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The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue
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<blockquote data-quote="Pedestrian" data-source="post: 3928237" data-attributes="member: 40208"><p><strong>Sessions 12&13: The Battle for Brindol</strong></p><p></p><p>The attack came with the night. The Hand had encamped outside Brindol two days again. There was some uncertainty whether they would settle into a siege. Lord Jarmaath did not intend to give them the opportunity. Wanting to take advantage of the brightness of the summer day, the troops had ridden out early morning.</p><p></p><p>Jarmaath had wanted them protecting the flank of the city while he engaged the enemy. From the battlements, even across the city, the sound of the battle being joined could be heard, and the battlecries, screams and explosions continued for hours. Xerxes and Sol had been given command of a small group – a handful of Brindol Lions under by Captain Soranna and Tiri Kitor rangers and Trellara Nightshadow – and stationed on the North wall, the other side of the fighting. As had been agreed upon, the healers of Brindol had been broken up amongst the unit. Their healer was the warped little man Xerxes had first encountered at the Jasite mound. Wolsey. He crept around the northerner, always observing him, furtively, from the corner of his eyes.</p><p></p><p>An image of ugly, misshapen humans with blood slicked feet filled Xerxes mind. Jarmaath was attempting to communicate through the link. The southerner concentrated on the image, and it resolved into words. Giantkin are moving forward to assail the walls. I have despatched the Six from the main force to face them in the south. We’re too pressed here to defend the north. Your group will have to bring them down.</p><p></p><p>The first stone struck the wall with a clap like thunder. Even flung this far, it made the battlement shake and Xerxes had to put out a hand to steady himself.</p><p></p><p>“Giants, bombarding the walls. We have to bring them down, or the Hand will have a doorway into Brindol,” he relayed. Trellara nodded, and she and the other elves leapt onto their owls and sped into the air. The rest were forced to exit out of a small wall gate, but soon enough were sprinting over open ground. Sol took a moment to gulp down a potion, commandeered from the merchants of the city. He instantly swelled up, his already large muscles bulking to ogrish grotesquery.</p><p></p><p>The giants, four of them, were easy enough to spot, hurling boulders at the walls ceaselessly. Who knew how long they could stand under that assault? Xerxes drew ahead of the others, only at the last moment summoning his blood-slicked armour from the nether. His eyes flashed a cold, otherworldy colour, and the giants faltered in their throwing.</p><p></p><p>Soon enough, the battle was joined. The owl-riding elves, bolstered by a screeching cry from Trellara, sent arrow after arrow into the giants. In response, one of the brutes aimed a rock at Trellara. With one mighty fling, she was silenced. Her owl banked off, hoping to find healing for its mistress. Sol slammed into the giants with force to match their rock throwing, and laid about them with the lion-blade captured from the Ghostlord. The lions, more cautious, linked shields and closed on the giants. That earnt one a sharp kick that rent her shield, staggering her. Xerxes looked to the horizon. The dim mass of the Red Hand was surging, coming closer. They had been noticed.</p><p></p><p>“Quickly!” he bellowed, and focused all the netherwordly cold surging through his being into one brilliant beam, freezing a giant solid. The elves continued to pepper the giant vanquisher of Trellara with arrows, driving the creature off, while the Lions battled on and Sol sparred with a giant, reckless abandon in his every move. Soon, all the giants were dead or driven off. “Back to the walls!” They ran, the Tiri Kitor acting as rear-guard, shooting arrows against any goblin taking the lead.</p><p></p><p>Xerxes, how fairs the north?</p><p></p><p>Well, Lord Jarmaath. There were some confused images, broken swords and smouldering ruins. Panic. All is well. The giants are driven off and –</p><p></p><p>The Six are dead. The walls on the south have been broken over. Captain Ulverth and I are holding the breach.</p><p></p><p>Overhead, a crimson form surged toward Brindol, wreathed in fire and smoke. A blossom of fire spread out underneath it as it passed over the city.</p><p></p><p>The dragon! They have set the dragon loose! Again, the images of cracked blades, shattered walls, a murk of blood. We’re too pressed here. Xerxes, you and Sol have to stop the dragon!</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>The dragon’s attack on Brindol would be remembered forever after. More than what had been done, more than what came after, it came to represent both the destructive abandon of the Red Hand, and the bravery of the heroes who would defend Elsir.</p><p></p><p>Sol plummeted from the heavens, a vengeful angel to oppose the fiery dragon. With a bone shattering thud, he collided with the beast. There was no chance to use his sword here, just try and grapple with the monster. No good. It was strong. Stronger than anything he’d ever encountered. The drake got him in its claws, rolled in the air and… dropped him.</p><p></p><p>He fell hard, no time to disappear into a cloud in the same way he had gotten up there. The impact with the ground blasted the air out of him. He was pretty sure something was broken. No time to worry about that, either. His sword was fine. No use fighting a dragon in the air. Xerxes was busy fighting fires with his ice magic, and couldn’t reach the dragon anyway.</p><p></p><p>Another blast of flame, and the building behind him disappeared in a dizzying wave of heat. Sol shielded his eyes with his hands. He needed to bring the dragon down. There! A bit of debris, still smoking from dragon flame. He grabbed the still smouldering rock, ignoring the sizzling of his skin and flung it as the dragon made another pass. It tore a gash along the lizard’s belly.</p><p></p><p>“COME ON!” The half-Orc screamed, blade already in hand. The wyrm dived at him, trailing flame as it did. He met it blade first, clashing against the hard, bony ridges over the eyes.</p><p></p><p>The impact sent him skidding backwards, but he kept his foot. The dragon exhaled a gout of smoke at him, then lunged. His strike flew off the beats armoured hide, leaving not a scratch. In return, he was subject to a dizzying assault of talon, fang and tail, forcing him to retreat.</p><p></p><p>Scornful, the dragon reared onto its haunches and let forth a sulphurous gout of flame, immolating a home. Sol attempted a lunge, but he couldn’t drive the blade through the creature’s belly. In return, the dragon snapped down on his arm, mangling it, and tried to toss him into the flames. Stubborn, the warrior resisted.</p><p></p><p>Stubborn, but weakened. He backed away, fumbling to find a potion. He couldn’t think, it was so damn hot. The red dragon darted toward him, mouth wide. He just managed to duck aside, warding it off with his now clumsy sword.</p><p></p><p>“Wolsey, tend Sol!” A burst of bright, cool light passed over his head, freezing the dragon. It roared, leaping over Sol to attack Xerxes, trying to drive the northerner into the flames. A clammy palm fell on Sol’s shoulder, and the smell of loam filled his nostrils. He took something into himself, and the pain of his many wounds lessened.</p><p></p><p>Grunting, he charged the dragon’s back, scoring a deep hit. The dragon rose into the air, immolating the ground beneath it as it did. Sol, Xerxes and Wolsey were all caught in the flames. The agony was maddening. Wolsey collapsed, a smoking ruin, barely alive.</p><p></p><p>The dragon roared, and plunged at Sol. Again, they collided. But this time, Sol was the stronger. His feet on the earth, he called up its power and struck the dragon down, splitting its skull.</p><p></p><p>Xerxes had a far away look in his eyes, so Sol saw to Wolsey. There was only so much the infused tincture of the potion could do, but to the strange priests credit, he never once cried out in pain.</p><p></p><p>“The Hand have broken through. We have to hold the Dawn Way.”</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>The first wave of attackers fell easily. Xerxes wiped most of them out with a glance, leaving only shaken commanders and blood-hungry manticores, and they had fallen under Sol’s blade.</p><p></p><p>The second wave, Bugbear berserkers that the Hand had dug up in some unknown pit, had taken a bit more effort. Still, Sol single-handedly despatched half of them, the others falling to a combination of Xerxes’ chill stare, arrows from the defenders and their squad, and a manticore zombie raised by Wolsey.</p><p></p><p>Wolsey had disappeared during the third wave of attackers, muttering about the dragon. A wise choice. The barricade, and all the defenders had fallen. Captain Soranna had held out to the last, battling alone against one of the five dragon monsters that had blasted the road block with lightning.</p><p></p><p>It had been a massacre, and at the end only Sol and Xerxes survived. But they held the road. Held it against the best the Red Hand had to send at them. Goblin, bugbear, manticore, dragon. All of them fell before the pairs combined might. Nothing got past them. Or so they thought.</p><p></p><p>Halfway through a message recalling them to the Cathedral square, Lord Jarmaath abruptly stopped. The Dawn Way, choked with bodies of the Hand and defender alike, would have to be abandoned.</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>An assassin who had somehow broken through the lines of defence had laid low Lord Jarmaath. Lady Kaal was on her way to take command, but in the meantime, the Autarch of the True Law had been trying to maintain order in the army. She was a powerful woman, pale-skinned and red haired. There was also something familiar about her. Half the cathedral square was filled with chattering, panicking soldier. The other half was empty. Except for the bodies. Seven people picked off trying to get Jarmaath to safety.</p><p></p><p>When Sol and Xerxes had arrived, the Autarch – she answered to no name, only this title – had apprised them of this, all but commanding them to slay the assassin and bring back his head. They had agreed to this, as the forces being in such disarray as the Red Hand assailed Brindol was a death sentence for all. “In Nomine” the Autarch called after them as they moved off.</p><p></p><p>Quickly, they moved into the empty stretch, Sol in the lead. An arrow flew towards him and he moved his sword in a defensive arc, knocking the poisoned projectile from the air. It was come from the second floor window of a coffin makers.</p><p></p><p>Xerxes disappeared, returning a second later beside the assassin. It was a hideous monster, some blasphemous crossbreed dragon-man. Unhesitating, Xerxes focused the void energies of the Bitter Angel, freezing the creature. The monster gasped in agony, but dropped its bow in favour of a cruel looking sword and pressed the offensive. Xerxes found himself unable to respond. The creature would fade from sight, only to reappear and land a telling blow. Even when Xerxes could see it, he could scarcely harm it with his spear.</p><p></p><p>Below, Sol had been confronted by two sorcerous Hobgoblins. Fortunately, Wolsey’s zombie manticore had taken the brunt of their lightning bolts. Sol didn’t take time to reflect on how they’d managed to get into the square. He just hacked them apart, and bolted up the stairs. He registered Xerxes’s wounded condition, and the flickering horned dragon-thing, and leapt into the fray. With one bone-splitting strike, he finished off that threat too.</p><p></p><p>Sol hacked off the head, and the two of them staggered into the square. The Autarch raised their arms, making a bold speech, but at this point the two of them were too tired to listen, or care.</p><p></p><p>Then, Alexander rode in at the head of his band of Ruby Knights. He was bloody and battered, but he and his almost-red charger still gleamed with fervour. “Captain Ulverth has fallen, and our lines broken. The general of the Red Hand marches now to sack the Cathedral and finish the city!”</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>Clouds choked the light of the moon and stars, the first all through this abominable summer. They had formed over five minutes, an impossible space of time. Magic. Torches had been lit, but the advantage was to the Hand in these conditions. Frightened Brindol defenders formed uneasy ranks. The cruel sneer of the Autarch stilled any murmurs from her black armoured followers, holding the left flank. The Ruby Knights, led by Alexander, arrayed in their battered finery, stood on the right. Sol and Xerxes held the centre ground, stood alone. They waited.</p><p></p><p>They did not have to wait long. A steady drumbeat, underscored by the thump of booted feet. Down the Dawn Way they came. Giantkin, goblins and monsters. Down the Dawn Way came the Red Hand. At the lead were the cruel mystic Koth, the vicious hunter Saarvith, the cunning storm-witch Ulwai. At the lead strode General Kharn, a towering, muscular hobgoblin, encased in blood red scales, a thick shield and cruel hooked pick coated in blood. Down the Dawn Way came doom.</p><p></p><p>“Slay the weaklings! Crush their bones!” roared Kharn, brandishing his pick at the huddled defenders, “but those are mine.” The barbed red tip of the pick focused on Sol and Xerxes. Battle was joined,</p><p></p><p>“So, pup,” spat the general as he engaged Sol, sending his Giants to batter Xerxes, “I have learnt you stole the sword arts of the Mighty. Face me. See what power a true master can wield!” Sol felt his resolve falter before the general’s fanatical stare. The half-Orc and the Hobgoblin span about one another, Sol keeping his sword out level, the general facing him shield out, side on, the pick hanging almost casually behind him. Then they crashed. Sol’s blade connected first, a solid blow.</p><p></p><p>“Whelp,” Kharn seemed unfazed “A true master knows how to call on stone.” The pick came forward, avalanche quick, and smacked into Sol’s shoulder. He felt his collarbone snap, worried for a moment his shoulder had gone with it. Kharn ripped his pick from Sol, the ferocity of the action nearly pulled the warrior over. Blood spurted from the wound.</p><p></p><p>A wail from the crowd diverted all attention for a moment, as Wolsey, riding the still gore-slicked skeleton of Abithriax, dived into the battle, savaging Kharn’s Ogre guard. Xerxes desperately shot ice at Kharn, forcing him to back off from Sol. It cost the northerner though, as a massive club slammed into his breastplate, sending him skidding backwards.</p><p></p><p>The storm-witch screamed, and the heavy clouds poured their tears. The cadence of the rain mixed with the beating of Sol’s heart. A flash, as lightning struck the stones nearby, incinerating some men. This was no time to be weak. He had to fight through, win this. He had to.</p><p></p><p>Sol surged forward, slamming aside the general’s shield with his foot, and slashed Kharn across the face and neck. Kharn was knocked backwards, his feet scrabbling on the wet floor. A scream of pain was drowned by thunder. “My mistress gives me strength!” He roared like a bloodied bull, coming at Sol head on. Another swing of the pick, this time crackling with profane energy.</p><p></p><p>But the half Orc had the advantage now. Skillfully, he deflected the barbed weapon, turning it aside. Then, with a duck and a lunge, he slashed alongside the torn Hobgoblin, coming up behind Kharn. The hobgoblin, choking on his own blood now, turned in a daze to Sol. His vision was already elsewhere.</p><p></p><p>“You think… this is victory?” Through his bloody lips, his teeth were stained orange red. “This… is not… over. The High Wyrmlord will… bring my mistress… and… with her… hell.” Before Kharn could collapse, Sol ran him through.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Pedestrian, post: 3928237, member: 40208"] [b]Sessions 12&13: The Battle for Brindol[/b] The attack came with the night. The Hand had encamped outside Brindol two days again. There was some uncertainty whether they would settle into a siege. Lord Jarmaath did not intend to give them the opportunity. Wanting to take advantage of the brightness of the summer day, the troops had ridden out early morning. Jarmaath had wanted them protecting the flank of the city while he engaged the enemy. From the battlements, even across the city, the sound of the battle being joined could be heard, and the battlecries, screams and explosions continued for hours. Xerxes and Sol had been given command of a small group – a handful of Brindol Lions under by Captain Soranna and Tiri Kitor rangers and Trellara Nightshadow – and stationed on the North wall, the other side of the fighting. As had been agreed upon, the healers of Brindol had been broken up amongst the unit. Their healer was the warped little man Xerxes had first encountered at the Jasite mound. Wolsey. He crept around the northerner, always observing him, furtively, from the corner of his eyes. An image of ugly, misshapen humans with blood slicked feet filled Xerxes mind. Jarmaath was attempting to communicate through the link. The southerner concentrated on the image, and it resolved into words. Giantkin are moving forward to assail the walls. I have despatched the Six from the main force to face them in the south. We’re too pressed here to defend the north. Your group will have to bring them down. The first stone struck the wall with a clap like thunder. Even flung this far, it made the battlement shake and Xerxes had to put out a hand to steady himself. “Giants, bombarding the walls. We have to bring them down, or the Hand will have a doorway into Brindol,” he relayed. Trellara nodded, and she and the other elves leapt onto their owls and sped into the air. The rest were forced to exit out of a small wall gate, but soon enough were sprinting over open ground. Sol took a moment to gulp down a potion, commandeered from the merchants of the city. He instantly swelled up, his already large muscles bulking to ogrish grotesquery. The giants, four of them, were easy enough to spot, hurling boulders at the walls ceaselessly. Who knew how long they could stand under that assault? Xerxes drew ahead of the others, only at the last moment summoning his blood-slicked armour from the nether. His eyes flashed a cold, otherworldy colour, and the giants faltered in their throwing. Soon enough, the battle was joined. The owl-riding elves, bolstered by a screeching cry from Trellara, sent arrow after arrow into the giants. In response, one of the brutes aimed a rock at Trellara. With one mighty fling, she was silenced. Her owl banked off, hoping to find healing for its mistress. Sol slammed into the giants with force to match their rock throwing, and laid about them with the lion-blade captured from the Ghostlord. The lions, more cautious, linked shields and closed on the giants. That earnt one a sharp kick that rent her shield, staggering her. Xerxes looked to the horizon. The dim mass of the Red Hand was surging, coming closer. They had been noticed. “Quickly!” he bellowed, and focused all the netherwordly cold surging through his being into one brilliant beam, freezing a giant solid. The elves continued to pepper the giant vanquisher of Trellara with arrows, driving the creature off, while the Lions battled on and Sol sparred with a giant, reckless abandon in his every move. Soon, all the giants were dead or driven off. “Back to the walls!” They ran, the Tiri Kitor acting as rear-guard, shooting arrows against any goblin taking the lead. Xerxes, how fairs the north? Well, Lord Jarmaath. There were some confused images, broken swords and smouldering ruins. Panic. All is well. The giants are driven off and – The Six are dead. The walls on the south have been broken over. Captain Ulverth and I are holding the breach. Overhead, a crimson form surged toward Brindol, wreathed in fire and smoke. A blossom of fire spread out underneath it as it passed over the city. The dragon! They have set the dragon loose! Again, the images of cracked blades, shattered walls, a murk of blood. We’re too pressed here. Xerxes, you and Sol have to stop the dragon! * The dragon’s attack on Brindol would be remembered forever after. More than what had been done, more than what came after, it came to represent both the destructive abandon of the Red Hand, and the bravery of the heroes who would defend Elsir. Sol plummeted from the heavens, a vengeful angel to oppose the fiery dragon. With a bone shattering thud, he collided with the beast. There was no chance to use his sword here, just try and grapple with the monster. No good. It was strong. Stronger than anything he’d ever encountered. The drake got him in its claws, rolled in the air and… dropped him. He fell hard, no time to disappear into a cloud in the same way he had gotten up there. The impact with the ground blasted the air out of him. He was pretty sure something was broken. No time to worry about that, either. His sword was fine. No use fighting a dragon in the air. Xerxes was busy fighting fires with his ice magic, and couldn’t reach the dragon anyway. Another blast of flame, and the building behind him disappeared in a dizzying wave of heat. Sol shielded his eyes with his hands. He needed to bring the dragon down. There! A bit of debris, still smoking from dragon flame. He grabbed the still smouldering rock, ignoring the sizzling of his skin and flung it as the dragon made another pass. It tore a gash along the lizard’s belly. “COME ON!” The half-Orc screamed, blade already in hand. The wyrm dived at him, trailing flame as it did. He met it blade first, clashing against the hard, bony ridges over the eyes. The impact sent him skidding backwards, but he kept his foot. The dragon exhaled a gout of smoke at him, then lunged. His strike flew off the beats armoured hide, leaving not a scratch. In return, he was subject to a dizzying assault of talon, fang and tail, forcing him to retreat. Scornful, the dragon reared onto its haunches and let forth a sulphurous gout of flame, immolating a home. Sol attempted a lunge, but he couldn’t drive the blade through the creature’s belly. In return, the dragon snapped down on his arm, mangling it, and tried to toss him into the flames. Stubborn, the warrior resisted. Stubborn, but weakened. He backed away, fumbling to find a potion. He couldn’t think, it was so damn hot. The red dragon darted toward him, mouth wide. He just managed to duck aside, warding it off with his now clumsy sword. “Wolsey, tend Sol!” A burst of bright, cool light passed over his head, freezing the dragon. It roared, leaping over Sol to attack Xerxes, trying to drive the northerner into the flames. A clammy palm fell on Sol’s shoulder, and the smell of loam filled his nostrils. He took something into himself, and the pain of his many wounds lessened. Grunting, he charged the dragon’s back, scoring a deep hit. The dragon rose into the air, immolating the ground beneath it as it did. Sol, Xerxes and Wolsey were all caught in the flames. The agony was maddening. Wolsey collapsed, a smoking ruin, barely alive. The dragon roared, and plunged at Sol. Again, they collided. But this time, Sol was the stronger. His feet on the earth, he called up its power and struck the dragon down, splitting its skull. Xerxes had a far away look in his eyes, so Sol saw to Wolsey. There was only so much the infused tincture of the potion could do, but to the strange priests credit, he never once cried out in pain. “The Hand have broken through. We have to hold the Dawn Way.” * The first wave of attackers fell easily. Xerxes wiped most of them out with a glance, leaving only shaken commanders and blood-hungry manticores, and they had fallen under Sol’s blade. The second wave, Bugbear berserkers that the Hand had dug up in some unknown pit, had taken a bit more effort. Still, Sol single-handedly despatched half of them, the others falling to a combination of Xerxes’ chill stare, arrows from the defenders and their squad, and a manticore zombie raised by Wolsey. Wolsey had disappeared during the third wave of attackers, muttering about the dragon. A wise choice. The barricade, and all the defenders had fallen. Captain Soranna had held out to the last, battling alone against one of the five dragon monsters that had blasted the road block with lightning. It had been a massacre, and at the end only Sol and Xerxes survived. But they held the road. Held it against the best the Red Hand had to send at them. Goblin, bugbear, manticore, dragon. All of them fell before the pairs combined might. Nothing got past them. Or so they thought. Halfway through a message recalling them to the Cathedral square, Lord Jarmaath abruptly stopped. The Dawn Way, choked with bodies of the Hand and defender alike, would have to be abandoned. * An assassin who had somehow broken through the lines of defence had laid low Lord Jarmaath. Lady Kaal was on her way to take command, but in the meantime, the Autarch of the True Law had been trying to maintain order in the army. She was a powerful woman, pale-skinned and red haired. There was also something familiar about her. Half the cathedral square was filled with chattering, panicking soldier. The other half was empty. Except for the bodies. Seven people picked off trying to get Jarmaath to safety. When Sol and Xerxes had arrived, the Autarch – she answered to no name, only this title – had apprised them of this, all but commanding them to slay the assassin and bring back his head. They had agreed to this, as the forces being in such disarray as the Red Hand assailed Brindol was a death sentence for all. “In Nomine” the Autarch called after them as they moved off. Quickly, they moved into the empty stretch, Sol in the lead. An arrow flew towards him and he moved his sword in a defensive arc, knocking the poisoned projectile from the air. It was come from the second floor window of a coffin makers. Xerxes disappeared, returning a second later beside the assassin. It was a hideous monster, some blasphemous crossbreed dragon-man. Unhesitating, Xerxes focused the void energies of the Bitter Angel, freezing the creature. The monster gasped in agony, but dropped its bow in favour of a cruel looking sword and pressed the offensive. Xerxes found himself unable to respond. The creature would fade from sight, only to reappear and land a telling blow. Even when Xerxes could see it, he could scarcely harm it with his spear. Below, Sol had been confronted by two sorcerous Hobgoblins. Fortunately, Wolsey’s zombie manticore had taken the brunt of their lightning bolts. Sol didn’t take time to reflect on how they’d managed to get into the square. He just hacked them apart, and bolted up the stairs. He registered Xerxes’s wounded condition, and the flickering horned dragon-thing, and leapt into the fray. With one bone-splitting strike, he finished off that threat too. Sol hacked off the head, and the two of them staggered into the square. The Autarch raised their arms, making a bold speech, but at this point the two of them were too tired to listen, or care. Then, Alexander rode in at the head of his band of Ruby Knights. He was bloody and battered, but he and his almost-red charger still gleamed with fervour. “Captain Ulverth has fallen, and our lines broken. The general of the Red Hand marches now to sack the Cathedral and finish the city!” * Clouds choked the light of the moon and stars, the first all through this abominable summer. They had formed over five minutes, an impossible space of time. Magic. Torches had been lit, but the advantage was to the Hand in these conditions. Frightened Brindol defenders formed uneasy ranks. The cruel sneer of the Autarch stilled any murmurs from her black armoured followers, holding the left flank. The Ruby Knights, led by Alexander, arrayed in their battered finery, stood on the right. Sol and Xerxes held the centre ground, stood alone. They waited. They did not have to wait long. A steady drumbeat, underscored by the thump of booted feet. Down the Dawn Way they came. Giantkin, goblins and monsters. Down the Dawn Way came the Red Hand. At the lead were the cruel mystic Koth, the vicious hunter Saarvith, the cunning storm-witch Ulwai. At the lead strode General Kharn, a towering, muscular hobgoblin, encased in blood red scales, a thick shield and cruel hooked pick coated in blood. Down the Dawn Way came doom. “Slay the weaklings! Crush their bones!” roared Kharn, brandishing his pick at the huddled defenders, “but those are mine.” The barbed red tip of the pick focused on Sol and Xerxes. Battle was joined, “So, pup,” spat the general as he engaged Sol, sending his Giants to batter Xerxes, “I have learnt you stole the sword arts of the Mighty. Face me. See what power a true master can wield!” Sol felt his resolve falter before the general’s fanatical stare. The half-Orc and the Hobgoblin span about one another, Sol keeping his sword out level, the general facing him shield out, side on, the pick hanging almost casually behind him. Then they crashed. Sol’s blade connected first, a solid blow. “Whelp,” Kharn seemed unfazed “A true master knows how to call on stone.” The pick came forward, avalanche quick, and smacked into Sol’s shoulder. He felt his collarbone snap, worried for a moment his shoulder had gone with it. Kharn ripped his pick from Sol, the ferocity of the action nearly pulled the warrior over. Blood spurted from the wound. A wail from the crowd diverted all attention for a moment, as Wolsey, riding the still gore-slicked skeleton of Abithriax, dived into the battle, savaging Kharn’s Ogre guard. Xerxes desperately shot ice at Kharn, forcing him to back off from Sol. It cost the northerner though, as a massive club slammed into his breastplate, sending him skidding backwards. The storm-witch screamed, and the heavy clouds poured their tears. The cadence of the rain mixed with the beating of Sol’s heart. A flash, as lightning struck the stones nearby, incinerating some men. This was no time to be weak. He had to fight through, win this. He had to. Sol surged forward, slamming aside the general’s shield with his foot, and slashed Kharn across the face and neck. Kharn was knocked backwards, his feet scrabbling on the wet floor. A scream of pain was drowned by thunder. “My mistress gives me strength!” He roared like a bloodied bull, coming at Sol head on. Another swing of the pick, this time crackling with profane energy. But the half Orc had the advantage now. Skillfully, he deflected the barbed weapon, turning it aside. Then, with a duck and a lunge, he slashed alongside the torn Hobgoblin, coming up behind Kharn. The hobgoblin, choking on his own blood now, turned in a daze to Sol. His vision was already elsewhere. “You think… this is victory?” Through his bloody lips, his teeth were stained orange red. “This… is not… over. The High Wyrmlord will… bring my mistress… and… with her… hell.” Before Kharn could collapse, Sol ran him through. [/QUOTE]
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The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue
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