Against the Shadows VII - A Faded Glory Story Hour (Re-Updated - 5/17)
- Thread starter Old One
- Start date
!Session 22 (Part Four)
Barbarian’s Last Stand?
Quintus cursed wordlessly as the gnoll warband slide under his frozen line-of-sight and disappeared. His cursing redoubled as arrows, driven by powerful gnoll bows, began smashing into his protective shield. One sliced through, striking the sorcerer solidly and causing him to rock back and forth on his perch. Below, a trio of gnoll archers yipped with glee and sent more shafts upwards. Each wanted to be the one to topple the helpless human. From his vantage point, Rowan saw Quintus stiffen and then become a butt for gnollish archery. The ranger crouched low and dodged through the ruins, trying to find a spot from which to target Quintus’s tormentors. He failed to notice a shadowy form darkening the doorway of a ruined tanner’s shop as he sped by.
Cragen, Sextus, Drusilla and Röse also saw the elder Scipio freeze atop the crumbled townhouse and began moving towards the building. Before they had traveled ten paces, the lead elements of the northern gnoll warband slammed into them, driving them back into the broad avenue. Nearly a score of gnolls crowded in, barking, slashing and ringing the companions on all sides. An even larger group hit the wagon wall again, rocking the defenders back on their heels and threatening to breach the weakening defenses. Between the two packs of gnolls stood a small command group, five bodyguards about an enormous battle-scarred leader. Anticipatory howls of triumph rent the air.
Rowan’s frozen gaze was maddeningly focused on a cracked piece of masonry over grown with grass. He smelled the approaching gnoll even before two clawed feet covered in mangy fur entered his limited field of vision. He mentally closed his eyes and prepared his soul for the afterlife. Hot, fetid breath, reeking of rotten meat, washed over the nap of his neck and coarse whiskers brushed his ear. A guttural voice croaked in broken Tradespeak.
“Me would killz yer now, but fresh bloodz, pumpin’ from dyin’ heartz, is much more tastiez. Me be backz soon…”
Harsh laughter followed the retreating footsteps as the gnoll shaman departed to join the main fray.
‘Well,’ thought the ranger wryly, ‘at least my bladder is paralyzed too.’
The gnoll’s premature howls of victory, transitioned into barks of dismay as the companions closed ranks and lashed out in all directions. Drusilla tumbled deftly through the gnoll ranks, hamstringing as she went. Sextus struck and sang and struck again. Cragen shield and armor turned away most blows and his answering hammer blows crushed bone and breastplate alike. Röse gave into his Brigante heritage and let the rage take him, swinging his axe with wild abandon, splitting skulls and spraying crimson in an ever-widening arc. Within twenty grains, half their attackers were down and the rest drew back in dismay. With a roar of ‘Skilorn’, the gnoll leader and his bodyguard hurtled into the press.
(DM’s Note: A couple of quick items…(1) It is a standing joke around the table that Röse’s combat effectiveness is inversely proportional to the number of opponents he is facing. A single rat is the barbarian’s doom, but six gnolls hacking away at a relatively lightly armored barbarian are completely ineffective! IIRC, I hit him one time with 10-12 attacks…pitiful
! (2) Skilorn is the bandit chieftain that has been plaguing the area for some time and who figured prominently in several captured missives from the Mysterious “R”…faces around the table were not happy when he was announced. (3) Another incontrovertible fact of this gaming group is the uncanny ability to fail saving throws at the worst possible time. There is no “worst offender”…they are all equally culpable.)
The gnoll shaman saw his chieftain charge into battle and followed close behind. He called upon the Darkness to freeze the huge, blood-streaked human warrior so Skilorn could eat his liver. He snarled in rage as the man shrugged of his magic and continued to spill the blood of his pack. He hefted his wickedly spiked club and moved forward, only to lurch sideways as a warhammer crashed into his left flank.
Cragen peered over the rim of his shield and growled at the stunned gnoll, “Now that I ‘ave yer attention, I’d greatly ‘ppreciate it if yer would quite castin’ yer black arts on me friends!”
The shaman’s lips curled back from his yellowed fangs and bobbed his head once before swinging his club. “Datz fine,’ he snarled, “me killz yer the ol-fashioned wayz!”
Sextus cursed as the dwarf broke ranks to attack the feathered gnoll. A pair of the dog-men lunged into the gap created by Cragen’s departure. The bard tried to block their advance, but crumpled under their combined assault. The last strains of the younger Scipio’s song hung in the air for a few moments before dissipating. One of the gnolls reached down to tear out the bard’s throat with a gnarled paw, only to pitch forward with Drusilla’s pugio between its ribs. The other gnoll howled in anger and leapt at the silent woman as she stood over Sextus’s still form.
Two of the gnolls using Quintus for target practice grew impatient, as most of their arrows failed to penetrate his defenses. One barked to the other and motioned to a low-hanging part of the roof while pulling a dagger and clamping it between his fangs. The other grinned and loped to the edge of the building, crouched down and cupped his paws. The first gnoll howled and bounced forward, using his companions aid to gain the crumbling roof a few paces below the helpless sorcerer.
The remaining gnoll, his line of fire blocked, cast about for another opponent. He spied Rowan’s still form twenty paces away and chuckled a most unpleasant gnoll chuckle. He slung his bow and drew an ugly serrated blade as he stalked toward the ranger.
Röse, surrounding by growling opponents and now howling himself, wrought fearful execution. Blood streamed from a dozen wounds, each terrible enough to fell a commoner, yet he battled on. He smashed down foe after foe, gutting one of Skilorn’s guards and braining another. The bandit chief roared his displeasure and charged, raising his own huge axe. The two crashed together and sprang apart, howling and hacking. A quartet of bloodthirsty gnolls circled the pair with bared fangs, waiting.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 22 (Part Five) – Blood and Ashes
Barbarian’s Last Stand?
Quintus cursed wordlessly as the gnoll warband slide under his frozen line-of-sight and disappeared. His cursing redoubled as arrows, driven by powerful gnoll bows, began smashing into his protective shield. One sliced through, striking the sorcerer solidly and causing him to rock back and forth on his perch. Below, a trio of gnoll archers yipped with glee and sent more shafts upwards. Each wanted to be the one to topple the helpless human. From his vantage point, Rowan saw Quintus stiffen and then become a butt for gnollish archery. The ranger crouched low and dodged through the ruins, trying to find a spot from which to target Quintus’s tormentors. He failed to notice a shadowy form darkening the doorway of a ruined tanner’s shop as he sped by.
Cragen, Sextus, Drusilla and Röse also saw the elder Scipio freeze atop the crumbled townhouse and began moving towards the building. Before they had traveled ten paces, the lead elements of the northern gnoll warband slammed into them, driving them back into the broad avenue. Nearly a score of gnolls crowded in, barking, slashing and ringing the companions on all sides. An even larger group hit the wagon wall again, rocking the defenders back on their heels and threatening to breach the weakening defenses. Between the two packs of gnolls stood a small command group, five bodyguards about an enormous battle-scarred leader. Anticipatory howls of triumph rent the air.
Rowan’s frozen gaze was maddeningly focused on a cracked piece of masonry over grown with grass. He smelled the approaching gnoll even before two clawed feet covered in mangy fur entered his limited field of vision. He mentally closed his eyes and prepared his soul for the afterlife. Hot, fetid breath, reeking of rotten meat, washed over the nap of his neck and coarse whiskers brushed his ear. A guttural voice croaked in broken Tradespeak.
“Me would killz yer now, but fresh bloodz, pumpin’ from dyin’ heartz, is much more tastiez. Me be backz soon…”
Harsh laughter followed the retreating footsteps as the gnoll shaman departed to join the main fray.
‘Well,’ thought the ranger wryly, ‘at least my bladder is paralyzed too.’
The gnoll’s premature howls of victory, transitioned into barks of dismay as the companions closed ranks and lashed out in all directions. Drusilla tumbled deftly through the gnoll ranks, hamstringing as she went. Sextus struck and sang and struck again. Cragen shield and armor turned away most blows and his answering hammer blows crushed bone and breastplate alike. Röse gave into his Brigante heritage and let the rage take him, swinging his axe with wild abandon, splitting skulls and spraying crimson in an ever-widening arc. Within twenty grains, half their attackers were down and the rest drew back in dismay. With a roar of ‘Skilorn’, the gnoll leader and his bodyguard hurtled into the press.
(DM’s Note: A couple of quick items…(1) It is a standing joke around the table that Röse’s combat effectiveness is inversely proportional to the number of opponents he is facing. A single rat is the barbarian’s doom, but six gnolls hacking away at a relatively lightly armored barbarian are completely ineffective! IIRC, I hit him one time with 10-12 attacks…pitiful
! (2) Skilorn is the bandit chieftain that has been plaguing the area for some time and who figured prominently in several captured missives from the Mysterious “R”…faces around the table were not happy when he was announced. (3) Another incontrovertible fact of this gaming group is the uncanny ability to fail saving throws at the worst possible time. There is no “worst offender”…they are all equally culpable.)The gnoll shaman saw his chieftain charge into battle and followed close behind. He called upon the Darkness to freeze the huge, blood-streaked human warrior so Skilorn could eat his liver. He snarled in rage as the man shrugged of his magic and continued to spill the blood of his pack. He hefted his wickedly spiked club and moved forward, only to lurch sideways as a warhammer crashed into his left flank.
Cragen peered over the rim of his shield and growled at the stunned gnoll, “Now that I ‘ave yer attention, I’d greatly ‘ppreciate it if yer would quite castin’ yer black arts on me friends!”
The shaman’s lips curled back from his yellowed fangs and bobbed his head once before swinging his club. “Datz fine,’ he snarled, “me killz yer the ol-fashioned wayz!”
Sextus cursed as the dwarf broke ranks to attack the feathered gnoll. A pair of the dog-men lunged into the gap created by Cragen’s departure. The bard tried to block their advance, but crumpled under their combined assault. The last strains of the younger Scipio’s song hung in the air for a few moments before dissipating. One of the gnolls reached down to tear out the bard’s throat with a gnarled paw, only to pitch forward with Drusilla’s pugio between its ribs. The other gnoll howled in anger and leapt at the silent woman as she stood over Sextus’s still form.
Two of the gnolls using Quintus for target practice grew impatient, as most of their arrows failed to penetrate his defenses. One barked to the other and motioned to a low-hanging part of the roof while pulling a dagger and clamping it between his fangs. The other grinned and loped to the edge of the building, crouched down and cupped his paws. The first gnoll howled and bounced forward, using his companions aid to gain the crumbling roof a few paces below the helpless sorcerer.
The remaining gnoll, his line of fire blocked, cast about for another opponent. He spied Rowan’s still form twenty paces away and chuckled a most unpleasant gnoll chuckle. He slung his bow and drew an ugly serrated blade as he stalked toward the ranger.
Röse, surrounding by growling opponents and now howling himself, wrought fearful execution. Blood streamed from a dozen wounds, each terrible enough to fell a commoner, yet he battled on. He smashed down foe after foe, gutting one of Skilorn’s guards and braining another. The bandit chief roared his displeasure and charged, raising his own huge axe. The two crashed together and sprang apart, howling and hacking. A quartet of bloodthirsty gnolls circled the pair with bared fangs, waiting.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 22 (Part Five) – Blood and Ashes
Last edited:
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Sucks for Rowan and Quintus. Hopefully, Röse will turn the tide against the ragin' gnoll.
Hopefully not spoiling something in the upcoming story from Old One, but I recall that once Cragen gets separated, someone, either he or the gnoll he's fighting gets the idea that some cover would be useful and casts obscuring mist which causes more than one combatant (a few gnolls plus Cragen) to get all sorts of turned about.
Darklone said:
Actually we never noticed since all of us were nearly killed and the battle was raw chaos unleashed. Each of us had done something to save another in the party and in turn were saved by someone else.
There was no "tide of battle", more of a "blender of battle" set on eviscerate.
Similar Threads
Spelljammer
Spelljammer Collector’s Guide Revisited
