The Swordlands - updated 28th May; The Hanged Man

[Mathew_Freeman]

"Arise, noble warrior!"

The Promise of Distant Thunder had been walking underwater for some time, feeling the tug of the boat attached to his arm by rope as a distant sensation that didn't really connect. His mind was racing, echoes of memories tumbling through his head. So much was lost! So many gaps!

The sea-floor started to slope upwards, and marching on he pulled himself out of the water and onto the shorefront. The water cascaded off him as he emerged like some sort of water spirit, his metal skin glistening in the half-light of the early morning. Looking around, he could see many human women stood gaping at his appearance – from the items they held in their hands it was clear that they had been making offerings to the sea spirits.

It appears their offerings have been answered, he through wryly to himself. I need to find the others, however…

Glancing around the harbourfront of Kindraed, he could see the collection of thirteen buildings that it comprised of. All were festooned with various animalistic fetishes and tokens – a clear indicator that the people of this land were superstitious and wary of the world.

I would be, too, if I lived here. Those skeletons in the Ice Wall – if they start to come here this place isn't suited for defence.

Thunder could see a figure lying face up on the beach. He walked over to see that it was Iben, the human that had assisted him so well in the previous battle. He was not awake, but seemed to have no injury. Thunder knelt calmly beside him, lay one hand on his chest and spoke clearly: "Arise, noble warrior, and rejoin us." Iben's eyes opened, and where previously Thunder had seen a steadfastness and love of nature and the world, he now saw a burning, primal rage seeking to strike out against the abominations that might follow. The change was shocking, but Thunder also saw, deep within that rage, that it was well-founded and well-directed.

Now fully awake, Iben led Thunder to where the others were staying in one of the large wooden buildings, filling him in on the previous days events as they went. As they pushed open the door and entered, Karl, Sigurd and Aengus were all there, sat on wooden chairs and eating. Between them, arranged on a table, were the remains of another Warforged, now broken into pieces. A small sword and light metal shield had been placed to one side, also bearing the Legion's distinctive heraldric mark.

All conversation stopped as Thunder strode over to the table, seeking any information that could be gained from this body of a former colleague and Legionnaire. Examining the body, a memory surfaced in his mind.

We are forged to defend humanity from what comes, he heard in his mind. When the battle at the end of the world comes to us, the Legion that Waits shall be in the front line of the war – working with, and for, humanity and it's allies against the Foe.

Picking up the sword and shield, Thunder turned to his companions. "I thank you for honouring the body of this Warforged. I can give you no further information on him than what you can see for yourself, sadly, but I shall take this sword and shield to keep his memory alive. Once we were many, and now it seems we are few. But as one of those few, I shall make my mark on this world and solve the mystery of my past." Strapping the shield to his left arm felt as familiar as if he'd last done it minutes before. "Now, tell me more of The Instrumentality that Iben mentioned on the way here."

Karl recounted The Prophecy that he had heard from the Elder of his clan. The Instrumentality are the spies, or administration of the Eladrin – acting when a larger warforce would be unnecessary or unwieldy. The prophecy that has recently come to life is one of dire portents – King Siegfried of Himimborg is known as a good King and a staunch protector.

Leaving the prophecy aside for now, conversation turns to the rest of the Beastmen raiders. One of them had mentioned that their 'boss' was still to arrive, and so it is decided to stake out the mountain trail and wait to see if he does, in the hopes of ambushing him perhaps. Iben recants the full story of the mountain – that once it had been home to a spirit of the Elfheim, but this spirit was somehow drowned. Since that day, the mountain is marked as cursed and dangerous, and few, before us, had climbed it.

Iben and Karl lead the way back to the mountain trail, and find a safe spot to camp for a day. After Sigurd assisted with the creation of a smokeless fire, Thunder is able to begin to brew a potion that can heal the wounds of those that drink it. At the moment, he only has enough for a single draught, but he intends to take every opportunity to brew this potion whilst he can. In the coming days, the ability to fight on might be more useful than any other resource.

Whilst Thunder sits with his herbs, his liquids and the fire, Karl and Aengus crack out a variety of strange tools and decide to have another crack at the safe of Lord Wyvernhoe. Surprisingly, Karl cracks the combination almost immediately this time and starts to open it. A swirling mist emerges, forcing the door open before Karl can react, and forms into the shape of an insubstantial, bull-headed figure. Sigurd calls out that it is some sort of Guardian Spirit – and that is is not friendly!

Aengus leaps to his feet and addresses the spirit in the Fey tongue, shouting at it to dissuade it from attacking. With a roar, it vanishes. Unlocking the safe again, Karl & Aengus warily open it again. Peering inside, he recoils and exclaims "It's a minotaur head!" This one, however, doesn't seem to do anything.

The day passes peacefully and quietly, and with their superior vision Aengus and Karl watch the trail through the night as well. As a final check, the group treks back up the mountain and re-examines the cave. Everything is exactly as it was left. Returning to the village, Karl passes on the details of the Prophecy to the Elders of the village, warning them to do whatever they can to make ready for what's to come. Iben fervently appeals to them to continue to pray and make offerings, but sadly adds that the group is heading to Himimborg to try and speak to Siegfried himself.

Returning to the boat with it's captured wind-elemental, the five of them head back out to sea, onwards, to Himimborg.

 

[La Bete]

Signs and Portents

The Prophecy of House Aellrinnath, as recounted by Karl il-Tanith ter-Aellrinnath.

I dreamed. I dreamed of a land of Ice and Steel.

I saw the Old King, his heart twisted and poisoned by lies.

I saw his son seduced and destroyed by the promise of knowledge long kept hidden.

I saw his daughter try and draw the poison from her father, only to fail and Fall.

I saw him die at the hands of heroes, and his vengeance from beyond the grave destroy them and defile their memory.

.

I dreamed. I dreamed of the UnBorn King.

I saw his acolytes everywhere. In the shadows they dwell, and in the shadows of mens hearts.

I saw him gnawing at the roots of the World Tree, poisoning it with his foul touch.

I saw him whispering terrible secrets into the ears of rulers, tales of things that could not, must not be.

I saw him defiling the race of Men, weakening them ahead of the horrors to come.

.

I dreamed. I dreamed of the Last Warrior.

I saw his battles against the UnBorn King’s acolytes.

I saw his victories, his banner burning bright in the darkness.

I saw him gather the free peoples to fight the UnBorn King, to purge the darkness that had taken root in their realm.

I saw him die, betrayed, lost and alone.

.

I dreamed. I dreamed of the Last Days of Man.

I saw men accepting the Gift from the UnBorn King.

I saw Man, that strange, foolish, and noble race, become Other.

I saw the Other spread like the plague they once were, and will be again, destroying those that would not, or could not, become Other.

I saw the mortal world burn at their hands, the corpses piled high to please their King, the land polluted and destroyed beyond repair.

.

I dreamed. I dreamed of the Tearing of the Veil.

I saw the legions of the Other pour into the the Feywild.

I saw that blessed, glorious realm die, drowned in blood and filth.

I saw our people slain, or worse, subsumed and Damned.

I saw the last of our people flee through the Gate of Ages, never to return.

I dreamed. I dreamed, and I wish, how I wish, I had never woken. For upon waking I knew the dream was real.

.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

See, when you hear this sort of thing in a campaign, you get Worried.

In my case, you get worried about whether this stuff has already happened, or whether it's still to come. Neither is a very appealing idea.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

"The Blessing Of Kord Be Upon You All!"

As each member of the group climbed aboard the ship, Iben spoke quietly under his breath, asking for the blessing of the village spirits in their quest. The villagers had repaired the damage to the sail, and with two days sailing ahead all where keen to be off. The dark clouds in the sky promised that it was not to be an easy journey.

Indeed, within minutes of leaving Kindraed (For the last time? wondered Iben to himself), the skies opened and the rain began to hammer down. For two days, in dim light and through choppy water, the group fought the elements to make their way to Himimborg. The air elemental trapped within the boat did it's best, but still water had to bailed out more or less continuously. Eventually, Sigurd hit upon a conjuration that could help the spirit fight the elements more freely, and the little ship surged ahead. Naming the spirit Ariel in thank, Sigurd asked her what the group could do in return. "I would like a pattern to be woven into the sail," she replied. "It can be very dull looking at the same white sheet all day." Grinning, Sigurd agreed.

Eventually, and with the bodies of the heroes burning with fatigue and their clothes and posessions soaked through with rain and seawater, Himimborg came into view. Several hundred a-frame wooden buildings, some several stories high, looked down on a habour filled with fishing vessels and longships. Lights shone from some windows, but largely it was dark. As the group arrives, Iben leaps out and tied the boat to the quay, urging us onwards.

At the highest point in Himimborg stands the Great Hall – both a Temple to Kord and the seat of governance. The rest of the town seems deathly quiet, the muddy streets empty of people. As he moved up the wooden steps, Thunder detected no sounds of life in the houses all about him. Ahead, a young child suddenly crosses their view, chasing a dog – but again, no sound but that of the barking animal.

Lights blaze from the Great Hall – from many windows, and from torches set all about it's huge doors. These doors are slightly ajar, and as we approach they crash open from within. A man, large and bearded, crashes through them, on fire! He throws himself to the ground, rolling over and over to put the flames out. Thunder reaches down to give him a hand back up onto his feet, and with a grunt the man rights himself. He turns and shouts "Schweinhund!" and charges back inside. Exchanging looks, the party follows him more slowly.

Inside is a scene of chaos. In the centre of the Hall burns a huge fire, more than 10 feet across. The smoke has spread throughout the room, obscuring everything after a few feet of vision. Dimly visible are many human figures – drinking, dancing, eating, fighting, joking & laughing with each other; often all at once. Bones litter the floor all across the room. Some are small, but others look much larger, perhaps those of a great beast of ancient times.

Thunder took a deep breath of the smoker air, feeling the Holy Presence of Kord manifest in the atmosphere. The life he could feel around him surged through him, filling him with energy and purpose. Raising his arms, he bellowed into the room:

"The Blessing of Kord Be Upon You All, People of Himimborg!" With his words, he blessed the room, sending a shockwave of divine power throughout. The smoke rippled as it passed, and the bones surrounding him were pushed back.

Utter silence fell across the room.

Staring at Thunder, the men & women of Himimborg stood stock still at this interruption to their festivities. A frozen tableau displayed itself around the room – four men engaged in an arm-wrestling contest, two men in an axe-throwing contest, three serving women holding giant pitchers of ale – all had stopped and were staring at him.

Slowly, a single figure moved forwards through the smoke. He was short and slight, in contrast with the others with long grey hair and a wearing black robes. Looking Thunder and the others up and down, almost disdainfully, he asks with gentle emphasis "Auslanders?"

"We are," replies Thunder. "We have come through the Gap and via Kindraed to speak with King Siegfried. My name is the Promise of Distant Thunder, and I am a Warforged of the Legion that Waits. These are my companions – Aengus, Sigurd, Karl and Iben of Kindraed. We have news that the King must hear."

"Thunder, hmm?" replies the man. "I must blame you for the weather, yes?" He indicates the windows of the Great Hall as another blast of lightning splits the sky outside. Seeming to come to a decision, the man looks across at all the members of the group. "My name is Serkeljof. I am, how you say, the King's right hand. He is not here – he went to fight with raiders, taking the best of the Knights of Himimborg with him."

The man seems very tightly controlled, keeping himself under precise pressure. Almost no emotion crosses his face as he speaks, even as Aengus and the others begin to ask him questions. It appears that the King has been incomunicado for around three months now, since leaving Himimborg, and a plan has been hatched for the remaining Knights to go look for him. Serkeljof seems to be evaluating the group as they speak to him.

"Perhaps you would care to join us?" he asks. "Obviously such… mighty heroes would be an asset to our little expedition."

Hackles are raised at the implied insult, and the party decide to prove themselves to all present. This is a Hall of contests and competitions – the Knights of Himimborg shall be shown that this group of adventurers are not to be put down!

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

A Contest Of Heroes

The party quickly decides amongst themselves how they intend to win the challenge in front of them – each playing to their strengths.

Taking advantage of his Warforged constitution, Thunder engages four men in a drinking contest. Bellowing toasts praising Kord between each tankard, he matches the others drink for drink for a full hour. Eventually, as he raises his cup again, his head swimming and stomach lurching slightly, he sees that the others are incapable of standing. Although it's a struggle, Thunder turns to a nearby serving woman and she acclaims him the winner.

Across the hall, Iben had spotted a fire-jumping contest. The conflaguration in the centre of the hall was a huge firepit, fully ten feet across. Several men were engaged in a competition to attempt to jump over it – or at least, as far as they could. Even as Iben watched, another man crashed to the ground just within it, screaming and rolling over to try and put the flames out. He was promptly covered in ale by one of the serving women, before drunkenly standing up and bellowing his intention to go again.

As Iben was about to declare his own attempt, the quiet figure of Sigurd laid a hand on his shoulder. "Allow me," said the Wizard, and Iben felt a small tingle throughout his legs. "It will assist you, worry not," added the arcanist with a small smile. Iben nodded, trusting his friend, if not the magic. He took a running start at the jump, and then pushed off with all his might. Astonishingly, his leap took him clean over the firepit and some eight or nine feet further on, easily beating the other men. With a roar of acclaim, they announced him the bravest and greatest athlete they had seen, and began to toast him anew. Iben looked around for Sigurd, but the Wizard had slipped back to the edges of the room.

Iben could, however, see Aengus, his Eladrin features standing out in a room full of humans. His eyes were wide as he recounted a tragic tale of love, battle and loss to a small crowd, gesturing emotionally and keeping their attention with expert precision. At the end of his tale, at least one man almost broke down in tears, the emotion too much for him. Although others attempted stories of their own, it was clear that Aengus was the true master stoyteller, and he was acclaimed as such.

The night wore on, and finally Karl spotted his chance to make his name. An axe-throwing contest had been taking place across the hall from him – a long-haired woman standing up against a table, bravely facing the drunken throws of men in front of her. Just behind those men, a large bone protruded up from the floor. Quickly, Karl rang along this bone and launched himself into space – aided by Iben lending his weight as a counterbalance. The gnome soared through the air and launched several small throwing stars, and as they thumped in a small pattern around the woman's head the gnome twisted in mid-air and landed smoothly on his feet. He turned, bowed, and announced "Top that, gentlemen!" To the woman's relief, the contest was decreed over – no man wanted to face up to attempting to surpass that feat!

As the group celebrates their upcoming quest to join Serkeljof and the other Knights to find the king, a silence drops upon the room. Through the main doors walks, no, trots a strange creature - half-man, half horse. He is dressed in a savage style, with furs and obvious weaponry. The surrounding men seemed stunned at his boldness – for this is clearly a Beastman and as such has no place here. The centaurs tatoo's shine in the fire. As he enters, the centaur pauses for a second, staring at Thunder intently, before shaking his head and moving around the fire.

Moving to the seats that Serkeljof occupies, the centaur speaks for the firs time.

"No invite for me?" he asks, calmly. "With my brother away I would have thought you would be keen to see me." Men around the hall are being restrained from attacking this boastful creature. Frulli, the storyteller, confirms to Aengus that this is indeed the King's brother. He is also the leader of the raiders that have caused so much trouble in recent months.

"Well, I shall extend an invitation to you all. Come to my hall, the hall of Sigmund. I will show you hospitality. If you want to find it – follow the fire!" Sigmund laughs, and as men draw weapons and go to attack him he throws some sort of bag into the cauldron hanging over the firepit. It immediately begins to bubble, before spewing forth a wave of rats that leap out and begin to fill the hall. Laughing even more, the centaur disperses into a cloud of bats and flys up and out of the hall via the top window. Around the hall, knives, swords & axes are drawn as everyone tries to stem the tide.

Aengus and Karl quickly cotton on to what needs to be done and target the chain holding up the cauldron. As the swarm of rats grows ever larger, pouring forth at an incredible rate, the two heroes break one chain and the cauldron swings madly over the fire pit. No longer able to get a good purchase, the rats coming from the cauldron instead fall into the firepit with a terrible smell of scorched flesh. With the rest of the room killing the ones already free, within a few seconds peace is restored to the room. The pile of dead rats is disposed of, burnt to a crisp in the incandescent flames, and the party look around them to see many worried faces.

 

[MichaelKnife]

Good stuff! Looking forward to the next session

MK

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

Onwards From Himimborg

Thunder came swimming slowly back to consciousness. His head throbbed with a mead-induced hangover, with not even his Warforged constitution able to compensate. Staring blearily around him, he could see he was still in the Great Hall of Himimborg. All around him, men groaned and clasped their heads in their hands, all feeling the after effects of the previous nights revelry. All apart from Sigurd, who didn’t drink.

Damn Wizards are always the same,, thought Thunder to himself. Always happy for the rank-and-file to drink, but always staying aloof themselves. Shaking his head slowly, he reminded himself he was no longer of the Legion, that those days had passed. Gingerly, he brought himself to his feet, levering himself out of the way of an errant sunbeam that seemed to be determined to shine directly into his eyes.

The various members of the group found each other in the chaos of the Hall, watching as some Himimborg knights were awakened with buckets of water. Asking around, they confirmed that Serkeljof and the other knights were intent on leaving that morning, questing to stop the raiders, find the King, or both.

Carefully, the group left the Hall. Outside, last night’s rain had frozen into solid ice, making the wooden steps down to the docks slippery. The city was busy now, people moving with practiced ease, going about their business. Recovering from it’s woes, with a renewed sense of purpose the docklands were a hive of activity. Two fine longships were moored in place, knights moving slowly aboard and taking up places at the oars.

Ariel, the group’s ship, sat small but proud next to them. Aengus had finally completed the new sail and it was carefully put into place. Ariel, the bound air elemental that powered the ship, quietly expressed her approval of the message written on the sail and pledged to continue her efforts to assist them.

Aengus, Iben, Karl, Sigurd and Thunder went in search of Serkeljof. He was brightly ordering the knights and dockhands, giving quiet commands and staying at the centre of the maelstrom of people working around him. As the group approached, his cool voice rang out.

“Ah, my friends, you have decided to join us, hmm? I was fearing that you had, hah, decided to sleep in. We go in chase of the King, and I believe that you were thinking of accompanying us. If so, you need to get ready soon. We leave as soon as we can.”

Aengus replied to him calmly. “Of course we seek to aid you – Iben has a personal score to settle with the raiders and as for the rest of us, we were victims of that attack last night too. We would all gladly gain our revenge.”

As Karl nodded in agreement, Sigurd added his voice to the discussion. “We have two options, of course. Either to move against the attack you mentioned last night, or to ‘follow the fire’ as Sigmund put it last night. Is there any chance the two can be combined?”

“Yes,” stated the Nordlander. “We are to set sail to the North, heading towards the Kings last known position. In the meantime, should we receive any further reports of fire – “

“My lord!” called a young warrior from the docks. “A report has just come in! The Ship Graveyard is aflame, and another town too!”

Serkeljof called for a map and laid it out in front of him. “You came from here,” he said jabbing his finger down into it. “The other fires are here, here, and here…“

“They form a line.” Thunder completed the thought in everyone’s minds. “What is the next place on that line?”

“Glorium,” replied Serkeljof. “The Tomb Isle.”

Next time: Setting sail to the Tomb Isle!

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

Voyage to the Tomb Isle

Serkeljof explained the nature of Glorium. Up until two-hundred years ago, the Kings of the Swordlands had been buried on this small and remote island, locked away in stone tombs.

Perceptively, Aengus asked “And what happened two-hundred years ago that made them stop?”

“The Curse,” replied Serkeljof. “Across the land, the Dead walked. There were pitched battles everywhere, villages disappeared. It was said that some sailors passed by Glorium and heard the sounds of wailing from within the tombs – they claimed the Kings had awoken and were trying to get out. Once the Curse had passed, we never visited Glorium again. Our dead are cremated, or sent out to see on longships. Never buried. Never again shall the Dead rise from their graves.”

“And this island is on the way to us finding the King?” queried Iben. “Then we shall have to stop there and investigate it.”

“Agreed,” said Serkeljof. “We will take the longships. You can take your own…vessel…and meet us there.”

Ignoring the insult towards Ariel, the group left Serkeljof to his preparations. Boarding their own boat, each one checked their armour and weapons again for readiness. Some now glinted and gleamed with magic – gifts from the Knights of Himimborg after their efforts last night against the rats.

Thunder gripped the Spear he had received. There had been several offers to the Warforged, but when he saw the sigil on this item he had strode forward and seized it immediately.

A Legion Spear, he had thought. Charged with lightning. I can do a lot with this.

The last thing that happened before Himimborg began to be left behind was a short blessing on the voyage. Those workers on the dock paused in their tasks, and the Knights of Himimborg gathered at the edges of their vessels as Thunder spoke to them all.

“You are all valiant Knights of Himimborg!” his voice rolled out across the water. “You take on a great Quest today, to find and rescue a King. There will be terrible dangers ahead. Hideous foes await us, magic will assail us, the Dead may walk again. But I know that Kord is with us. He is with us in our Strength, in our Resolve, and in our Courage. He is with us because we earn his favour with our bravery. And he is with us as we crush our enemies, in all their forms, before us! Knights of Himimborg, you are blessed in the name of Kord!” He raised his arms high and bellowed “For the King! For Kord! For glory!”

As one, the assembled Knights roared back “For the King! For Kord! For glory!”

Setting sail, Ariel kept up easily with the long oar-strokes of the two longships. As the hours flew past, there was little conversation amongst the party. The prospect of investigating an island where the Dead had been locked up in tombs for more than two centuries, possibly eager to get out in all that time, did not make for an enticing prospect. Thunder spent the time in contemplation and prayer, asking for Kord’s assistance in the coming times.

As the island came into view in the distance, Aengus fey stepped over to Serkeljof’s ship, disappearing from one place and emerging in the other a heartbeat later. Other Knights had been running from ship to ship by using the still-moving oars as gangplanks, but it looked to take years of practice and the Eladrin didn’t fancy a dip in the sea.

After a short conversation with Serkeljof it was decided that the group would land first and do some reconissance, with the rest of the Knights following soon after.

Glorium hove closer into view, it’s three towers reaching high into the sky. Two were reasonably small and squat, but the third was huge – reaching more than a hundred feet up. It’s wide base and narrow windows made it almost a fortress in it’s appearance.

Landing on barren rock, Sigurd bade Ariel to take herself away a short distance and wait for a call, which she did gladly. The silence of the island was disquieting after the noise of the voyage, and weapons were loosened in sheaths before anyone stepped further out. Between the islands were a series of bridges bordering and crossing several shallow pools of water. The whole place seemed largely deserted.

“Wait!” said Iben, suddenly, pointing to the ground ahead. “There are marks, here, faintly made on the rock.” Gathering, the party could see faint scuff marks, as if made by something, or someone, heavy moving around the island. They seemed recent, and the tension rose another notch.

Swiftly checking out the two smaller towers, it was discovered that the doors were locked with some sort of mechanism. Not wishing to disturb the place any more than necessary, it was decided to head for the main tower and try that door.

As it reached high into the sky ahead of them, both Aengus and Karl produced lock-picking tools and began to squabble humourously about who would be the one to open it. As they began to examine the door, a shout came from over the water. Distantly, all could hear a Knight of Himimborg relaying the information they had not wanted to hear.

“Sails! Sails! Four longboats heading here! ‘Ware raiders!”

“Outnumbered two-to-one,” commented Thunder. “They’ll have to land and bring the fight here. We should prepare for a battle.”

Next time: The Battle of Glorium!

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

The Battle of Glorium

Serkeljof was proving his mettle as a commander. Seeing that engaging the oncoming ships in open water was suicide, outnumbered as they were two-to-one, he quickly brought his two longships into dock. Swiftly, the well-trained and experienced Knights of Himimborg took to the island and readied themselves.

Thunder had been checking the area over for strategic defense points. Where the group had landed, three small bridges split off. Thunder explained his plan to Serkeljof and the others. In the cold air, he was the only one not surrounded by puffs of misty breath.

“I have seen such a situation before,” he stated. “When outnumber, we need to funnel them towards a killing zone and prevent them from surrounding us. With your ships docked there and there,” he pointed to the longboats, “They have no option but to land here, in front of us. As such, if you will take one flank and Gunar the right, we can hold the centre. As the enemy advances, your Knights can fall on them from the sides and we will have the advantage.”

“Hmmm,” replied Serkeljof in his mocking tones. “You have some experience of this sort of thing then, yes? I should trust you?”

Thunder’s centuries old body shifted slightly on the rocky ground. Meeting Serkeljof’s eyes, the Warforged spoke with certainty. “Yes, you could say I have some experience. I also know that you can see that this is a good plan whether you like to admit it or not. Get the Knights into position.”

Gunar, the huge shipmaster, nodded his own approval and the plan was laid.

Whilst this conversation was going on, Aengus and Karl continued to work on the door of the main tower.

“My Lord,” acknowledged Karl. “This…is going to take some time.”

“I agree,” replied the Eladrin Warlock. “I hope our friends can bring us enough space in which to work. There do seem to be rather a lot of them on those boats…”

The seconds ticked by as each group took up it’s position. Serkeljof drew his rapier, warming up his limbs with a series of test strikes. Watching, Iben could see that his technique was good.

For all his abrasiveness, thought the young fighter, He does care for the other Knights. And he is clearly and experienced fighter himself.

“Here they come!” warned Sigurd, her keen eyes watching the shore. “Watch out for arrow fire!”

As predicted, a small shower of arrows were launched from the boats, but with no real effect. The assembled Knights of Himimborg gave a great roar of challenge as the boats began to discharge their occupants. Hideous squat bog trogs were the first to land, their horrific appearance matched by their savagery as they howled and charged forwards. The approaching longships moored side-by-side, allowing creatures from all four boats to leap from ship to ship and head towards the land. Several troll-kin began to wade forwards through the others, towering above them and screaming their own battle-cries, and in and amongst these monsters were several human-sized figures, great horns or antlers coming from their helmets.

It was a site to freeze the blood of less doughty warriors, but the Knights of Himimborg stood firm as the wave of bog trogs assaulted them. Fighting furiously with axe, spear and sword, they may not have been disciplined but they certainly were effective. Several bog trogs were killed in the opening few seconds.

Thunder waited for the first wave to reach him before lifting his voice in a blessing. “In the name of Kord, Knights of Himimborg! Victory or death!” The divine power crashed across the battlefield in an instant, and each Knight could feel the spirit of the God watching over them. Following up this prayer, Thunder drove his Legionspear into the nearest bog trog, levering it’s arm out of the way and opening a gap for Iben to wade in with his axe.

A second later he heard a quiet female voice next to him, saying “Don’t look at this too closely…” before a series of arcane syllables sounded. Sigurd spoke the words for a Colour Spray, and rays of brightly coloured magical energies glinted in the light in a wide area in front of the defending Knights. Around them, bog trogs howled and clutched at their eyes, seemingly dazed by the powerful magic.

Invigorated by the success of the spell, the Knights counter-attacked, hacking and slashing back at the trogs. Serkeljof’s rapier sparkled in the sun, piercing and stabbing around him on the group’s right. To their left, the man-giant Gunar wielded an oar from the ship as a weapon, giving him incredible reach. More than one bog trog had to pitch backwards, trying to dodge it.

Abandoning his attempt to open the door for a moment, Aengus ran forwards towards the back of the fray. Grabbing the box recovered from the ship, he opened it. Immediately the spectral form of the minotaur appeared, swirling around him. Before it could do anything to Aengus, he shouted to it.

“We are sorely beset by foes! I seek not to quell your rage at confinement – instead, I say to you go forth and wreak destruction upon them!” He pointed to the oncoming bog trogs, engaged in furious battle with the Knights. With a bestial roar, the Minotaur spirit raced into the midst of them, passing through the battle-lines of the Knights like a ghost. As he smashed into the middle of the oncoming horde, he almost disappeared, but the shrieks and cries coming from his position showed he was doing his work well.

As more and more bog trogs and trollkin disembarked from the ships, they fought their way past the spectral minotaur in their midst, the sheer press of numbers meaning that it couldn’t block them all. The Knights of Himimborg were driven back a step, a couple falling, and for a moment it looked as though the line would break.

Just at that moment, as Aengus turned to head back to the tower door and assist Karl in opening it, the Gnome yelled out in victory.

“It’s open! I got it open!”

Peering inside, Karl could see that the door opened into a large space, partially filled with rubble and with a staircase reaching around the inside. Small shafts of lights illuminated parts of the tower, and dimly, in the walls, he could see what looked like hundreds and hundreds of individual tombs.

Next time: A fighting retreat!

 

[Dinkeldog]

What levels are the party members at now?