"GET ON THAT ROCK AND STAND YOUR GROUND! JAMIE! TIGHT FORMATION! NO HEROICS!"
Rolg turns and bolts for the rock. "ALADDIN, STAY CLOSE TO ME!"
Logan sprints to the rock
Bolgrith mutters a prayer to the Perfect Man as he keeps up with his companions, setting a foot onto the smaller rock. He keeps a calm voice as he calls up to the mad mage. “Aladdin, save the last of bead of that necklace for the narrows of the Grik Pass. A rockslide there will slow this force significantly...”
He hefts his shield as he turns a stern gaze to the oncoming horde. “...if we can make it that far…”
Jamie follows close behind, but not before another goblin blade cuts her leg. She leaps atop the boulder beside the stormborn.
Simon sprints past Rolg and Logan, clambering up the stone and nocking an arrow.
Goblins follow the command of the bugbears and surge the stone and those not yet on top of it.
But the many small swords of the goblins are dodged or strike against armor and shield.
Rolg holds fast until his allies are on the rock. "Target the bugbears! These goblins are weak willed and will lose the taste for battle!"
Rolg springs onto the low rock and presses his back to the larger stone. Bracing his shield before him, he prepares to weather the brunt of the assault.
"Hier my vullis! Ek is Rolg, 'n trotse Kabouter. Trots te wees nie as nietig en verdof van begrip as die hou van jou! Kom, en jou einde in die gesig staar!"
"Here me filth! I am Rolg, a proud Hobgoblin. Proud not to be as puny and dim witted as the likes of you! Come, and face your end!"
Gods...let us just survive.
Logan moves onto the rock and draws his falchion, ready to attack. Braedon, guide my blade into the hearts of our foes. Patrick, my father, guide me from harm. If, by chance, we should meet today, then meet me as I go. His grip tightens on his hilt. Either way, my fallen blood, fight with me. These fiends wish to defile what you have fallen to protect. A smile crosses his face. Help me protect what these fiends will fail to defile.
Aladdin rips the second to last bead from his necklace and takes aim.
"FEAR THE MAD FIRE GOD, PORKRIND!" Aladdin screams as he throws the bead at the head of a bugbear.
Bolgrith shuffles up onto the stone, wearing a look of controlled concern. When he sees his surly hobgoblin stand between themselves and hundreds of blades, he reaches down and touches his companion with the oaken wand.
Aladdin’s blast shakes the rock the six stand on and blows hot air into their face, but they unharmed. The same could not be said for the goblins.
Nine goblins and three bugbears remain standing after the blast subsides and they scream at their burns. The rest lay as charred bodies over burnt earth.
“Your cookout is gonna need a STAKE!” Jamie roars, launching her javelin at one of the standing bugbears.
But the pit-fighter was so pleased with her moment of comedic genius that the spear sails high over the surviving bugbear’s head.
Simon’s arrow hits a burnt bugbear in the chest, but it does not bring it down.
After witnessing the fiery carnage of their comrades, and hear the daring of one defiant hobgoblin, a handful of the closest goblins turn to flee. But as the fastest of them passes a bugbear, the hunchbacked killer brings down his morningstar onto the running goblin's head. “Nici o cale de întoarcere! Există șase dintre ele, și sute de noi!” The struck goblin slumps dead to the ground, and the others skid to a halt.
“No turning back! There are six of them, and hundreds of us!”
Snorting derisively at their lesser kin, the bugbears lead a charge against Rolg.
And the goblins follow their orders, albeit with increasing apprehension as they approach the shield master. Rolg deftly turns away the attacks of the bugbears.
Somehow, one of them manages to slice at Rolg’s leg. In the distance, the six can see a giant stoop down and pick up the boulder that was thrown before. A second giant is not far behind.
Simon keeps his bow trained on the bugbear already wounded from a previous arrow.
The shot drops the bugbear at Rolg's feet.
"Hey guys, I think it's time to get off this island! Shall we vacate south of here? I can get the drop on these bugbears Rolg's kissing."
"Anymore fire Aladdin! Lay it on them."
Rolg lashes out with his sword at the closest bugbear.
"Jou magtige naasbestaandes is as niks vir my! Vlug vir jou lewe!"
"Your mighty kin are as nothing to me goblin cowards! Flee for your lives!"
Jamie unlimbers the longspear from her back and jabs it straight down at a goblin standing at the base of the boulder.
“Hold still!” she bellows, watching the goblin spin out of the way.
Bolgrith the Faithful sees the massive thugs retrieve their hurled stones, and steps in front of Simon, holding his shield high to protect the lordling from the coming volley.
“Do not run yet, lad,” the dwarf answers Aladdin, “The goblins nearly lost their taste for battle, perhaps we can frighten them away long enough to make an escape.”
He looks back to the slow-moving giants. “Not a moment too soon…”
"No! Ugly hobgoblin! You want me to get rid of my precious?!? But it's.. it's... MINE." Aladdin whispers as he cups the final bead. "It's not like I can just pull beads out of my ass!".
A hallucination of a tiny devil appeared on his right shoulder. Yes... yes... keep that bead for yourself. Look how pretty it is, what power it has.
Suddenly, a tiny Squall appeared on his other shoulder and ran over to tiny devil and tore him in half. Hey! Don't be stupid sorcerer. Do you want to be goblin food tonight?
Squall! You're alive! Wait... you're not real are you... Aladdin stared at the tiny eidolon.
Nope, not real in the physical world, just real to you in your madness. Now shut up and throw that bead. Squall said as he patted Aladdin's brain.
Snapping out of his trance dreaming, Aladdin hurls the final bead. "Take my sacrifices Porkrind! Many a greenskin have tasted your touch, take them ALL now!"
The flames envelope the closest of the horde, roiling inches from where Rolg stands, but not harming him or the other free folk. Both bugbears caught in the blast try to shake off the severe burns spread over where dark fur once grew. Of the twenty-six of their goblin comrades, only nine of them avoided the worst of the fire, and by the look of their burns, the nine are scarcely alive.
The goblins that survived or witnessed the third blast shriek in terror, and flee north, ignoring the commands of the bugbears. Two of the goblins are struck down for their disobedience, but that does not stop the dozens from running back. When the two bugbears see that they alone stay to fight the stubborn hobgoblin, they snarl and chase after their smaller kin to rejoin the mass of warriors.
Presently, the six see a procession of heavily armored hobgoblins carrying heavy blades and longbows march out from the same lower warren exit the adventurers used to escape. Fifteen in number, five of them appear to be giving commands to the bugbears and goblins on the flatlands. Behind them in the procession is a train of well-equipped bugbears as well. Together they assess the situation of the six and bark commands to the goblins, low-rank bugbears, and the towering giants, who nod with near-comprehension. The conglomeration of foul races begin to form lines and ranks, about two hundred feet from the defensible boulder.
The ten armored hobgoblins that did not give orders quickly unlimber their longbows and advance as the fleeing goblins run past them into the regrouping horde. They march south, determined to loose a volley once the six are in range.
"Hadregash's balls..." Rolg curses under his breath at the sight of the army regaining some discipline.
"Go! Do not stop!"
Rolg leaps off the rock and heads south as fast as possible.
I fried everything! Fire! Fire! Thanks Porkrind!
Aladdin looks at the carnage he caused, strikes a pose, then turns quickly to escape.
"Fly! Flee! The GM God says to run south!" he hollered as he hopped down from the rock and starts running.
Logan runs south.
Clambering down from their perch, the stout Priest clutches tightly to the magical tool as heavy feet hit the ground. Once more grasping at the ropes holding his load he does his best to keep up with his longer-legged companions.
The line of hobgoblin archers pick up their pace with they see the six fleeing from their defensive position. Stopping as one, they pull their bows back and release their arrows in unison. As the shots arc down onto the six, they continue marching after them.
Most of the arrowheads glance off Rolg and Logan’s armor, but one chances to hit Bolgrith, and another pierces the stormborn.
The two heavily armored fighters bring up the rear of the group, and the drone of thousands of marching feet behind them fill their ears. The sun begins to sink over the western horizon, and it seems that the advancing army behind them means to march through the night. At least this time, the swift-footed goblins must keep pace with their slower allies, and the six are not quickly overrun as before. The ten longbow strings snap a volley at the backs of the fleeing six, albeit from further than the first volley.
Two more arrows stick into Aladdin’s back. Logan sees two arrows whizz dangerously close to his head, and feels a third find a chance gap in his plate armor. The rest of the arrows fall harmless against armor or bury their points into the ground. Miraculously, Jamie is unharmed by the rain of arrows. Still, the six endure, pumping their legs hard and surging over the long grass that meets the mountainside.
“It was a two-day journey to get to the Oldkeep!” Jamie pants, “And the sun is setting, some of us can’t run in the dark, Rolg! What are we going to do?!”
A single command in the goblin tongue from the distant archers catches the ears of the six. “Trădătorul sânge!” Followed by a third, even farther whisper of loosed arrows.
“The blood-traitor!”
Even with his back turned and his focus on the safety of his companions, ten arrowheads harmlessly clang off the stalwart hobgoblin’s armor. The archers turn and join the ranks of the advancing army of goblinkind and giant.
Over the sound of marching feet, a great whoosh of air is heard somewhere far behind Rolg, Logan, Jamie, Bolgrith, Aladdin, and Simon. Any of the six who turn to look at the sound see a black shadow soaring through the darkening sky. Wide wings, darker than night, carry a fearsome beast with claws, teeth, and long black tail over the horde below. Orange glows from its eyes and mouth, and tiny, uneven amber lines glow between the hard-plated skin of the terrible dragon, Suanmii. The smoldering wyrm swoops along the mountainside, then clutches into the rock, unleashing an enormous gout of fire and ash into the air as it roars. The goblin and giant army below him either cheer or shriek in terror -it is too far for the fleeing six to tell. Their eyes do notice an unheld greataxe on the back of Suanmii, and from his seat Gartok the Undying pronounces orders to his horde.
“Mergem prin noapte! La a treia apus de soare, vom arde oameni în viață!”
“We march through the night! On the third sunset, we will burn the mans alive!”
“I sent that bird to my father in Silogard two days ago. The message warned him of this warlord and a coming raid, but that was before we knew of the dragon and the size of the force,” Simon says between strides, “I don’t think we’ve ever seen such an organized attack...” he turns a questioning look to Logan, assuming the young lieutenant to have more insight on what “normal” sized goblin raids looked like.
“Anyway, we can hope he responded by bolstering defenses, or at the very least, sending riders to investigate. Regardless, we need to get home to warn and aid the realm against this threat. We might have to run through the night.”
"We will do all we can. If we are likely, we will meet an outrider tomorrow."
Logan considers the force behind him as he runs "Aye, most of what we see is the occasional guerilla force of a dozen or so goblins with the occasional bugbear." he continues to run, scowling at the arrow in his shoulder, I may stab a goblin with you, later... "Aye," he says in response to Rolg, "the closer we get to Stonebit, the closer we get to the borderguard and their scouts."
The Priest Bolgrith tucks his head and continues running. The heaving weight of metal all but forgotten on his broad Dwarven shoulders.
“Pay me to fight, pay me to run,” Jamie’s eyes look over the jagged mountainside, “Pay me to hide. All the same to me…” she hawks a glob of phlegm behind her and leans into her quick pace. “...but I’m not getting paid to die.”
Six force their legs onward as the sun sets, beating a path over long grass and scattered stone tumbled long ago from the Frost Tooth Range. An hour passes, and they come upon a shallow river streaming from the mountain and eastward out into the flats. Sloshing through, the six continue in their flight. The army behind them is no longer visible, though a sharp eye can still discern a flying black form a handful of miles away. The sun inches closer to the horizon as the six feel their legs tire, but they press on, knowing that every mile they gain is more time for the realm of men to mount a defense.
Hours more of jogging meets the last of the sun’s rays, and Simon calls for a momentary break, slowing to light a few torches.
“If I... stop, I’m not... running again... ever!” Jamie shouts between breaths. She ignores calls to reason and hustles into the night. Not wanting the group spread too thin, the lordling does his best to light the torches as he runs, grumbling at the pit-fighter’s foolishness.
As he hurries to pass along lit to torch to Jamie in the lead, Bolgrith sees an opportunity while everyone runs relatively close together. The jostling pack on his shoulders make the thrumming of his shield difficult, but the faithful priest issues a wave of blue fire around himself and his companions, cleansing the pain and weariness of the long run. Jamie’s invigorated cheer is interrupted by Bolgrith’s broken silence. “Steel yourselves, lads and lassie,” he warns, “I’ll not be able to do that for a few more hours.”
“What I wouldn’t give for my horse,” pants the Wyldote to himself. He holds his torch high and keeps a close proximity to Aladdin. He peers into the darkening landscape beyond the torchlight.
By this time, the stars light the deep blue sky overhead, and the sound of night creatures begin to grow. Passing more trees along the way, the six follow the mountainside south, until a low point in mountain range can be discerned ahead. Making haste into the Grik Pass, and after trudging past a few stone overhangs and caves, Jamie begins to complain.
“Lets set up camp! We’re far enough ahead of those rotten goblins to get some sleep, aren’t we?”
The goblin army is most likely 12 miles away, marching at a rate of 2 miles per hour.
Logan looks about and considers it. "We could have maybe 6 hours of rest before they would be upon us, but that would be six hours longer before we could warn anyone. I think we should continue on."
"The Stonebit lad is right, we must press on if we hope to issue any warning of the coming invasion." His breath comes in sure steady gusts as he smiles ruefully. "Not to mention that if we stop we'll likely all die horrible deaths."
"If the lives of your race mean so little to you, Jamie, then hide and mack your way back alone. I release from my service if that is what you wish."
"For myself? I will press on. They may not be my kin, but the humans do not deserve to die unwittingly in their beds."
Rolg sets his jaw and waits to ensure the others will keep running before he continues.
As the group talks, Logan racks his brain in regards to Gartok the Undying
Aladdin continues running, but during it, pauses quickly to summon the magical lanterns to help the group see.
Jamie opens her mouth to argue with Rolg, then shuts it when nothing intelligible comes out. She silently agrees to the reason, as though she had forgotten about the plight of her people, and marches on with the rest of the group.
Hours pass. Still the six march, scarcely sustained by Bolgrith’s pulses of energy, timed hours apart to maintain a good speed. The stars slowly turn over head as the Grik Pass bends south. By the time they cross the Barrowsweep, the eastern horizon pales in anticipation of the morning sun, and they hear the heavy thuds of eight horses bearing down on them from the dark ravine ahead.
Eight well-armed Borderguard riders, one of them a dwarf, gallop into view and circle around the six. Simon’s urgency of the coming attack is met with skepticism while in the company of a hobgoblin, and in truth, they do not believe it until the dwarf and Stonebit confirm the account. They disclose that Steward Wyldote was presently crossing the East Snowrun River, and is eager to locate his youngest son. One of the captains notices the wounds of the group, and distributes curative potions to soothe the worst of the pain.
The lieutenant recognizes four lieutenants, three captains, and one major in this forward patrol. He knows the name of his peers: Gavin, Robert, Stephen, and Dirk (the dwarf). He also knows the name of one of the captains, Sean, and the name of the major, Norman Gaunt.
One rider wheels about and speeds from the way he came to carry the information, while seven begin to escort the six adventurers further south, estimating the time to reach the Steward and his entourage by sunset.
Gavin Sorrelio favors the bow, though every Borderguard is trained in a wide variety of weapons, and he busies himself with drinking and whoring when not on duty. His lighthearted behavior causes some to wonder if he is committed to the cause of defending the realm, while others (who get him drunk enough) know that he was orphaned by a horde of undead that ripped apart his parents. His life on the streets taught him to take pleasure where he could find it, while he can find it, so find it he does. While a bit impulsive, he can be counted on to follow orders.
Robert Thorne favors the greathammer that bounces on his back as he rides. Younger than Logan, he is impatient but determined, and strong as a bull. He once carried two wounded officers back to the city from a scout patrol gone awry -one man in his arms with the other over his broad shoulders. He is good friends with Dirk the dwarf, and has a bit of a playful mean streak when he is drunk.
Stephen Aodh doesn’t talk very much, but shows great skill in horse riding. He is best with a bow, and can hold his own with a blade. He silently disapproves of Gavin’s off-duty behavior, himself preferring to hole up somewhere quiet with a book, or visit the stables. Some even whisper that he can talk to horses, explaining why nearly any horse will run faster or further with him on their back. Stephen was the one sent ahead with news of Logan and his companions.
Dirk Firedross is, in every sense of word, fierce. Hard drinker, hard fighter, and when he has time, a hard worker in the smithy run by his father and brothers. He quite literally has an axe to grind against all goblins. Already married and much older than his lieutenant peers, he has a short fuse for Gavin’s shenanigans and Stephen’s timidity. Nevertheless, he works well with them and would take a crossbow bolt for any of them. He prefers fighting with his feet on the ground, but can ride a horse well enough.
Sean Tauric gives Logan most of his orders for patrols and other duties. He is stern, and demanding, and advocates being prepared above all else. He holds an impossibly high standard for his lieutenants, but to his credit, Captain Tauric’s discipline has pulled Logan and a few others out of some close scrapes. Sean was one of the wounded officers saved by Robert, and as for the other captain, Logan recognizes his face but not his name.
Major Norman Gaunt carries an approachable air, but he is often very busy and has no time for idle talk. Despite his name, and his constant activity, Major Gaunt is a little overweight. Grey stubble covers sagging jowls, and a ponch expands from his belt whenever he is not in armor. But he is far from soft. He is the only one of the Borderguard to have survived a week in the Barrowwood and return alive (though he was mistaken as undead for his smell, and nearly killed before he could explain). While it appears that he has almost no free time, Logan has noticed Major Gaunt praying in the church of Erastil on occasion. It is said that the Lord of the Hunt favors the major in his vigilance against the wicked things that threaten the lives of the Commonwealth.
Logan recognizes the faces of the other captains, but he doesn’t know them all that well.
While the particulars of Sunderland court and nobility are a mystery to Bolgrith, he knows a bow at the waist will be sufficient, when meeting the Steward on the field, followed by a “my lord,” if a citizen, or “Lord Steward” or “Steward Wyldote” if the bower is ruled by another. It may be different in court, but fortunately the dwarf need not worry about meeting the Steward in his royal hall.
Most of his knowledge of the Steward comes from hearsay. He is strict to both his children and those beneath him. He is known firstly as a shrewd diplomat and negotiator, so exacting that some would call him miserly behind his back. While the title might imply a role of servitude, such a role does not fit Jeremiah Wyldote very well. He does not suffer insubordination, pleas for mercy, or half-hearted efforts, and his scope of what he sees as weakness is very broad. Those who cross him have little time to regain his graces before finding themselves locked in a dungeon or facing the noose.
To his credit, the Commonwealth economy has never been better, and his reforms have found work and homes for vagrants, all while maintaining good relations with the hobgoblin city-state and the dwarf kingdoms. Piracy has been on a decline since he took the seat of his father, but it has not been without cost. One of his sons, Willem, (his third-born child and second son) was lost at sea.
Presently, his eldest, Josephine Wyldote, is in Hagglesport with the Council of Seven, representing Wyldote interests. His second-born and eldest son, Montague, has achieved a high rank in a knight order pledged to the Steward. Simon has mentioned that he began training to join the same order, but has since shirked his training to pursue this Karajhin character. It is quite likely that the Steward does not know of everything that Simon is up to, based the dwarf’s perception of the Steward and his youngest son.
Logan knows a bow at the waist will be sufficient, when meeting the Steward on the field, followed by a “my lord,” if a citizen, or “Lord Steward” or “Steward Wyldote” if the bower is ruled by another. In Wyldote court, it would be different -anyone granted audience to the Steward at his seat is expected to touch one knee to the ground upon entering the room, and wait until the Steward acknowledges them and allows them to rise.
It is plain to Stonebit, while every Borderguard carries an air of casual yet constant preparedness, one of Dirk’s meaty hands rest on the axe in his belt, and the dwarf has also the closest eye on Rolg. But he has not yet been ordered to strike down the hobgoblin, so he continues to escort the six from his horse.
"Can your horses double on riders? We should make all haste."
Logan's brow furrows slightly as he watches the dwarf, but after times serving with him, he knows he can trust the dwarf. They may not be the best of friends, but at least they won't kill each other without just cause. His eyes glance to the rest of his fellow lieutenants and he considers what is to come.
The lower-ranking Borderguard express some reluctance to Rolg’s suggestion, including the dwarf who loudly objects to sharing a saddle with “a green-skinned vermin”. But the major gives the order, and the six are helped onto horses. Rolg’s rider, one of the humans, takes up the forward position, hinting at the suspicion the Borderguard holds against the hobgoblin in their midst. The horses carry on, slowed by the extra rider, but at least now the six have a chance to rest their legs.
Hours drag on as they travel south through the Grik Pass, and as the sun begins to sink, the top of the Oldkeep at the mouth of the pass comes into view. At the base of the tower, a small host of men appear to be setting up a perimeter of torches and palisades.
“That would be Steward Jeremiah Wyldote, and company,” says Major Norman Gaunt, “We will take you to him at once, doubtless he has questions about the report we sent ahead.” He looks to Logan. “My own intelligence corroborates with this warlord you mentioned, Gartok ‘the Undying’, but the number he commands is much more than I would have guessed. I will leave it to the Steward to decide, but either way, I expect the Borderguard will need to prepare for an assault.”
The Borderguard nod in acknowledgement, and soon, the horses trot past the partially constructed palisades into an area of servants and soldiers busy with various tasks. More of the green-cloaked Borderguard march with armfuls of arrows, or feed for horses, or freshly cut lumber for the defenses. But the Oldkeep that once housed Sorah the misguided Irori worshipper, is now surrounded by knights in heavy armor, bearing the image of a golden stalk of wheat crossed with a sword. Brief introductions admit the six beyond their perimeter, plus one of the Borderguard officers, Captain Sean Tauric, and into the entrance of the stone tower.
Upon entering the Oldkeep, the six find a tall, lean man with short grey hair shrewdly studying a map on a wooden table. He wears a tunic of fine material, lacking any ostentatious frills, and a heavy gold chain hangs from his neck, matching the simple, single-sapphire gold headband that rests on his noble brow. Six other knights stand at attention in the room, though one of them cannot resist a mocking grin at Simon as the youngest Wyldote is herded into the room with his five companions. This smiling knight bears some resemblance to Simon, and the Steward himself. A hunched figure in a grey cloak also stands near the table, with one gloved hand leaning on a tall, wooden staff that widens at the top. The cowl of the grey cloak is pulled up, obscuring most of the advisor’s face. Jeremiah Wyldote drains the chalice of wine in his hand and regards the seven that enter his makeshift court. Any remnants of Sorah’s habitation are completely gone.
“Lord Wyldote, Steward of the Commonwealth, I present to you youngest son, Simon Wyldote, and the companions we found him with,” introduces the Borderguard captain, “They bore a few wounds that we tended to before riding-”