Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Destan" data-source="post: 1019098" data-attributes="member: 12157">The Slaughter of OlgothaOnce the party reached the ridgeline, the end was all but written.  The dark dwarves were limited in their speed and mobility, much less deadly with crossbows than with axes.  Theirs was a race bred for fighting in the black confines of Deepearth, not the sprawling meadows of central Valusia.  After a pair of failed assaults against the party’s position, the dwem broke.  Their northerly retreat – organized at first – soon became a rout.  Vath and Raylin were much faster than the black-armored dwarves.  Half-troll and Larren clansman cut them down, one after another, like hounds dispatching frightened foxes.  Eventually only a handful of dwem remained, and this small force sought to gather en masse some four hundred paces from the Mound.  The party drew together once again.  Vath’s green skin was shining with sweat, and Raylin’s chest heaved from the chase.  A lull descended as all watched the last band of dark dwarves flee across a narrow stream, axes held high as water exploded around their boots.  Most had already dropped crossbows and shields, but those few that had not did so now.Vath clenched and unclenched his fists, coiled like a spring.  “Why do we wait?”  His tone held a hint of disdain.“Let them gather,” Raylin answered.  He sheathed his swords and sat down heavily on the body of a dwem axeman, sweat running down his unshaven cheeks.  “It will be easier for us in the end.”The dwem had chosen a defensible position to make their final stand.  The land, still shrouded with wisps of morning mist, rose steeply to their backs.  The stream would act as a natural line of defense, but the meadow where they would die was narrow and bereft of tree and rock.  And, Raylin realized, unless the dwem crossed the stream once again, there was no where for them to run.Kellus removed his helm.  His hair was plastered to his head despite the cold breeze.  The priest glanced at Baden.  “I thought your folk feared the water.”“They fear dying,” Baden answered.  And then, “They are not my folk.” The companions watched as a dwem warrior – the last to cross – struggled to gain dry ground on the far bank.  The water was up to his armpits.  The dwarf clutched at roots but pulled too strongly in his desperation – each came loose from the ground, causing him to slide downward into the stream again and again.  He had already dropped his axe - doubtless it lay forgotten on the streambed – but his armor was an anchor that promised a watery grave should he lose his footing.John had gathered three dozen black-feathered shafts from the bodies of the dwem they had slain.  He held the bolts to his chest like a farmer might sheafs of wheat.  The Pellman gazed at the lone dwem in the water.  “Will his fellows not aid him?”  “Does it matter?”  Baden turned from the sight.  He knelt and began to wipe gore from his axe with tufts of dying grass.  When he stood, the final dwem was no longer in the stream, nor was he with the huddled mass of dark dwarves on the far side.Vath slid down the bank, muddy and soft from the passage of the fleeing dwem, and began to wade through the water toward the far side.“Hold, Brother Vath,” John called.  The Pellman jerked his head toward a lone outcropping of rock, not more than five paces downstream on the party’s side of the water.  “They will be within my range from there.”The half-troll squinted at the natural pillar then looked to Raylin.  The ranger nodded.  “The dwem are dead, friend.  They know as much.  It would be a hard fight gaining the far bank.”Silence blanketed the scene as the party’s bloodlust receded.  The battle was won, certainly.  There would be no glory.  Not now.  The dwem were the first to move.  The dark dwarves formed a thin rank a stone’s throw from the water.  A few of the braver ones, those who still held their axes, raised their weapons and urged the party forward in their own guttural tongue.“Let us finish this.”  Amelyssan had wrapped Margate’s Staff in a riding blanket, and tied the cloth with strips of leather.  He leaned upon it now, face pallid and cheeks sunken.  “Do not forget these are the race of Borbidan Elfkiller.”John nodded and strode toward the rocks.  He tucked the quarrels under one arm and nimbly climbed to the top.  There he set the bolts down, drew his crossbow, and lay down upon his stomach.  He began to fire.The end was a long time in coming.  Amelyssan was forced to gather more bolts for John.  The range was long, and the dwem heavily armored.  It took time to kill them all.  A few of the dark dwarves, near the end, charged into the brook with weapons high.  Three drowned, two were pierced by John’s bolts, and another was kicked back into the churning water by the half-troll.The sun was not yet completely over the Balantir Cor when the slaughter at Olgotha ended, for battle it was none.</blockquote>

Verification