Some in Brevoy were calling him the Dragon Lord—a man who hated the majestic beasts of legend and wore one of their red pelts for his cloak. But the men and women lined up for war at the Hydra Bridge know who he is. Some still despise him, though the prospect of losing his sword to the minotaur sours in their bellies.
The Stag Lord strides forward, clearing the line of warriors so as to not bring the fight to them. As he walks by the general, he looks down at the brave human, even though Berrin sits astride his warhorse.
Nikolai Rogarvia flexes his exaggerated muscles. His firm thighs are almost comically wide under the influence of his friends' magical blessings. He spits onto the great blade Dragonsbreath and the sizzling result is audible for both of the hushed throngs that await the fight.
"You should have let me kill you at the elven temple, coward," say the huge man. His face is turning red and his his veins rise on his massive arms and legs. "It would have been less humiliating with no crowd."
Knowing the fight of his live—of hundreds of lives—is on him, Nikolai remembers his place and purpose. His final words come as a roar, heard by all.
"I say one last time. Flee. This blade comes for any who remain. And it burns hot."
TO punctuate, Nikolai bites into his lip and tastes blood. The great sword flares orange-yellow, and the flames lick out nearly a foot from the steel. Tortured spirits become visible in the eddies of dirt forced up by the breeze. Some his victims, some the Conquerors.
His friends understand the gestures. He will unleash a savagery on Tahngruun he has not indulged in since his days as the despot who wished for death.
The Dragon Lord sneers and charges.
Init: 11
AC: 20 (+9 armor, +3 deflection, +1 natural, -2 rage, -1 size)
Hp: 72/72
Saves: F +11, R +6, W+8
Defense: resist fire 10
Offense: Dragonsbreath +1 keen flaming greatsword +14/+9 (3d6+19/17-20 plus 1d6 fire), and slam +8 (1d4+2)
BAB +6, CMB +15 (+17 bull rush or overrun), CMD 28
Effects: rage, Power Attack, enlarged, amulet nat armor +1, protection from evil, shield of faith
Having cast his magics upon his friend and ally, there is little Akiros can do now besides obverse the outcome of the battle along with everyone else.
Little, however, does not mean nothing. Having Kydal step up beside Valnyr, looking straight ahead the battle cleric speaks quietly to the general "Let us be prepared for treachery and deceit from our foes, Berrin. While our army is distracted would be a perfect time for an honourless, yet cunning enemy like Harkulka to try and take us unawares."
Tahngruun charges forward as soon as Nikolai does. The pair collide in the middle of their respective armies, slamming into one another with the force of comets. Nikolai expects the minotaur to lower his head and use his powerful horns to lead his charge - but he instead brings his axe to bear down upon Nikolai just as Nikolai brings dragonsbreath upon him. His greataxe hits just beforehand, rocking Nikolai upwards as he buries it in Nikolai's stomach. His elven chain splits open as a burst of negative energy sprays out at both of them, but the chain keeps it from being instantly fatal.
The barbarian is too furious to feel the pain. Though somewhere in his mind he knows he has met his match, his senses are buried under rage and battlelust. His only response is to test whether the minotaur's blood is as red as his own. Nikolai steps in and swing with his enlarged sword.
The barbarian's sword burns with bright yellow flames as Nikolai steps to the side. So mighty is the minotaur's blow that his momentum carries him forward. He is used to his momentum carrying him past smaller opponents.
Nikolai counted on this. He takes the axe in his midsection with a deafening roar. As the heavy swing pulls the minotaur past him, Nikolai pivots around, rather less gracefully than he had anticipated. Still, the work is done. The minotaur stumbles forward, desperate to turn and meet the oncoming blow, but for now, Tahngruun's back is exposed.
The former Stag knows his first blow must strike at the heart of the adversary, and not the minotaur only. He brings the burning blade down straight, just as his enemy puts all his weight into one massive thigh to force a rapid turn. The sword cuts cleanly through. The minotaur turns, separating his torso from his left leg and crashing down on a diagonal stump.
Nikolai faces his adversary. The whirling spirit lash out, and do little but tear at the beast's flesh. The raging barbarian pulls with his left arms and begins his counterswing.
Tahngruun is right-handed. The loss of an entire leg has the minotaur angled forward and down, with the greataxe held aloft behind him. Nothing will stop the sword from striking true.
Nikolai's stroke is so practiced, he does not watch the heated blade as it cuts into the minotaur's neck. He doesn't notice the smell of burning hair or boiling blood. He sees only Tahngruun's eyes.
They turn a dull green-white as the minotaur's head rolls back and falls to the ground a moment before it's joined by the body.
The fury of the stag is not abated. He waves a bloody hand towards his comrades, nodding at Verik and glancing down at his wound. Then he turns and searches the faces of the assembled beastmen, looking for one who still seems willing to fight. He advances steadily, trusting for his mounted companion to keep up.
It was over. In an instant. Though grievously wounded in the process, Nikolai had taken on their champion and taken the fearsome creature down with two swift strokes of his burning blade.
Although impressed, Akiros was not overly surprised. After all, he has seen the Stag Lord's martial mastery many, many times.
Knowing this to be the perfect time to press the advantage, and seeing Nikolai advancing forward with the same intention in mind, Akiros is one of the first, and loudest, to start the roar. Although he had never once used the moniker for his old friend, and likely never would again, he understood it's impact and value in this situation, and thus used it now. Filling his powerful lungs with air, he , banging the flat of his sword on his shield
Then, casing Kydal to advance with a simple squeeze of his thighs, he roars even louder adding all the force of personality he can muster to aid in the demoralization of their foes.
Intimidate aid another:
For once, Verik was speechless.
Not only did Verik have absolutely nothing to say to the others as the two champions traded blows in what had to be the bloodiest exchange he had witnessed to-date, but he realized his mouth was stupidly wide open as a result.
As Nikolai looked directly at him and nodded to subtly indicate he was in trouble with the axe wound he had incurred, only then did Verik draw his first breath since the pair went forward; he collects his wits enough to nod back in kind and places a quick hand to his key-enameled breastplate as a sign that he would get to him as quickly as possible.
What have I just witnessed? First Jemini at Dragonshead! Now Nikolai fulfilling his battle oath before all of us, before the Gods themselves at the Hydra's Bridge? So near this spot was where I saw that bloodlust of his return to claim his mind after he had returned from Stagfall nearly two years ago...I despised him then for it. But here...he has mastery of himself, despite the blood...look how he uses this scene of death and carnage to his advantage...he looks to break their will! Yes Nikolai, break their will to fight and seal this into their memory for all-time! But Hargulka won't let it end this way for them...the time of waiting will be over in moments now...
Verik readjusts the his war-helm and slaps his left hand against his shield several times in succession to support the efforts of Akiros in inspiring their men and demoralizing the enemy. As the roaring of the soldiers around them swells to its height, Verik looks over earnestly at Borodin, Elsir and the other Founders who can hear him. "The slaves and lessers may break from this and run, but Hargulka's only option now is to rally the attack and take down Nikolai! That axe nearly did him, and Hargulka must see that as well as we. Do we charge or hold?"
Blessed Sarenrae, the great blade on Nikolai burns with your purifying fires and fells what would withstand us. To the nearby she says, " We still don't know what Hargulka is planning while we're focused here; we should strike while the iron is hot."
Jemini sees how Nikolai advances upon the enemy, for a moment she feels the entwined destiny between them grow strong, she smiles as she senses the subtle guidance of the divine - Iomedae perhaps? - her voice echoes strong and Jemini and Nikolai's bodies act almost in unison. As he strides forward, so she does too, and as she slowly holds her blade aloft, so Dragonsbreath is held high by Nikolai. Where his blade burns with a menacing fire, Jemini's blade glows with a sharp silver light - a holy energy. Both warriors look invincible as they stride toward the opposing army. ""
Nikolai cuts through Tahngruun easily, felling their champion in a matter of seconds. The monsters are instantly silenced, cutting their chant short as they stare unbelievingly at how quickly the minotaur fell. The human defenders begin cheering and shouting for Nikolai, who roars along with them. Akiros and Jemini add their voices, and it is enough to put the undisciplined army of monsters on their heels. Despite outnumbering the humans, they quaver in fear. The first to turn and run is an ogre, lumbering away as quickly as its stubby, misshapen legs will take it. The rest of the monsters start to break a few at a time - but the panic spreads like an infection. Berrin raises his blade high and rears his horse; to answer Verik's question, he bellows, "CHARGE!"
The human army surges forward just as the the monstrous army's discipline utterly collapse. It turns into a slaughter, running the Gudrin River red with blood. They flee for the bridge, pushing and shoving while looking for any purchase whatsoever. The army of Newhaven drives them against the river, slashing and stabbing as the battle turns entirely in their favor. The lizardfolk escape across the river, but the others lack their ability in the water. Knowing that their armor and weapons will weigh them down, the human army stays out of the water. Desperate, the cornered monsters turn to fight - but undisciplined and uncoordinated is no way to win a battle.
Aylene Myrdal leads a charge of her own, sending the cavalry headlong into the ranks of the trolls. Despite their strength and size, the cavalry's charge cuts them down long enough for army members to fall upon them with torches to ensure that they remain dead. The footmen reclaim Hydra Bridge, cutting down the fleeing monsters using it as an escape route. Once on the south side of the river bank, the footmen and cavalry give chase to the routing enemy. A few of the monsters - especially cowardly races like the kobolds - surrender to the humans, begging for mercy; most were unwilling to show mercy and are unable to ask for it.
The monsters flee in all directions as their army breaks and disperses, entirely focused on survival instead of discipline. The humans follow, chasing them down and cutting down the survivors. The result is a total loss for the monsters, with eight of ten that came to sack Sanctuary killed along the Gudrin. The human defenders had losses as well, but fewer than one in ten of the warriors gave their life in defense of their homes. The centaurs skirmishing on the east side of the battlefield break free of one another, with Hargulka's allies fleeing the battlefield and Sanctuary's allies joining the attacks upon the scattering monsters.
Nikolai and the rest of the Founders seek out Hargulka, looking to finish this war once and for all - but the troll king proves elusive in the chaos, even as Aylene's cavalry cuts down trolls in all directions. There are simply too many of the monsters to find Hargulka, even with a magically-enhanced vantage point. The two-headed troll that advises Hargulka, however, is cornered by the humans. The army quickly surrounds him on the south side of the river, but he stands to his full height - almost twenty feet high - and utilizes his full reach to keep them at bay. He whips his arms and moves quickly, almost like a spider, slashing with his claws as the first wave of soldiers approaches. Three of them fall, mortally wounded, and the soldiers are no closer to him. They surround him, but no one is willing to press into his lanky reach. The two-headed troll - Nagraundi, as he was called by Hargulka at the centaur summit - is cornered and unable to press his escape. He tests the humans, slashing at them and wounding a few, but they are simply containing him until their champions can arrive.
Nikolai shouts to Elsir over the din, "Find him! Find the Trollking so we can end this!" He maintains his fury, striding toward the trolls left behind as their smaller allies swim away. He cuts down the first troll he meets alone, bringing even more fear into the ranks of the others. They flee before him even after the enlarging spell wears off and they tower over him. As the cavalry drive them into the water and the human ranks cuts them down, Nikolai reaches for the reins of an unmanned horse. The stress of battle, coupled with the pain of the wound he finally feels weigh on him just then.
Sanctuary has won, but there is fighting left to finish. A small part of the old Nikolai emerges, but not the violent savage he used to be. Nikolai the commander emerges. Having led the front, now he bloods the men and lets them do the killing. If war is coming, they must have a taste for it.
Despite his exhaustion, pride emerges. The warriors donot cower or gloat. A few of them give in to bloodlust, but among men at war, there's no preventing it. Still, the human soldiers are fighting for home. Not for gold or to ease the pain of their youth. They fight nobly, but with full commitment. Nikolai lets the principles wash over him.
Of course, she is there. Even Jemini exchanges the clean beauty of peace and faith for determined aggression. She is a fierce and formidable warrior, not some naive queen dependent on the obedience of sycophants. Her blade cuts into a troll closer to the bridge, and those around her bring it down and finish. He locks eyes with her. Though he is unable to smile under the power of her gaze, he does lift his sword with his tired left arm. The flames are a dull orange, mere torchlight compared to their heat when he faced battle. But the fire is his banner, and the men raise their swords in like fashion before bringing them down on their enemies once more.
As Nikolai balances on the horse's back, the nausea and weariness subside. The wound still seeps blood, but he tightens his belt to keep the wound closed. He looks for Elsir, riding across the bridge and raising his sword to encourage the rout. Where pockets of men find themselves pressed by an obstinate enemy, he rides in and brings Dragonsbreath down. He shakes the boiling blood from the blade and shouts "For Jemini and for home!" before he leaves them.
So it is as he rides across the enemies' broken lines that he finds the two-headed troll surrounded by uncertain men. He dismounts his horse just over a bowshot away and looks into the sky for Elsir once more.
"I told you I would kill you." the big man says to Nagraundi. Nikolai notes the sound of friendly horses approaching behind him. "Tell me where Hargulka is. I swore to you this day would come and you threw your lot in foolishly. Tell me where to find him, and I promise his suffering will be greater than yours."
Nikolai drives the flaming sword into the ground and pulls his massive bow. He nocks an arrow and heats the tip in the magical fire. Then he takes aim at the troll. [b]"You will die knowing Hargulka does not keep his live by sacrificing yours."
When the horses approach, Nikolai barks out his words without moving. "He's surrounded. Make sure if he moves, he has to move toward me."
Loosing the order to charge Berrin is soon thundering through the ranks of monsters, losing himself in the moment of battle, loping of heads, trampling unfortunates under Valnyr and cleaving through bodies two at a time wielding his greatsword in powerful strokes soon covers both man and horse it splatters of blood and gore. Chasing down fleeing adversaries to and fro Berrin mounted on his spirited warhorse, a paragon of it's kind, is a true terror on the battlefield.
Leading the charge straight down the middle ranks of monsters Berrin finds himself in the thick of retaking the bridge, stopping of the monstrous armies line of retreat, acting as the anvil for the hammer that is Aylene's charging horse. The only moment of respite from barking orders and roaring challenges is the moment Berrin and Aylene meet up on the bridge, Aylene riding through the press of trolls, bloody and beautiful, a true visage of terrible war, Berrin reins in Valnyr and shares in a moment with his wife where both grin foolishly, lean in from thir respective saddles to steal a kiss from each other before laughing and charging off again to drive on the troops in their merciless slaughter.
When the cries of surrender start to fill the air and adversaries turn to cowering bodies Berrin reins in his bloodlust to survey the battlefield. Victory was complete, the enemies rout was total. Spurring Valnyr on he rides through the body of Newhaven's victorious army, sharing in cheers of victory with the men but stopping to exchange words with every commander on the field, ordering mercy and quarter to be given to the surrendered enemy. Yes, they were monsters. Yes, they came to sack Sanctuary. Yes, they were evil but Berrin knew Jemini well enough to know that the paladin that was their first-among-equals would order it. Her shining example must be rubbing of on the gruff warrior. The sight must look farther than the next moment, Choral was on the horizon and knowing Jemini, she's recruit the monsters and accept them into Newhavens fold before the light of day was out.
On his ride through the battlefield, talking to the commanders, Berrin sees the cornered two headed troll and Nikolai hading toward it. Arriving in time to hear him treat with it Berrin accepts his wisdom in tactics and takes up a position at Nikolai's left flank, ready with his lance to heard the monster at the Dragon Lord. After today Nikolai would never be the Stag Lord to Berrin again, the barbarian was redeemed in the warriors eyes, from now on he would always be the Dragon Lord.
With Jemini adding her divinely inspired voice and the general Berrin sending it home with his simple yet powerful command to charge, the rout of the Battle of Hydra Bridge had begun.
In the van of the force driving towards the bridge, Valnyr and Kydal, their riders wielding their deadly blades atop them, sweep, crush, slash and stomp all before them. For the most part, in the thick of battle like this, Akiros' limited eyesight is hardly any handicap at all. When he does need to see further, he relies on his trusted mount and companion, their mystical link allowing them to move as one.
In truth, it is a thing of beauty, Akiros and Kydal, for the dance of death both horse and rider perform is indeed a sight to behold. Kydal is simply unmatched on the field of battle. No other steed even remotely comparing to his strength, speed and ferocity. The single exception being the mighty Kydal, coming in a very close second. Akiros seems born to the saddle, with barely a handful of riders in the entire army being equal to his skill. Together though, they are something else altogether. Even the centaurs, man and horse flesh literally melded as one, can hardly match the grace and deadliness that the battle cleric and his mount incarnate. Indeed, for a time, several centaurs ride alongside them, treating the pair as one of their own, tribal whoops and cries urging them on.
'This is what I am meant for, this is justice, this is the purpose, or at least a significant part of it, for my Goddess returning her gifts to me' thinks the battle cleric at some point. Yet, despite his deadliness on the field of battle, so too does Akiros show mercy to all who ask for it. For justice without mercy is an abomination in and of itself.
As the Fates often seem to decree such things to be, the tide of battle carries Akiros and Kydal to the scene around the two-headed troll at virtually the same time as Nikolai and Berrin. Noting the position and tactics of his two allies Akiros moves Kydal to take up another flanking position. Having lost his borrowed lance somewhere in the battle, Akiros instead draws his mighty composite longbow. While nowhere near to the strength of the bow Nikolai has nocked, still most would not be able to even pull the bow Akiros now nocks with ease. Leaning down to one of the torch bearing soldiers, Akiros ignites one of the special oil soaked arrows he had obtained before leaning back up to draw a bead on the giant troll. One last little detail to clean up. From this distance, he knew he could not, and would not, miss.
Jemini comes up alongside Nikolai. A hand reaches out and a soothing gentleness spreads along the giant man's wounds, it reaches beyond just the wound, the torn flesh knits itself, scars fade, but most of all, Nikolai feels the power refresh him, wake his senses that were a little dulled after the quarter hour of high adrenalin.
There is a hint of pity in her eyes as she looks on to the two-headed troll. "I'll have you know, Nagraundi, that I've never heard Nikolai tell a lie. You should think on that before you voice what may be the last thoughts you have in this life."
"Every second you delay, he moves. If I do not catch him today, I swear to you, I will burn you. No one can stop me. You will curse him and hate him before sunset. Give him to me, and this will end now."
Akiros
Akiros
Berrin
Borodin
Elsir
Jemini
Nagraundi
Nikolai
Verik
The soldiers give Nagraundi a very wide berth. They part as he strides forward, shouting at them in his strange, reedy voice. "You taint our lands with your presence!" His second head joins the first. "Your kind deserves death, one and all!" The surrounding soldiers keep at least thirty feet between him and themselves, moving to give him space and filling in the area behind him. The rest of the soldiers clear the way so that the Founders have a clear line of sight to the tall two-headed troll. He isn't approaching as fast as he could, but is taking a cautious approach to avoid being surrounded by more dangerous foes.
Having born down on him already, Nikolai lets fly with his arrow. Judging the thing's distance, he then draws two more arrows and fires rapidly.
"Make him choose. He'll come for one of us and the rest will end him."
Only one arrow lands, but Nikolai's great strength buries the shaft deep. The flaming shaft lands at the troll's feet and burns on the ground. The third sails just past Nagraundi's heads as he dodges, still travelling upwards and away from the fight.
[ooc]I guess 13 isn't bad, right?[/occ]
Nagraundi jerks as the arrow strikes true - only to drop the shaft to the ground a moment later. His speed and reflexes were truly extraordinary. Not even Elsir, with his command of the flow of time and elven sight, could see much more than a blur of motion as the two-headed troll deflects the arrow.
”CHARGE!”
Berrin’s thunderous command signals the surge forward. Verik sees Nikolai in the killing ground space between the lines, the gushing blood from Tahngruun’s gory stumps of neck and leg still steady and bright as it spills forth upon the grass. He knew he had to reach Nikolai after that glorious display of vicious carnage in the name of Newhaven, to heal and preserve him so that he could continue what had been started here. He had to carry the light of Abadar forward. He had to exact retribution for the deaths of the two young brothers, dearer to him than he could explain. He had to prove his quality, and somehow erase the long-standing stain of cowardice upon his heart that still remembered Stagfall. Verik shouts with all the anger that he can muster and starts forward, picking a spot in the field to move to and utter his first prayer.
Berrin, Akiros and Jemini are already ahead of him, shouting battle-cries and with their blades held high in righteous fury, but despite being in full plate Verik moves as a man possessed with endless vigor, as fast or faster than any solider in chainmail or militia in studded leather. He reaches his marked point and channels forth his first prayer quickly, intoning the aid of the Lawgiver to his allies upon the field; the incantation is completed even as the roar of the men now just behind him reach a pitch that nearly deafens him. Fortunately for Verik the soldiers stream past him to either side and do not bowl him over in their fury to reach the enemy, yet Verik suddenly finds himself in a sea of human soldiers. He thinks he spies out Nikolai’s flaming sword moving forward in the distance but it is quickly lost, and it is all Verik can do to move forward with these now-blessed men and fight with them. As the soldiers continue to shout he does too, bolstered by the courage of his own prayer. He draws his beautiful elvish longsword and holds it high, hoisting his shield up before him for a better grip. Suddenly the furious roar of the men is joined by a cacophony of other noises. Terrible high-pitched rending and screeching sounds, the sounds of metal striking metal, wood, flesh and bone. The low thumping sound of bodies hitting shields, other bodies and the ground. The sounds of the battle lines hitting one another. Death cries echo here and there in Verik’s ears and he cannot shut them out, but he no longer cares. He gives himself to the fury of battle, looking only to do his part to kill. Then the tide that carries him forward hits the enemy like wave upon rocks, and he is enmeshed in the violent swirl of battle.
The next minute seems like an entire day to Verik, with men and monsters snarling, stabbing, slashing and dying all around him. He thinks he may have killed one or two creatures that stood against him but he’s not certain – his slashing of opponents certainly brings blood to his blade, but in the chaotic melee he can only get a strike or two in before the crush of the men carries him off to some other opponent in the lines. He is struck at several times though in truth he cannot sight his attackers, only feeling their impacts to his heavy plate and shield which all fail to bite his flesh. At some point a wild swing from a nearby hobgoblin’s axe glances off the side of his helm, ringing his ears and making the surreal nature of the fight even more so. Verik lashes out with his heavy shield and feels it crunch some unseen monster’s face, a spray of blood across his shield; his hearing is muffled and the helm forces his vision straight ahead, the crush of soldiers and the enemy strangely starting to slow down in some moments and yet oddly speed up in others. Verik pushes forward once again. He sights a spear coming towards him and deflects it off his shield. He sees a great axe cleave the soldier’s head next to him in two, but cannot see what did it. He lashes out with his blade and finds its mark in the thick hide of some ruddy skinned creature, only to find it was already impaled with two spears from men to his right. He moves forward, stepping on and over fallen bodies of what he hopes are the enemy, his metal-plated boot crushing something unknown as he passes. Another jarring hit upon his shield. Another stroke with his own blade followed by a gurgled hiss that may have been speech or death-rattle. Another push at his back to move forward, the roar of the men’s shouts and battle-cries rising up again anew, the ringing in his ears lessening. Then, suddenly, the sunlight upon his face and a proper vision of the field as the enemy lines break completely. Verik is a hundred yards from the bridge and the river, the men around him bellowing with triumph as they surge past him to either side to pursue the panicked foe in unyielding slaughter. Somehow in a way that defies all logic and understanding, he is unscathed and momentarily alone.
Verik takes a deep breath, though his nose wrinkles at the smell of blood, sweat and other foul stenches that he forces his mind not to contemplate. Swiveling his head towards the bridge he thinks he sees the shining holy blade of Jemini and Akiros atop his warhorse, and perhaps even the glint of Dragonsbreath beyond the bridge, but his vision is lost as cavalrymen from the right flank wheel in towards the center by the water’s edge. Fair enough he thinks as he raises his shield once again and starts forward, determined to find Nikolai and keep his unspoken promise. He does not know why this matters to him so much now, but for some reason it does and that is enough. As more cavalry hit the bridge and drive the more broken-willed creatures into the river, Verik thinks he sees the fiery red hair of one known to him. Aylene! She moves onto the bridge and is lost to his sight amidst the throngs of men. Verik starts to trot forward but stops as he comes across a wounded militiaman, his arm mangled and nearly off at the shoulder. Verik curses and stops to keep the man from dying, cursing a second time as he realizes he cannot channel here for fear of reviving their foes; he sheaths his sword and kneels, drawing forth his curing wand to apply to the dreadful wound, the man giving a gasp as the wand touches his sweat-soaked skin. He’ll lose the arm but he’ll live is all Verik can think to himself as he stands and moves on. There is no time to delay. Yet Verik comes across another wounded man nearby with a shattered leg and uses his wand to cure him, followed by another dying man with a hideous wound to his abdomen, using other powers to him. A trail of dying and wounded men towards the bridge. Verik doesn’t fully realize it but by the fifth soldier he pauses to cure he has picked up a small entourage. ”Banker!” says a man with a tone of relief in his voice, and Verik realizes it is one of his Keysworn guardians, a man by the name of Ellard. Two other Vaultmen are with Ellard, though Verik cannot place their names. He nods curtly in return and gestures towards the river with his wand, saying only, ”I have business at the bridge. Let’s go.”
With the three trusted men in tow Verik moves forward swiftly, but soon spies a skirmish being waged on this side of the river well to the left of the bridge: a dozen militia are desperately fighting a relatively equal number of hobgoblins, who have formed up shields and spears and are holding their ground with their backs to the river. It is clear to Verik that the hobgoblins are well-disciplined and have decided to make their last stand here rather than face death in flight or being run down by cavalry. It is also clear that the militia’s attack is futile, as they cannot penetrate the coordinated defense of the war-savvy hobgoblins. Several men have fallen from cruel spears, and Verik can see that the militia squad’s leader and accompanying bannerman have both been slain already, the hobgoblins tactics identifying the men’s leadership early on. It is only a matter of time now as the inexperienced militiamen flail against their shields and get picked off one-by-one from well-placed spear thrusts, the humanoids waiting for the men to tire and break before they counterattack.
”Blast!” The hobgoblins are ultimately doomed and are perhaps only minutes away from forces identifying them and taking them down with superior numbers, but that won’t save the militiamen fighting them now from slaughter. It won’t affect the outcome of the battle either way, but families of the twelve remaining militiamen will be in mourning if the Banker doesn’t act. ”Come on!” exclaims Verik, with Ellard and his two Vaultmen forming up around him. They run up to the skirmish about fifteen paces off and halt, with Verik waving his hand a few feet in front of him. ”Make the line there!” The three Abadarian men are experienced and know what he means to do, each man stepping forward with shields up to show where the line of militia will fall back to.
Verik drilled in combat exercises often with Berrin and his men over the last year-and-a-half, and though he was never involved with the maneuvers that the General gave, he was around enough to glean some of the tactics and orders given by squad sergeants and bannermen. He uses this now out of sheer desperation, for two more militia had just been run through with spears and Verik knows he only has moments before the men would panic and break entirely.
”MILITIAMEN! BACK TEN PACES NOW AND SHIELD-WALL!” Verik was used to speaking publicly and now uses his loudest and strongest voice, his orders brooking no question. Almost immediately most of the remaining men turn and acknowledge him, pushing off backwards and move back to where Ellard and the two Vaultmen stand at the new line of battle. Still, two militia do not remember their training and are cruelly cut down as they retreat: one man stupidly turns his back on the battle-tested hobgoblins and is impaled through the chest by two spears, while another man’s calf is cut from under him as he turns to run, brought down and finished off by a final stroke of a morningstar. Eight men join his three in line and bring up their shields in defensive formation. Fortunately so, for a breathspan later the hobgoblins throw a volley of spears at what they think is a retreat, none of the spears finding their marks. They jeer and pull forth more shortspears for yet another volley.
Verik sees his opportunity, knowing he has just enough time before the second volley is hurled. The hobgoblins are skilled at shield-wall and spears but were tightly packed to interlock their shields. And so Verik calls forth a prayer to Cobblehoof that he had not used since a battle long ago and not far from here, when the kobolds and the lizardmen had attacked the gnomish caravan. Golden motes of light shimmer above the hobgoblins in an instant, coalescing into a translucent form of Cobblehoof with his wings outstretched above them, the hippogriff’s screech echoing across the center of their formation. Three wounded hobgoblins cry out and fall to the ground with blood trailing from their ears and a half-dozen more reel from the sonic onslaught, dropping raised spears and hoisted shields. Their formation is broken.
”ATTACK!” shouts Verik and his three men rush forward to lead the charge, the militiamen surging forward with them after only a moment’s hesitation. Verik draws forth his warhammer and charges, reaching the enemy at the same moment as his men and smashing the skull of a stunned hobgoblin like a summer melon. With the center of their formation collapsed and half their number down or stunned, the bloody fight takes only moments to finish. None of the hobgoblins surrender or try to flee, cut down to the last. Only afterwards does Verik realize one of his Vaultmen had taken an errant spear through his visor, killing him instantly. Keysworn Ellard and the other Vaultman are unhurt. A troop of cavalrymen arrive just over two minutes later, and vaguely recognizing the officer that leads them the Banker orders the surviving militia to attach themselves to the officer’s command. Verik, Ellard and the Vaultman set off once again towards the bridge, the Banker looking for some sign of his comrades.
By the time Verik makes it across he sees several of Berrin’s officers that he recognizes giving orders to cut down hostiles but spare those that surrender and ask for quarter. Jemini’s work no doubt. Maybe the Sootscales can be freed and redeemed after all… His thoughts about the kobolds trail off as he looks over and spies a dead lizardman warrior floating in the river with a broken lance through his back, the hurtful anger returning to him. Looking up and away along the south bank to his right, he spies out a large troop of men surrounding a…something…impossibly tall and threatening, recognizing the form of the giant two-headed roll even from this distance. Blades of flame and of holy light glint off the sunlight, and he knows where he must go. He looks back to the dead lizardman in the water. That would have to wait for now, but there would be time enough for both.
”Ellard, find as many Keysworn and Vaultmen as you can find, and then help the Clerks triage and relocate the wounded – you know who can be saved and who cannot. Make sure they don’t try to channel healing near the bodies of our enemies. Also,” adds Verik as he pauses briefly to consider his next order, ”I want…four…of the big lizardmen warriors that have been taken captive to be bound and under your guard for my return. The big ones you understand, not the kobolds. I don’t care which four as long as they show signs of battle with our side. On my express orders. Now go, and the Light of the Master be with you.”
Verik moves off towards the encirclement of Nagraundi after his men leave back across the bridge; he moves briskly and reaches Nikolai just as Jemini finishes her attempt to heal him – her touch upon his marred skin gives Verik a familiar, nagging pang of jealous discomfort that he instantly squelches from his mind in irritation. At least I can heal better than she can at least... Akiros, Berrin, and the others are there, readying for what must come next.
”I am here Nikolai…my apologies for being late, but the battle delayed me.” Nikolai stands there taunting the hulking brute of a troll, and Verik does not expect an answer from him. He calls upon Abadar’s power to bring his best powers of healing to bear upon the dreadful axe-wound of the minotaur, knowing he only has moments before the next bloody contest is to commence.
Verik waits patiently until Nikolai has released his first volley at the lieutenant of the once-proud Troll King, and then prays to Abadar once again to mend the wounds closed and restore rent tissue to health, leaving another angry red scar to Nikolai as a reminder of his duel with the minotaur champion.
His blood quickened to anger due to what he has seen and endured since taking part in the battle, Verik finds Nagraundi's defiant words doubly disturbing and insulting...resulting in the Banker having something to say in kind. "Why you hulking twisted...know that in the name of Abadar I will have us "tainted" humans all over your precious lands to build roads and towers and farm crops and roll wagon caravans over the rotted bones of your kind here! What say you to that!"
Tahngrunn’s swift defeat at the hands of Nikolai momentarily brings Borodin back to the Dragon Hall. Seeing the large man’s awesome strength both inspires Borodin and brings forth a little fear. Fear of what could happen if he turns on his friends. It is apparent that something is different now. Instead of giving into the rage, he keeps it in check and demoralizes the enemy before leading a charge.
Most excellent. As the initial charge takes place, Borodin is intent on keeping Verik in sight hoping to shield him from some of the worst fighting. Much to his chagrin, he sees his friend charge towards the enemy on foot. He spurs Yuri forward and does a good job of keeping a few combatants from Verik but the heavy plated man is soon lost in the throng of battle.
Borodin is nearly unhorsed by a pair of hobgoblins with long spears and must ride his warhorse out of the fray. He loses sight of all the founders but sees the shock of red hair of Aylene nearby. Figuring that she will most likely connect back with Berrin at some point, he decides to join the ranks of her cavalry and joins in the slaughter of the remaining ranks of Trolls.
Before long, it is clear Hargulka’s army is routed and the battle has turned to a pursuit of the fleeing. Borodin breaks with the cavalry and runs down many foes in flight before he catches a glimpse a large two headed troll across the river. His eye is immediately drawn to Nikolai. Although no longer enlarged, he still towers over all around him. There he sees the founder start to gather. Jemini, Berrin, Akiros, and now Verik, on foot with an entourage, join Nikolai .
He stops his pursuit of a fleeing lizardman and races across the bridge to his comrades.
Last Stand of the Advisor
Borodin reigns Yuri in and lets loose with an arrow of his own but it fails to strike the giant troll.
Watching the spiderlike movements of the two headed troll as it draws closer Berrin takes after the others example and draws out his bow, drawing an arrow Berrin is obviously stressed at the monsters approach and fumbles the arrow off the string. Biting back a curse a snort bearing an uncanny resemblance to a snicker is heard from Valnyr, drawing a glare from Berrin.
Mere moments after Nikolai looses his arrows Kydal leaps forward under command from his rider. Racing to within 30' of the giant troll Akiros burst out with a terrifying war cry, a call to his Goddess meant to shake the troll to it's bones.
At the same time, he lets fly his burning arrow, but the Nagraundi is too quick and ducks aside from the flaming shaft.
Circling around, Kydal races back to a safer distance.
Demoralize, swift:
Attack MWComp Bow:
Still a slight sadness in her eyes, Jemini replies to Nagraundi: "If by taint your lands you mean not spill the blood of innocents and not enslave civilians... You know it. In your heart of hearts you know it: I've come before the centaurs and even Hargulka with an open mind, hand extended in friendship. I truly believed that we could co-exist. Perhaps there is hope for the young, but the old cadre is so full of hate. Hate for the other. Hate for the sake of hate. Why?"
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Flame rained down from the outstretched tip of Elsir Tel'ran's scorched wand. The screams of the dead and dying echoed about him. The stamping of hooves to his left and the bestial roars of Trolls in front of him. A shiver ran through the slight elf. There were so many threads of fate that were being extinguished before him. Sons and daughters would never be born because of the actions of this day. And yet, if not for this day Elsir knew that far, far more would live rather than die. Like him, the soldiers around him fought for the future. They fought for the chance of peace, for the promise of sanctuary. It was a hope that all people shared. Fleeting, despert, it seemed so far away in the clash of battle, yet it's silent crooning song called even now.
Through the press of bodies Elsir watched as Aylene Myrdal lead a charge of her own, sending the cavalry headlong into the ranks of the trolls. Wave after wave of brown dappled horse-skin pressed against the unyielding bulk of knobbled green flesh. The soldiers attacked as hard and as fast as they could. It seemed however that for each piercing blade that felled a troll, a second later another would arise thanks to it's regeneration. Ahead Elsir saw Aylene surrounded by four massive green beasts. Her horse reared up into the air, hooves lashing out. Elsir scowled in distaste. Waving his hands together, the elf summoned the power of the second circle. Wind swirled around him scattering blood matted grass and bits of broken armor. He rose into the air, levitating above the battlefield. Rising first ten, then twenty and finally thirty feet into the air, Elsir rotated in a circle, taking in the view of the battle unfolding before him.
In the blink of his eyes his mind seemed to taken individual snapshots of battle. In one a man lay dying, clutching at his innards while Lizardmen swarmed over him, only to be overwhelmed a few moments later by a squad of men bearing spears. In a second a flock of crows descend upon the cooling remains of a group of kobolds, stomped to death by a charge of centaurs. A third showed the river running red with the mixed blood of the men and monsters that fought and died over the eternal question of freedom versus tyranny. More and more scenes seemed to roll over Elsir. Each place that he looked there was a scene, an object, a moment that was both beautiful and terrible. The elf closed his eyes. He blocked out the sounds of the dead and the dying. He whirled still in the air and drew in the power of the loss and the pain and channeled it with a red hot fury. Wisps of red began to stream from his fingertips. He held that power. He controlled it. He allowed it to build and build. Then he unleashed it. Pointing with his finger a pin-prick of red flew towards the horde of Trolls. The orb grew bigger as it spun towards the heart of the formation and as it grew bigger it grew hotter. Exploding with blinding light, searing skin and melting bones. The trolls screamed. The fire binded them to their bodies. The charging men of the First Mounted cheered, raising spears at the Elf that floated above them. Elsir kept his face neutral. There was still work to be done.
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Standing at a distance from the combat, Elsir studied the cautious troll as it advanced with long strides towards the Founders. At nearly twenty feet high, the troll was able to be easily picked out on the battle field. Elsir frowned, each of the founders seemed to be cautiously waiting for something to happen. Closer, Borodin, Berrin, Akiros and Nikolai launched arrows at the beast. Only Nikolai came close. With a blur of unheard of speed, Elsir watched as the creature, deflected the arrow seconds before it impacted against the beasts skin. Elsir recoiled, blinking in concentration, rewinding his memory. The beast's hand had managed to strike the arrow in mid-flight.
Before Nagraundi, Akiros and Jemini taunt the creature, drawing it's ire and breaking it's attention. Elsir looked at the beasts feet. Nikolai's flaming arrow rested there...
Elsir smiled
Moving his hands in a set of gestures, Elsir touched upon a similar but different weave that he had used previously to decimate the ranks of the troll army. This was something different. Rather than heat, Elsir called upon the blinding power of fire. He linked his spell with the guttering flame that still clung to life on the tip of Nikolai's arrow. AVERT YOUR EYES! Elsir called, pointing at the arrow a split second later as it EXPLODED in a burst of blazing fireworks. From the arrow, miniature screaming dragons exploded upward like arcane fire-rockets with blinding effect.
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When the wizard finally appears, he does so in helpful fashion. The troll turns its one of its heads to face Akiros just in time for the bright magical flares to catch it in all four eyes. Nikolai looks down to draw another arrow, pausing as the light increases in intensity.
When he looks up again, the beast is throwing its two heads about, confused and blinded. Nikolai spits, embracing his rougher attributes in order to end the threat quickly.
"Now!" he shouts, and runs toward the thing as it moves forward. "Circle it him first, so he doesn't know where to defend!"
The big man reaches behind him to shoulder the immense blade, one arrow between his teeth, the other clumsily knocked to fire at the troll.
Nagraundi bellows out of both mouths and tries to shield his eyes from the explosion in front of him. He stumbles backwards, tucking each head in the elbows of his long, lanky arms. The troops cry out as many of them lose their own sight, but Nagraundi seems too blind to take advantage of their impeded vision. He shifts his stance into a very defensive one as he slowly walks backwards. He settles into a strange stance on all fours, limiting his still-huge profile. "Come and get me, beastly children!"
Borodin barely makes out Elsir's warning before the flaming dragons explode in front of the huge troll. He shields his eyes with his left shoulder. Once the intensity subsides, he looks to see what effect it has on Nagraundi.
He is surprised to see Nagraundi back away and fall prone. Borodin urges Yuri into a gallop and begins casting. Once within range he opens his hand palm facing the troll and lets out a familiar beam of fire. Once cast, Borodin steers Yuri away from the troll and to relative safety.
The Dragon Lord wastes no time. He drops his bow and spits out the arrow. He runs quickly to the grounded monster to take advantage of his blindness, darting a few steps to the side to ensure his position has changed since Nagraundi saw him last.
Averting his eyes well in time for the flash of Elsir's spell Berrin curses softly as a resounding neigh and the unmistakable feeling of panic coming through Berrin's bond with Valnyr, the bloody horse was staring right at the troll!
Gripping the reins tightly Berrin jumps out of the saddle with practices ease and surprising speed, holding Valnyr's tight for a moment Berrin soothes the horse with a drawsn out sush and a stroke on the muzzle, sending Valnyr reassuring vibes as best he can before letting the reins free and turning to stride towards the troll, drawing his greatsword as he goes.
Jemini is not able to keep up with the uncommonly fast Nikolai; it should be impossible for his bulk to move with such unerring speed and precision, but he does so anyway. Still, she follows as swiftly as she can, closing in maybe 60 ft.
"AVERT YOUR EYES!"
Verik hears the words of Elsir but doesn't fully grasp its intended audience before the fire erupts into a tremendous display of fireworks. "GAH! ELSIR!" is all Verik can shout out while he stumbles forward and puts his free hand to his eyes - though they are now closed he has the stamped vision of red and orange-hued wyrmlings in his sight - strangely Verik momentarily recalls his first remembrance of fireworks over the water at festival when he was a small boy. Winter's Solstice? No, I think a victory day festival over one of the Sieges...mother was still alive as we never went to those after, which would have made me...STOP WANDERING AND ORDER YOUR MIND MAN!
Verik forces the image of Cobblehoof in his mind then, the sweeping wingspan of the mighty servant of Abadar that he often celebrated in battle and times of need. He imagines his majestic wings sweeping away the images of fireworks from his mind, cleansing his vision with a shower of golden motes and pure light from the Master. It was a mental construct he had learned long before from his mentor, the respected Justicar Benervan Knesh, and it serves him well today. Verik opens his eyes and finds he can see clearly enough, the others moving forward with steed and foot to close to the fallen two-headed troll giant. He must act to aid them and give them every advantage, for though he cannot sort out why he believes the beast is luring them into a trap.
"NAGRAUNDI OF THE FALSE BITTER QUEEN! Let me show you what these lands hold for MY PEOPLE, once you are ASH AND DUST!" Verik calls for the power of the Master through the construct of the Ghost of Malthus, a foreboding herald of Abadar which warns of grim tidings and the need to suffer for one's cause. A fitting visage as he wills forth in the troll's mind an image of perfect order to the lands transformed - a visage of the swamps and fields and all wild things gone, replaced by high white towers and cobblestone walkways along the lake, with row upon row of neatly kept houses and larger buildings gleaming in the sunlight. Everywhere there are people and golden guardian constructs protecting them - the Stolen Lands are nothing but a memory.
Perhaps it is due to the fact that Verik himself knows this vision would never fully come to pass here, or perhaps the two-headed Advisor still has some true faith in Narissa to overcome his doom, or better still that the old folk-saying "two heads are better than one" applies most literally to this occasion. Whatever the reason, the vision does not hold to his mind. "Cogs." is all the Banker says as he grimaces at the failure to overcome the minds of this beast, and resolutely moves forward to put himself in better position to aid his fellows.
Kydal
Kydal avert DC18:
Akrios literally sees nothing of the results of Elsir's spell, except perhaps a slight lightening in the haze which is the oracle's entire world beyond 30'. As well, fortunately his link with Kydal makes just enough difference to allow the warhorse to resist the effects of the elven mage's magics.
Knowing the time to attack is upon them, the instant Elsir's spell goes off Akiros and Kydal leap forward as one, racing towards their foe.
Having issued his challange to Nagraundi when calling upon his Goddess, Akiros's blade is able to bite deep into the prone troll, yet Kydal's teeth fail to penetrate the creature's thick skin.
Mounted Charge Attack:
Challange Damage:
Kydal Charge Attack:
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As the others closed in to close their attack, Elsir followed suite. Nagraundi had taken up a defensive position, hunched low to the ground. He readied himself for the group to attack. Elsir knew that the troll would have an inborn ability to regenerate and there was the chance, no matter slight that he might have some ability to protect himself from the touch of flame. Seeing no other recourse and knowing that mitigating the trolls regenerative blood would be the best use of his talents, the wizard charged forward drawing forth his blackened yew wand with one hand while simultaneously flicking it in a series of fluid motions. The tip of the wand grew red with superheated flame and Elsir pointed the rod, at the massive troll, sending out a beam of scorching hot flame towards the creature.
Impossibly quick, the two-headed troll dodges Akiros's blade - despite his inability to see. Further out, Elsir and Borodin scorch him with fiery blasts. The burned green flesh remains unhealed, proving them right about the vulnerability of trolls to fire. Any other injury would likely begin to heal immediately. He responds amazingly swiftly, lashing out at Akiros. Whether because of his distraction at Jemini's threats or his awkward semi-prone stance, his claws scrape off Akiros's armor without purchase in his flesh. One gets close to striking the warrior, but his blindness makes him guess incorrectly and he slashes a few feet away.
Seeing his comrades tighten the noose on Nagraundi, Borodin turns Yuri back towards the still prone troll. Using his magical talents, he recalls his last spell due to the apparent effects. With another incantation he unleashes another blast of fire.
The Founders and their companions are on Nagraundi at once, attacking in concert to end the blinded troll and prevent him from wounding more soldiers. Nikolai charges in with his sword held low, swinging in an arc that brings the flaming blade into the creature's belly and up through his ribs. Blood boils and fat burns like candlewax on the edges of the deep cut.
Nikolai finishes his sprint just a few feet past, waiting for the giant to reach for him in its last moments.
"One chance, Advisor. Or we tell the nomen and others how you cried when I burned you, and gave up your allies after the minotaur died."
"Why must you resist so hard? Is it pride? Your army is already routed, Hargulka is fleeing tail between his legs. No show of power will help you now."
Roaring, Berrin sprints the last 60' toward the two headed troll with his sword raised high above his head. Thundering across the grass after Nikolai and Akiros, Berrin brings the sword crashing down with all his strength only to have Nagrundi, with his unearthly agility, avoid the blow, burying the blade deep in mud.
As the other Founders rush to the attack and surround the beleaguered troll, Akiros and Kydal continue their attacks. Once again Nagrundi is too fast to avoid the battle oracle's blows, as well as Kydal's flying hooves. Yet the superbly trained warhorse manages to find purchase with his teeth on a soft spot on one of the troll's two necks. Pulling back with his own powerful neck muscles Kydal rips a significant chunk out of Nagrundi's neck, troll blood spraying both horse and rider.
Mounted flank attack:
Kydal flank attack:
Crit confirm:
Bite Damage:
Hoof 1
Hoof 2
Verik hoists his heavy shield before him, the golden key upon its surface gleaming despite the stains of blood and dirt upon it. As the others charge in and try to bring the great troll down for good, Verik moves forward to put himself in a position for a potential assault with a binding word of Law...or to channel his powers of healing energy if matters turn dire for them.
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Eyes narrowing in concentration, Elsir watches the conflict unfolding with timeless eyes. His second sight showed him the possibilitys present in this moment. Most were favorable, some neutral and others, though far fewer, dire. The wizard knew the beat had to be ended quickly. There was no positive outcome that would arise from a cessation of hostitlity. No, the beast must be subdued, Elsir knew this. Raising his already used wand again the wizard-archivist channeled another blast of pin-poin hot flame towards the troll with a nearly perfect accuracy.
Nagraundi flails blindly with his claws as the Founders of Newhaven surround him. His skin melts under the sustained assault of the wizard and magus, while his innards begin to slip out from his stomach as his wounds do not heal. He bellows in anger and futile rage, knowing that his time is growing short and that his plan was dashed so quickly. Desperately, he lashes out and finds Nikolai with one of his claws. He holds onto Nikolai and brings the other one across him, leaving him with deep bloody rakes across the face and chest.
He had heard it before. The cry of panic and desperation. Borodin thought the troll would surely have struck at least one blow Nikolai, but miraculously the big man is unscathed. Borodin decides to close with the troll as he is out of other options.
He casts quickly, then spurs Yuri into a charge. He holds Augur behind him. Out and away from his mount, lest he injure him. As he closes with Nagraundi, he raises his sword and strikes downward, cleaving a wicked gash into the beast's arm. There is an accompanying flash and a smell of ozone for those close by.
The Dragonlord gives up his wait. Standing over the flailing troll, it is a small thing to take a quick sidestep from the only claw that comes close. He moves opposite Berrin and waits for the beast to leave itself open. When Nagraundi lunges out away from him, Nikolai raises the sword high in the air and quickly oaths.
"For my Queen, Jemini, for Newhaven, and as redress for my own sins."
Nagraundi hears his execution coming and lashes out. The big monster's claw rakes across Nikolai's back, digging deep under his armor and cutting through bone and sinew. Fur the second time in one battle, Nikolai endures the pain and accepts his foe's mistake. The tip of Dragonsbreath wavers over the troll's back as Nikolai drives the sword straight down. The troll is covered in hard flesh and muscle, but the sword sizzles through every layer until it pins Nagarundi to the ground like a great nail. Blind and delirious from the searing pain, the troll gasps for breath, with blood and mucus rasping out of his open mouth.
Nikolai leans down, leaving the ever-burning sword inside the thing. He sees the light already faded from one set of eyes, and turns his head to spit in the other.
"I swore to you, Nagraundi. Your king was a fool, and you were a miserable advisor. I will cleanse your former lands and Newhaven will prosper free of trolls and other filth. Die a warmonger, and a failure."
The barbarian waits, watching until Nagraundi's eyes go fully dead. Black blood bubbles on its lips and smoke pours out of his mouth as the magical sword continues to burn. He lets the moment pass with gravity, then stands and reaches for his sword hilt. Flames leap at his fingers but he remains unburnt.
Nikoali takes the sword in both hands and chops down on the beast's great neck. It takes a flurry of blows, and once again he looks tired from the exertion. When he is finished, both heads are severed and burned at the stump. The two are joined by a thick chord of scorched muscle.
He lift Nagraundi's heads by one protruding spine. Holding it aloft, he takes a few strides to the soldiers who pinned him. He holds their gaze with pregnant silence.
"You brave men. You know me. I fought against your queen before she slew me and then fought for my soul. I owe Newhaven my life, and my sword is hers, for war or peace. She is First Among Equals, so then my sword is also yours. For war or for peace. This is my commitment to you."
Nikolai casts the heads down at their feet, the grisly offering eliciting a cheer from the commoners who cornered the great troll.
"You found him, and you did not turn away. Without your courage, this thing would live still, and might have killed more in his retreat. Nagraundi is dead because you fought like men and brothers! I name the lot of you, Trollslayers!"
More cries as the men celebrate their victory. They must be part of it. They must tell the tale wherever they go.
Nikolai turns to face Jemini. He bites his lips as his back seizes in pain, but he stands. His flaming sword burns, his muscles burn, but he stands among warriors celebrating a just win.
After a few seconds of revelry, the look in his eye grows more serious. He looks at Elsir, then out to the wilderness beyond the battle, and nods.
Once again, for the third time, it is the Stag...no the Dragon Lord's sword that brings down one of Hargukla's lieutenants, his last one, in fact. As Nikolai uses his burning blade to ensure the regenerating troll is dead and gone for good, and then uses the same blade to sever both disgusting heads, Akiros watches him.
When Nikolai then brings those heads to the soldiers who had cornered Nagrundi and kept him penned, sharing, rightly so, the victory with all of them, Akiros watches him. Watches and thinks. He, Akiros, more than any other in Newhaven, knew the sole remaining scion of Rogarvia. Or, well, as much as it was possible for anyone to truly know the enigma that was Nikolai. For all the former Stag Lord's violence, brutality, mercilessness and fury, Akiros had yet still, despite all evidence to the contrary, always seen something more inside the man. As too had Jemini, clearly. Somehow, they had both known that, underneath all the anger and rage, all the pain and suffering the Stag Lord had caused, was an even greater amount of pain and suffering felt. Underneath all of that, was then Nikolai the man.
Over the past few years since Jemini and Nikolai's miraculous return from death's grasp, Akiros had continued to observe his old friend and companion, his former liege lord. Through this observation, Akiros had seen the continued growth of Nikolai the man. Akrios knew of course that Nikolai was desperately in love with Jemini yet never felt deserving of her love in return. This was something plain for anyone with eyes to see, even eyes as clouded as the battle cleric's were. Jemini was, without doubt, the key for Nikolai's amazing transformation, for now he had something, someone to focus on other than his own inner demons and turmoil. After all, Akiros too did at one time have more than his own share of inner demons, and he was no stranger to what miracles of change and inspiration Love could bring.
All of this growth, this inspiration, now had led to this, this scene before them. There he stood, the former Stag Lord, a man who had for years literally terrorized the lands and lives of many of the men before him. Now, Stag Lord now more, Nikolai, Dragon Lord, shared a stunning victory with these same men, gaining their trust, gaining their admiration, perhaps, even, gaining their love. This man now, this Nikolai Rogarvia? This was a man who could be King.
When Noleski Surtova, and the rest of the Brevoy nobles heard of this tale, as they surely would, they would quake in their boots. As well they should. For no more was this some troublesome, but relatively minor backwoods bandit lord they had before them. No, no indeed. This Nikolai Rogarvia was a King in the making, and, if there was one thing one could be sure of about a King, it was that, sooner or later, a King always came to claim their throne.
The crowd cheers as the Founders defeat and kill the two-headed advisor of the troll king. The already-shattered army of trolls, ogres, wyverns, lizardfolk, kobolds, hobgoblins, and other monsters continues its rout. The humans give chase, killing or capturing what little remains. The Founders make their way to the south edge of the battle, taking steeds from their troops to give chase to Hargulka. The battle spreads far and wide, with little skirmishes and the routed enemy across several miles. Outnumbered as they were, the humans will be unable to kill or capture all of them – but enough of them to ensure that their threat is wholly defeated. The human part of the army cedes the eastern side of the battlefield to the centaurs along the river bank and the worgs fiercely running down the enemy along the southern edge.
The Founders ride south, taking what time they need for a breath and for magical healing, intent on tracking and killing Hargulka to put the threat of the troll king down for all time. The soldiers cheer and clap for their heroes as they pass, heartened to see that the Founders are still in the fight. Most of the dead that they pass, already starting to stink in the sun, are monsters – but a few are humans killed by desperately fleeing creatures in their last moments. They ride to the assistance of a human trio cornered by a pair of ogres, cutting down the ogre in a storm of steel. The soldiers thank them profusely, knowing that they owe their lives to them - and their loyalty too.
As they reach the edge and gaze south, several worgs lope up to them. Their leader, Red Eyes, looks badly wounded. Blood mats down his fur, coming out of deep slices in his sides. He addresses his pack master in a ragged voice from his lupine throat. "The troll king flees the field of battle. We attacked, but all we did was slow him. He slew four of the pack, and I called the retreat." Red Eyes does not seem ashamed of his failure, nor proud of his wisdom in calling the retreat. "But I have his scent. He flees towards the wooded hills. He is perhaps fifteen minutes ahead, but we are faster and can catch him within the hour if we hurry. He flees with his honor guard, but the pack can fight them while you fight him."
Along the rout, Nikolai reigns up near Berrin and nods for his attention.
"We should tell those men pursuing the enemy centaurs to offer quarter. It will help relations with the other centaurs, and I will secure their fealty once we have the Troll King's head."
* * * * * * *
As Red Eyes reports, Nikolai begins to fidget with the desire to begin the chase. His poor, commandeered horse strains under his weight and the big man tightens his legs in agitation.
The Dragonlord looks at Verik, looks back at the worg's wounds, and back at Verik again.