seasong's Light Against The Dark II (May 13)

[seasong]

War? Orcs? Hello?

After resting for an extra day from their adventure, and plundering some of Bellos' beer stash, Bellos, Greppa and Merideth went to Theralis Ridge to have a look around and find out where they were assigned.

And to see what they had helped build.

As summer had approached, Theralis had kept its soldiers on a continuous circuit, marching between the border posts and watching for the enemy. The goal was to hit the first one to show up, hard and fast, before others could settle in and take up military resources on multiple borders. Since Theralis Ridge was usually the first place attacked, that's where most of the preparations had taken place. The results were... unsettling.

Downslope, thick stone walls ran upslope. They were designed for one purpose: to break the enemy into digestible chunks, provide walls to either side for the shield wall, and to force the enemy into tighter quarters, for the next part of the military plan... a body of slightly over a hundred arcanists, most of whom had mastered the ubiquitous bursting spells of war in the past several years. They were housed behind a set of walls running parallel to the mountain ridge, designed to help repel the orcs, and to protect the arcanists while still allowing them to cast.

None of the walls were great feats of architecture. Nor were they particularly or built to withstand a siege - they were present to help break up the enemy, and to enhance the more important wall of flesh that kept out invaders.

The apprentices, nearly six hundred of them in all, stood by the arcanists on watch. Since they were not yet advanced yet to cast proper war magics (less than a year of schooling simply wasn't sufficient), their duty was to assist the veteran arcanists, both in focused will and in more mundane tasks such as keeping them cool and unfettered to fight fatigue.

Slightly more than two hundred veteran healers and almost a thousand apprentice healers were also present, but these were mixed in with the ten thousand soldiers. The goal was that only instant death would actually kill a Theralis citizen; anything else would just kill the orc that did it.

A less obvious change was the plan. The military intended to take the first charge of the orcs to smash them as hard and fast as possible. Rain as many fireballs as possible in as short a time as possible, to break the opposing army. And then the Theralis charge, a calculated risk to smash apart the enemy... and then follow the enemy into the forests.

Few soldiers were experienced skirmishers outside of the shield wall, but maneuvers had been practiced for nearly a year now. The shield carriers knew how to slip through trees without breaking cover or continuity, and a new spear (the shaft considerably shortened for very close work) had come into use for fighting in the more limited quarters. And more specifically, nets of heavy, leaded rope had been woven - once the forest was breached, the goal was not to kill, but to capture.

The orcs who fought Theralis today, would help make certain that the Theralese citizens were able to continue fighting tomorrow. Theralis wealth had suffered mightily the last few years from the loss of people in the fields. Now there would always be field workers.

And, preparations made, Theralis waited for the orcs to show.

And waited.

And waited.

And watched summer come and go. After the sound defeat of Breaking Cat, it appeared that no orc cared to try their luck, this year. Although vaguely disappointed... it was taken as a good sign, and as a victory, and a party was planned in the city proper.

But they partied in shifts, just to be sure.

 

[seasong]

Vignette: Apprentice

One Year Ago

Milanos of Southbottom was about as excitable as the phastini get, which is impressive - they earned their reputation as temperamental craftsfolk. But today, he could barely contain himself.

He'd always planned to be a wine maker, a patient art that his father (a proper human merchant) hoped would help quell his emotional, impulsive nature. Not that he was looking forward to it, as he wasn't, but that was the planned future. And it was said that phastini found themselves the best when they were immersed in the depths of a craft. But wine, to Milanos, seemed to consist primarily of sitting around and waiting for it to do its thing.

Not that he complained. Phastini births were rare, and his father dearly wanted a famous son, and it looked like Milanos was "it". Well, perhaps he pouted. And sighed, his dark eyes staring into the blue sky above instead of at the grapes held loosely in his hands, where he was supposed to be examining them for ripeness and readiness for crushing and fermenting.

Which brought his thoughts back to today. A Captain of the Theralis militia (Milanos was not quite old enough to have served) had passed through this morning, and administered some strange, and surprisingly easy, tests. She'd then spoken with Milanos' father, and he'd told Milanos to go out to the fields.

That was usually a bad sign - it meant Father Having Important Discussions, which usually led to Father Being in a Foul Mood. But... Milanos had heard rumors about the testing. Southbottom didn't get a lot of news, but Milanos had heard that Rykios, an elderly gentleman living near the Canyon Pass to the rest of Theralis, had been tested and sent to the city to train as an esper. If the captain was speaking to his father, and his father had sent him to the fields...

He might not be making wine when he grew up.

Nine Months Ago

Milanos was beside himself again. He'd been assigned to Greppa of Tartwater, an ellini master arcanist who'd already had a bunch of tales spread about him. Milanos had first heard about him a year or two ago, when Kyriotes' servants had been gossiping with Milanos' father's servants. Apparently, Merideth of Southbottom was their daughter, and she and Greppa were close friends, and both of them were friends with Athan of Little Lake, the Giant Killer.

It was a big world, and Southbottom servants weren't accustomed to being part of it.

Milanos had listened in - he'd heard of Athan, and sort of knew of Merideth (who in the region didn't? it was like not knowing about Kyriotes!), and he liked a good story, so.... Fine, so he leaned into the wall, a bit hidden, and listened to gossip.

But what had caught his interest best was the tale of Greppa of Tartwater, the tiny, dark-skinned ellini who rained havoc upon the enemy with a twitch of his fingers, and turned orcs into corpses at an alarming rate. Greppa was said to be the primary motivator behind the rescue of the Heroes of Eastpass, and the youngest master arcanist in over a hundred years.

That Milanos had been assigned to learn from him... he had to fight not to laugh and cry. And when he met Greppa, he couldn't stop smiling like an idiot. Greppa was as delicate as a girl, with loose red hair and gracile features. His manner spoke of power, and he was as self-assured as any person Milanos had seen. He moved gracefully, and Milanos could almost swear he saw earth moving behind the tiny man's eyes.

And then the eyes swept past him, and over the dozen others Greppa was also going to teach.

Three Months Ago; Summer's Start

Milanos lazed in the shade next to a soldier's tent with a few other apprentices. He'd just finished his watch, fanning a master arcanist and making runs for wine, and he was just glad it was over.

He'd hoped to be assigned to help Greppa, who still managed to awe Milanos. He'd watched carefully, so many times, as Greppa casually, almost lazily, wiggled his fingers in a faint circle and sigil and mighty magics, magics Milanos couldn't even cast yet, came into being. He just couldn't do it - Greppa seemed almost to be made of magic, the way he tossed it off.

Instead, he was assigned to Kyriotes. Everyone said the man was more powerful, and he was sure that in some esoteric sense that might be true, but in practice... Milanos had heard some stories about Greppa single-handedly driving off an orc army up north somewhere, and it seemed all Kyriotes did was summon monsters to kill a few orcs for him at a time.

Milanos might have pouted a bit, at that, but he managed to keep it under wraps. Kyriotes was politically powerful, if nothing else, and it was supposedly an honor to fetch wine for the man while his apprentices stood by and practiced summoning.

But he was off duty now, and decided it was time for some fun. "Who's up for a game of conjuring?"

The other apprentices grinned. Like Milanos, they never got tired of conjuring miniscule forces and flinging the tiny armies at each other. Sometimes they would pretend they were generals, and play at Orcs and Soldiers, but most of the time they just played the Game. And if Milanos was unusually talented at the game, it didn't hurt anyone's enjoyment. Losing to Milanos usually meant beating three other people later on.

Milanos found himself torn over whether the orcs should come or not. If they did, he'd see Greppa in action; if they didn't, he could continue to live like this.

It was tough, you know?

 

[Nail]

It was tough, you know?

Not as tough as waiting for the story to get to the bloody bits......

 

[Greybar]

Don't you hate it when the bad guys don't show up for their pre-scheduled bashing?

Or worse, go slipping around a flank to avoid the hammer and anvil you have set up and instead raid the soft underbelly.

Or perhaps they're pausing to recruit more giants or train hydras or some such nasty escalation of the conflict.

well, we'll just have to wait and see!

John

 

[Greppa of Tartwater]

Now you see why Greppa was kicking furniture.

 

[Talix]

LOL! Masterful plot telling, seasong - always keep the players on their toes!

And it's always nice seeing new viewpoints to the characters' positions in society. Merideth must be might pleased to be a common household name now.

 

[seasong]

PC Place in Society: Yeah, I've found that in general, players don't always realize just how much they've improved over the course of a campaign. I mean, it wasn't that long ago that Greppa was moving his spindly little legs as fast as he could while a lone orc scout chased him down with a spear. Now he's raining death on entire tribes of orcs from hundreds of feet in the sky, summoning minions of Light to check on events weeks of travel distant, and discussing affairs of state with... wait, that last bit hasn't been written yet .

I vaguely remember discussing this during the beginning of Part I, I was asked about how the players felt to be observing the real events while they were the peons. My answer then was, essentially, that that would provide them with comparisons to measure themselves by later, so they would know just how impressive and cool they really are.

Now is later.

Bloody Bits: Alas, the orcs don't show up for a while. But Breaking Cat will be back . And soon, all too soon, the Broken Knuckle tribe will be showing up.

But first, there's some political stuff to go through. Well, vaguely political. This isn't one of my more political campaigns .

 

[seasong]

Need? Or Vengeance?

Greppa kicked a chair. Stalked across the main room of the tower. Kicked a wall. Stalked back. Kicked the chair. He was muttering, punctuated occasional with a burst of "I can't believe those bastards didn't come back!"

Greppa was not happy. Had he not devised spells of furious destruction for them? Had he not spent countless hours practicing maneuvers with Uripedas? Had he not... He kicked the chair again, knocking it over, then absent-mindedly stooped and picked it up before continuing his stalking.

Merideth watched Greppa from the only safe chair in the room, cheek firmly pressed against heel of palm. He'd been ranting most of the morning after the victory party, and Merideth was waiting for it to die down so she could get back on the topic of teleporting wine barrels. That, or heal him if he hurt himself kicking furniture bigger than he was.

Bellos finally arrived, trundling through the door with Uridates in tow. The two had practically cleaved together when they met, well matched in both diverse talents and raw avarice, and once the summer was over Bellos had spent some fair amount of time in planning with the merchant.

Bellos ignored the disarrayed furniture, "Well, are we ready?"

The Road North

With a wagon full of wine bottles, Uridates had insisted that there be no outward change in his actions this year, the party headed north. With just the four of them (Uridates foregoing his usual mercenaries in favor of "heroes of Theralis"), the made good time... until they spotted a red-throated hydra, and it spotted them. With a half-growl, half-bleat, it began waddling as fast as it could towards what looked like an excellent food source.

Watching it approach, the group was airborne within a few seconds, and it finally arrived and stared up at them mournfully. One of the heads on the left gave a little bleat, almost as if to say, "Please come down food! I am hungry!"

The food didn't budge, and Greppa threw some sun streaks at it until finally it wandered off. It looked nearly heart-broken. When it was gone, they grabbed the wagon and trudged on.

Aglaonis

Uridates introduced Greppa to his wine cellar, purchased during the summer months after the party had discussed their plan with him, and Greppa introduced the lantern archons who dealt with him the most.

Allas seemed pleased for her servants to aid the scions to wealth and political power, so within moments, the cellar was filled with nearly four times what Uridates had brought with him. The poor man looked like his heart would burst.

After the business was taken care of, the group grabbed an inn room to wait on Uridates finishing his sales, and Greppa was approached by two elderly gentlemen of Aglaonis - they wanted to know if he would hire on temporarily to drive off some orcs as he had the year prior.

Greppa just smiled.

 

[Nail]

As an aside: Why didn't they do more than "drive off" the hydra? Adventurers are usually so durn blood-thristy....

 

[seasong]

I think it was my pitiful rendition of it looking up at them soulfully, in the hopes that one might fall into its mouth. That and it would take forever to kill a hydra with only ranged attacks, particularly a pyro- version with a buncha heads, and they wanted to get moving.

Probably that more than the soulful look. As you'll see, Greppa is perfectly happy to nuke sad creatures from orbit.