the dwarves realized who we were, the gestured us to hurry through the gate. The great iron gate closed behind us and we felt our bodies finally relax. We were as safe as we could get just now. As the wizard dwarf and entourage led us to the city, we were caught up on all that had happened.
Two days ago was when the battle at the first gate had happened, against ogres and lesser giants led by The Mage. As Dolemite had done, the wizard described all the various magical tricks the blue ogre pulled during the battle, and how that had made all the difference. Now the hill dwarves were preparing for siege. An offense was out of the question, and unnecessary at this point.
The mountain dwarves, isolationists long estranged from the hill clans, would most assuredly not fall. They had secrets the ogres would discover to their sorrow. When we mentioned the explosion we’d witnessed, the wizard nodded. “The cannon is but ONE of their secrets. They are the first race, and it is with good reason their home has never been taken.” He also told us that they had seen Ofieg the short and others “going over” the mountain about five hours ago. With that bit of information we were able to conclude that it was they we saw battling the two blue ogres in the sky.
Suddenly the gravity of the situation sunk in. This was all critical enough that Council members were getting personally involved. They weren’t showing up just to deliver some news and tell us that we needed to handle the situation. The dwarves however, were more concerned with our revelation that there were TWO blue ogres!
Once in the dwarven city, we saw to getting settled in and then set to the business of getting Aneirin a horse. Avershan would never be replaced, but we all needed to have mounts. It was no easy task to find an appropriate war horse in a city of dwarves, but Aneirin saw the duty through with his grief in check.
We had just gotten that matter settled when there was a sudden commotion in the city’s center square. We peered down from the balcony to see Ofieg standing there, surrounded by a host of Maissen soldiers and tan garbed elite guards, calling for aid. At their feet were the bodies of two other Council members: Kord the Pious, shriveled like a dried fruit, and Hiphez the Willing, who had been quartered. Though we raced down there, we arrived after the dwarven religious leaders. They were gathering the pieces of Hiphez, deciding on just what would be necessary to raise him.
That was the good news – he could be raised. Kord, on the other hand, could not. His soul had been stolen. The fate Bran had in mind for Aneirin. They would entomb the body for sixty days in the faint hope Kord’s soul could be restored, but that was all the dwarves could do.
We were personally unable to do anything but try and console Ofieg. His spirits lifted somewhat when we asked how the battle had gone. “We won the day!” he said. Bran had been killed, the ogres piled high on the side of the mountain. But the price, obviously, had been high. Not only in what we saw, but Miriam the Still was lost. Not dead, necessarily, just lost. Missing. We still had her amulet and offered that to Ofieg. “Perhaps this will help in finding her.” He agreed it might well do just that and eagerly took it. Before departing, he bid us to help the soldiers he’d arrived with. “Remember they are your superiors,” he said.
A perfectly fine conversation soured by a closing comment.
For their part the soldiers didn’t really seem to need any aid from us, nor did they indulge in any sense of being “our superiors.” They had bivouac in the dwarven town plenty of times before, and made their way to their usual quarters. It was another illustration of the differences within Maissen. The common folk generally dismissed tales of dwarves as folklore, but the soldiers stayed with them enough to have regular quarters.
We spent much of the night talking with the soldiers. Aneirin quickly bonded with them – the basic truths of soldiering hadn’t changed in the centuries. The soldiers told us of activity on Maissen’s southern border, raids that they had been able to counter well enough. However, they were frustrated that there was no real army to battle. When asked how the common folk were taken it all, their answer wasn’t at all surprising. They were a little unnerved by the raids, but the show of force by the army had kept them calm. The rest – they didn’t know about.
So all is well and good. Just a few raids from the evil boogie men from the south. Nothing at all to really worry about. Everything is fine citizens. Go about your lives without undue care. Take care of your business. Nothing to worry about here.
But your leaders are involved in lethal battles against deadly and powerful foes. Forces are aligning in a war that is already consuming the north and will almost certainly spread. Things are far from hopeless, but they may well get much worse before they get better. And there’s the chance that if something goes wrong your life and all you love will collapse without warning.
Because you’re better off ignorant and don’t deserve any kind of warning. Just keep farming and let us knowledgeable and wise types handle everything. Because certainly you don’t think that YOU could contribute anything do you?
We didn’t think so. Praise to the gods, death to all wizards, and don’t forget to lock up the slaves.
As it seemed to be shaping up, there was the considerable power of Idien on one side. With him stood Karkove and the hoards of ogres and lesser giants, the frost giants, and the Chakta masses. On the opposing side, “ours”, were the mountain dwarves, sintars, trollkin, farunk, and probably the trollkin. Of those only the mountain dwarves had numbers and organization, and they were unlikely to care what happened beyond their mountain. Only the hill dwarves and Maissen seemed to have the capacity to field real armies. The elves were an unknown, though by their nature it would seem they would never support Idien or the giants.
From the looks of things, it seems like it will come down to how the leaders fare against each other. Idien’s masses do not by nature form into armies. It takes strong leaders to drive them to do so. If the leaders bring them victory, they will be an inspired and formidable army. If not, or if the leaders are removed, they will likely break into independent bits and bands.
We mulled this over for quite a while before deciding to call it a night. Back at our quarters we were about to fall into our beds when Bessie pulled out a bottle. Where and how she had obtained it was a mystery, but she set it on the room's table and found several cups. The druid poured out an amber liquid from the bottle, filling each cup and passing one to each of us. Raising her cup, Bessie said, "We have seen good days and we have seen hard days. Today has been one of the hard days. Tales make much of the heroes but too often forget those without whom the heros would have failed. We must not do the same. Here's to Avarshan. We'll miss the great horse, with his courage, spirit, and determination. He died in service of the master he loved. He, too, was a true hero of Maissen."
We downed the drinks as one. Aneirin started to say something, but shut his eyes and nodded his thanks before retiring. The rest of us traded a few stories of Avarshan, his skill at the beach fight, how he killed an ogre, and other things that happened in quieter moments, and then went off to sleep ourselves.
Deep into the night we were awakened by Ofieg. “Idien’s army is raised,” he told us. “Go home. The contest is done. You are heroes and you are needed.” Ofieg looked at Barbrack and then back at us. “Here I have a problem though. Is he really one of you?”
“Of course. He has been with us through thick and thicker.”
Ofieg sighed, probably dissatisfied but certainly too busy to argue the point. He told us that Mirrian is unable to be found, even with her amulet to aid the search. This means she is most likely in Idien City. That is his priority. He placed four keys upon the table before each of us. “Here you have your choice to make. What path will you choose?”
Each key was a choice. We may become Agents of the Government, working essentially as a “special” unit of the army. We may become Agents of the Church, investigating activities within and without Maissen that may be work of the enemy. We may become Landed, awarded a tract of land that extends the border of Maissen that we are to develop and defend. Or we may become Independent, with nothing to do with Maissen and with Maissen having nothing to do with us.
The choice is ours.
Next: Talks, a Dream, Portagrumble POST 188
