The kobold spins around, ducking under the shuriken that Cook threw.
Too slow.
It tears a furrow along the kobold’s chin and cheek. The little dog-lizard-man gives a high-pitched yelp, and if they didn’t already know it, the enemy force would have been alerted.
But by then, Vann-La is already striding into the tent, her right hand gripped into a fist, her shield strapped to her other arm.
The time for stealth has passed.
The gnoll, who is called the Mouth of Yeenoghu, lifts its skull-topped rod and pronounces a blasphemous word of power around its half-gnawed jerky. The skull’s eyes blaze, and a
demonic blast of fire shoots out at the Kree elf. She throws up her shield, and it catches the flames, deflecting them from her. Spatters of hot liquid fire that stinks of brimstone patter down around her feet, but she just keeps advancing.
Heshwat the Eviscerator, hobgoblin general, whips out his deadly glaive and leaps to meet her. He stabs forward, roaring a bloodthirsty challenge, and sneaks past Vann-La’s guard! She spins away from the blow, but before she can react, Heshwat strikes again, this time hitting her in the throat, and Vann-La is stunned by the force of the blow!
“GET THEM!” bellows the Eviscerator.
By now the party has poured into the tent, but before any of them advance beyond Vann-La, LIgir hurls a
fireball into the far side of the pavilion tent. It bursts with a lurid orange flame, and several of the hobgoblin guards fall, shrieking and burning to death.
Hot on the
fireball’s heels, Kratos and Heimall push forward into the fray, engaging the orcish warlord Tursh. He roars in berserk fury as the double warlord assault pounds into him, replying with a
warrior’s surge that heals him partway. Meanwhile, Cook and the kobold director Vypp are exchanging ranged attacks, with Cook hurling shuriken and kitchen knives while the kobold spits lightning and is able to help his allies move and attack more often, almost like a warlord would.
But with Vann-La stunned, the kobold is unable to resist the opportunity to keep her that way, and he spits a bolt of crackling lightning at her, stunning her again.
The goblin king Morl, meanwhile, keeps throwing daggers with
underhanded throws that keep him moving and distract their targets, making the goblin king hard to track. After a moment, he decides that the stunned elf is too tasty of a target to ignore, and dances close to slash her with his scimitar. The Mouth of Yeenoghu, meanwhile, turns to aid Tursh (the orcish warlord). With a glare, the filthy beast sends a wave of sheer malice at Kratos, who reels back, dazed from the psychic blow.
Hkatha, meanwhile, has maneuvered into a good position from which to catch the enemy in another burst. This time he casts a
sleep spell, but in the confined quarters of the pavilion, it is fairly ineffective, slowing the enemy for a moment or two but not actually putting anyone to sleep. The tiefling snorts, and unleashes a
scorching burst in the middle of a bunch of enemies. The screams of pain that rise from the foe is certainly more satisfying than the
sleep had been!
Loridell moves in, axe to axe against Tursh. The two exchange a series of blows, parries and blocks, with Loridell rapidly getting the better of the exchange. “Guards!” roars Tursh in Goblin, “Guards!” Torinn flails about with his spiked chain, smashing the kobold director with bone-crunching force even as he maneuvers his allies into better position. Next he lays a blow into the Mouth of Yeenoghu, then strikes at Heshwat to no avail.
Heshwat the Eviscerator, after a quick look to ensure that his allies are doing all right, laughs at Torinn and then stabs the stunned Vann-La again, bloodying her. “
Throat-Ripper will kill you, elf-woman!” he sneers, grinning.
“Hai!”
Heshwat jerks around just in time, parrying an incoming shuriken from Cook off the haft of his glaive with a
ping.
“You leave her alone!” the dwarf shouts.
Vann-La groans, starting to come around- and Heshwat stabs her in the head again, knocking her back. Once more, Vann-La is insensate. The hobgoblin general laughs.
Then there is an explosion of fire all around Hkatha, as he unleashes a
fire burst close enough to catch himself. The kobold and orc are both caught in the blast, as are two more of the guards.
“Yeah, that’s right!” shouts Ligir. “We’re
wizards- and you’ve been ignoring us, hitting on Vann-La while she’s down. Let me tell you something, you
don’t ignore the wizards. No,
this is why you hit the wizards!”
With that, Iggy
dimension doors next to Morl the goblin king, unleashes a
fire shroud that staggers Morl and then*
fey steps right out of the midst of things to safety again!
Vann-La tries to get her head together. It feels like the world is spinning. She is highly disoriented. She shakes her head, trying to clear the spots before her eyes.
Movement.
She throws herself left and down, and this time Heshwat’s glaive only hits her arm.
Her head is clearing. Slowly... slowly...
Her shield jerks up as
Throat-Ripper flashes in again, and the weapon crashes off of the shield. Then there is a boom as she activates the power of the
storm shield that the party took from the mercenary Borgan Tyre.
The hobgoblin general only laughs.
Suddenly a
beacon of hope blazes from Torinn, weakening both the Mouth of Yeenoghu and King Morl with its divine power.
“Stand tough!” shouts Kratos at the party. “We’ve got them now!”
Vann-La seems to agree, shifting away from Heshwat- or is it closer to the other foes?
“COME AND GET IT!” she shouts.
As one, Tursh, Heshwat and the Mouth of Yeenoghu rush forward at the Kree warrior. She slashes out at all of them, her hammer crunching into the Mouth of Yeenoghu’s shoulder before smashing the orcish warlord hard in the face! Tursh crumples, pulverized white matter pouring out of the ruin of his forehead.
Heshwat the Eviscerator gnashes his teeth. “You’ll pay for that, elf,” he growls.
Vann-La grins as she assumes the stance of her
rain of steel, her hammer swooping through the air all around her like a lethal hawk. It crashes into the Mouth of Yeenoghu, who gasps in pain but retains his feet. Raising his hyena-skull topped rod again, the Mouth unleashes a
demonic blast that hits Vann-La, and liquid fire splashes out and burns Loridell, Kratos and Heimall.
Meanwhile, King Morl carefully works his way towards the edge of the tent, hurling daggers with
underhanded throws over and over again at Kratos.
”I have had about enough of you!” snaps the warlord, turning to face Morl. He hefts his maul.
BOOM!!
Another
fireball, this time caused by Iggy’s new
necklace of fireballs, catches more of the largely ineffective guards unawares. They are blown from their feet and the back wall of the pavilion bursts into flames. The Mouth of Yeenoghu is caught in the blast, and he howls in agony as his body chars and his flesh melts. He falls, twitching, dead to the ground.
“Excellent!” cries Loridell, and she charges at the kobold as the others dog pile Heshwat the Eviscerator. A rain of blows falls towards the hobgoblin general, but most turn from his armor or are parried by his consummate skill with
Throat-Ripper. Even so, the heroes of Fandelose manage to cut and stab him several times, and blood starts to run out the seams in his armor and pool on the ground around him.
Meanwhile, Loridell collides with the kobold, who is frantically backpedaling, pointing at Heshwat and trying to trick her into turning back to attack him. But the paladin will have none of that. Her charge leaves Vypp reeling, and then she slams her axe into his neck with a
holy strike!
The head of Vypp the Director bounces across the battlefield.
Morl the goblin king grimaces. He is near the side of the tent, and as Vypp falls, he slashes his scimitar across the tent’s wall and leaps through the rent thereby opened. Screaming for guards, he runs away.
“You bitch!” shouts Iggy. “That’s right, you
better run!!”
Now Heshwat the Eviscerator stands alone. He snarls, slashing with his glaive, trying to push Vann-La back, pummeled again and again by hammer, maul, sword, shuriken... Slowly, Heshwat weakens, his blows growing feebler and feebler. His eyes dart around, fear reaching them for the first time as the spiked chain of Torinn whips around one last time- slashing across his face and tearing open his skull, leaving Heshwat the Eviscerator enough time left alive only to stagger once in a wandering circle before collapsing dead to the floor of the pavilion.
Panting breath. The crying of the slaves. Cook is already at work, trying to free them. Vann-La and Kratos set to work with their hammers. In the growing illumination of the tent fire, the party hustles the slaves outside.
Heimall lingers long enough to grab
Throat-Ripper.
Outside. The predawn hours are lit by fires, and the sounds of battle from the front are already in full swing.
“Look!” cries Cook.
A company of Six-Fingered Hand elite troops are marching for the command tent at double time.
“Not enough time to rest,” grunts Torinn. “We’re screwed.”
“Maybe not,” replies Heimall. “We have the bodies of their leadership.”
“You’re suggesting that we can intimidate our way out of this?”
“Maybe. At the least, we will have proof that we kicked Heshwat’s ass.”
“True enough.”
A few arrows sing over the party.
“It’s time to go,” states Hkatha.
***
Within two days, the army that has surrounded Fandelose for over five years has broken camp and departed. More accurately, without the iron hand of Heshwat the Eviscerator to keep them in line, the Hand army disintegrates. Already hungry, no longer having any organized distribution of rations, they begin falling on one another, orcs and gnolls eating goblins and kobolds.
The violence is appalling- but it all amongst the enemy. It costs Fandelose not a single life more than it has already given.
From the walls, the war-weary people of the great city watch. Fires, fields that are no more than weeds now burning again; the screams of the warring humanoids as they tear themselves apart; the clash of steel as the larger, stronger Hand troops make their smaller, weaker brethren into the new rations.
On the morning of the fourth day after the breaking of the Hand army, General Argos strides atop the wall and looks gravely at the field of corpses below, already calculating the effort required to clear them, and the likelihood of disease if the city doesn’t move swiftly.
But they’re gone for now, he thinks.
We have a reprieve. A year or two, no more- but we’ll need that year or two.
The Empire isn’t finished yet, General Argos vows silently.
Next Time: Victory celebration!
*Using an action point.