Defending the Fend, Begging the Question of What A Fend Is
[For this section, I asked the players to play Gallo's units and play their PC if they rolled a "6" on a d6. This allowed them to take command of units and have their own PCs influence the battle.]
We awake refreshed in Gallo's Fend, after having delivered the last of the fleeing villagers from Middleton. The fortress itself is well constructed, settled in a loop of the Nashham River. Just south lies a long square rise called Wicked Hill. The Lobann Forest and Itnevel Wood lie to the south and east. Steppengard's forces have gathered beyond the latter.
Many other people in Otharil Vale have abandoned their homes, retreating to a city of tents between the small fort town of Markhold and Wicked Hill.
Duke Gallo suggests that the citizens of Gallo should fight alongside his forces and rasps, half-jokingly, that if they leave now they’ll regret not being the ones who save the day. I doubt sincerely they will take the bait.
Ten thousand soldiers are spread throughout Gallo's Fend, many stationed in hidden forts on Wicked Hill or in similar bunkers throughout Otharil Vale. Bolstering us are a thousand cavalry and two thousand infantry from Dashgoban. Lady Timor has sent aid as well: fifty war mages, eight hundred infantry, and two hundred cavalry, plus the elder xorn Tupof Dzequifs, whatever an elder xorn named Tupof Dzequifs might be.
Duke Gallo, in a sudden fit of generosity, wants us to lead one of the many groups of twenty to fifty soldiers, keeping our stretch of land from being invaded. We hadn't asked for the honor, but I suppose he likes us and that's his way of rewarding people.
So we assemble, and find we are in charge of the indefatigable Commander Hertiage (whom I hope we can keep a leash on), two chaplains (whose use I cannot imagine unless they have some clerical war magic like our friend), two squads of archers (which is highly useful), and three squads of knights from Dashgoban and two war mages from Timor, the addition of which makes me feel a little easier. There is also a rust monster named Granule, waving its feathery antennae, making Fafnir nervous until we realize Granule has a handler named Woody Rust-Wrangler, which makes me wonder whether he got the name after choosing that profession, or whether he figured he should became a wrangler of rust monsters with such a name. Comes from a long line of rust-wranglers, perhaps, but I don't ask.
We also have some one-use magic item that, if tossed onto the ground, will summon the elder xorn Tupof Dzequifs, which should tunnel up from below and wreak some proper havoc. I don't know when to loose that particular shaft, but I'll leave it to the more tactically minded (e.g., Fafnir and Trevor).
I am put in charge of the two squads of archers, which I can't complain of. They carry longbows, which is good news. I give them the names of Hawk's Raiders and Hawk's Roughnecks. One of the war mages, Leona, joins me and says she's under my command. This is fascinating to me but I don't have time to explore that kind of nicety right now.
Drums and horns and snapping banners announce impending battle. Steppengard and Gallo are assembled and ready. Fog hangs over the landscape, turning everything gray and blurred. We see terrible shapes and visions within the fog. Osnald feels that the veil between this place and the Shadowfell is thin. Things are around that aren't from here, perhaps to witness this battle.
As I look across the field, from time to time I could swear I see my uncle Gavintar's face appear among the commanders. I cannot be sure, but my hand tightens on the grip of the Taranesti bow. I don't know what I want for him... or for me.
A horn blast sounds the enemy's advance. Soldiers march on grass. Wheels squeak, likely siege engines we haven't taken out. Our horses stamp and whinny. We see griffons emerge from the gray, and squads of soldiers with flails running toward us. A catapult stone bursts from the fog and crashes behind our lines, bouncing and smashing but missing our troops. They're firing blind, which is fine by me.
Then a tiny point of light appears, exploding in a fireball amidst Osnald's soldier squads and knights. Osnald and Hertiage is among them, and one of the chaplains. The Steppengardians have casters too.
Trevor, leading two squad of soldiers, charges out onto the battlefield beyond the spiked barriers, forming them into a semicircle. They stand ready. He brings forward his knights, their hooves thundering, positioned before the soldiers.
I beckon Leona, the war mage under my command, to come forward with me. "Aim right there," I point, and she drops her own fireball among the enemy casters, as well as two squads of knights and a squad of soldiers. We trade smiles.
The casters shake off the fire, and a man clad in white clerical garments casts something, perhaps a healing spell.
"Roughnecks!" I call, and a volley of shafts soars over the field into the casters, who dodge desperately.
Trevor's war mage (whom he calls Thumor because he didn't ask her name), points and delivers her own fireball into the same burnt area, wrapping the knights, soldiers, and casters again in flame. The white-clad cleric goes down.
Our own chaplains dash back and forth, healing the burned.
We see bull-headed creatures rush from the fog. Minotaurs.
"Raiders!" I direct another volley at the spellcasters, and the archers take down a commander, who falls onto his face in the minotaur’s wake. The mage behind him looks worse for wear, and the knights take more arrows in their armor. Another commander appears and runs forward while the knights back up into the fog. Rather unsporting, I think, to use their soldiers as fodder while their cavalry stays protected.
Two griffons dive-bomb toward Fafnir's and Trevor's soldiers, who brace with their spears.
Suddenly a lion-shaped winged creature with the features of a woman appears, hauling the enemy mage back into the fog. I have no idea what that creature is, but at least it's engaged in saving others instead of doing whatever it does best.
I cast longstrider on Leona and drop back toward my Roughnecks. Osnald's knights canter forward to meet an onrush of Steppengardian soldiers. A griffon drops onto Trevor's mage, met with flail strikes by his soldiers and lances from his knights. The griffon falls in a bloody clump of feathers.
Leona sends a flaming sphere rolling into oncoming soldiers, before quickly striding back toward me. I stand before her.
Trevor's troops spear enemy troops, and retreat with points raised. More soldiers run at us. Osnald brings forth his mightiest and most dubious spell, lovesick, enveloping two squads of soldiers. He then quaffs a healing potion in style.
Fafnir brings a crusader's mantle and moves among his knights, his aura glowing.
