”Right.” Kazador sighed. ”Settled then. I’ll trust one of ye to do the Diplomacy while I wash my beard in their blood.”
I hate this place the longer I stay here.
With most skills, you get better gradually, hardly even noticing as you improve. Less so at spellcraft, where one has a finite number of spells they can cast without rest; when you've gotten better you know it. It doesn't surprise the Captain, really, that his magic is stronger than it used to be. He's been landside for days, now, and spent most every moment of it with the memories, shaping them. He's come close to dying a few times, too, and his power often gets stronger after near death experiences - or perhaps that's merely correlation. Muse is in no hurry to perform any experimental tests.
Whatever the case, he'll carry a some fragment of desolate Kazad Gavr with him wherever he goes, now. Memories don't fade so much as they blur into each other or become internalized knowledge, and Muse would rather have remained ignorant.
Thumbing through his ruined spellbook, Captain Muse channels Omit. With the wizard's help, he restores his false life spell, feeling the resilience and vigor he's come to rely on over the years return to him. For good measure, he elongates his arms again before closing the book. "Anyone wanna be my spidermonkey pal? I can cast this spell twice more, and then I really am tapped out."
With their course decided, Mel takes a position on the defensive emplacements, bow out and an arrow nocked as she peers out into the darkness. Ai Ostara, she thinks wearily. I hope this is a good path.
"Remember that we are not who the reinforcements look to fight. They need to get to their allies and relief them. If we have to withdraw, it is unlikely they can give pursuit, and if we merely cull their numbers, delay and injure them, that already works in our favor, as well. What I am saying is - there is no need to be reckless in this fight. Consider total victory optional, the main goal is to get everybody out alive."
Túrion checked the defensive emplacement, tracing along an edge with his finger, mumbling absent-mindedly: "I hope the path we chose is a good one..."
Mel glances over towards Túrion. "My thoughts exactly," she says.
Fyrtor pulls the wand he'd recently placed into his speedsheath and waves it at the remaining bruises on his ribs and they fade.
"Does anyone else need any healing?"
Looking at Brolin, Fyrtor realizes that he needs a bit of healing as well. He uses the wand on the Captain as well before putting it back into the sheath on his arm.
Muse thanks Fyrtor for healing him.
"Here," Mel says to Brolin as they take their positions on the battlement. "Use this." She offers him her own bow. "You'll find that it will pull smoothly for you."
She hesitates. "It is enchanted such that it does not ordinarily kill its targets. If ... you feel the need to change that, tell it 'Elävä'. That will cause its arrows to pierce their targets normally, instead of merely bruising and bludgeoning them."
She takes out her other bow as she says this, stringing it and testing the pull. Satisfied, she takes a position at the next merlon over from Captain Muse.
Once everyone is up the wall, she calls quietly "Be sure to pull up that ladder. We'd be fools to leave it for the orcs to use."
"Hold that thought. If the ladders are gone, the orcs will take notice. They might not expect us to be responsible, but they will wonder if the foes they have come to fight are - they might expect battle and be more cautious, or break formation."
Túrion looks at the ladders and how they are held in place.
"Ideally, we either sabotage them or push them over the moment we decide to surprise them. I assume all of use are going to hide, and you will give the signal, Mel?"
"That's true," Mel acknowledges. "But I think I'd rather not leave them a ladder to use. I don't suppose you have some illusion magic that could make it seem as though the ladder is still there? Otherwise we could just pull it up at the last minute."
"And yes; if we stand still behind the merlons it should be quite difficult to spot us, even those of us in clanking plate."
Kelian grins weakly.
Fyrtor takes his postion on the wall, bow in hand. Nervously he checks over his equipment. He puts his blunt arrow aside sure he won't be needeing them. He also make sure he can grab a thistle arrow quickly if needed. "Algric, Mel, any advice? I'm a decent shot, but you two have a lot more practice shooting orcs. Last time my arrow glanced right off the orc's armor."
"Let's try weakening the rungs so they can't carry much weight," Mel says.
Mel shrugs. "I could tell you lots, but there's not a lot of time. Try to aim a little high -- if you miss the front rank, perhaps your shot will get one behind your original target."
”Advice? Center mass. Heads are too hard to hit. Orcs are too dumb to know when they are dead so just keep shooting. Solid blows one after another until they stop moving.”
"These are orcish ladders. They are quite makeshift...made because they were needed - their craftsmanship is lacking. Look, here...if we take just a moment to cut into the rails here, and here - just at the height of that rung - then they should collapse completely once weight is applied to the upper part..."
Back when Túrion read the "Gnomish Almanac on static calculation of ladders" he honestly did not expect it would ever come in handy...but then, having read as much as he did, some of the stuff was bound to be useful now and then.
"Here," Mel says to Brolin as they take their positions on the battlement. "Use this." She offers him her own bow. "You'll find that it will pull smoothly for you."
Brolin doesn't like admitting it even to himself, but it's the tiniest bit of a blow to the captain's pride that his struggles with the spare longbow were so obvious Mel felt moved to loan him her enchanted one. He blames it on his oversized arms.
"Thank you," he smiles at the elf. "This one's a lot easier to use."
She hesitates. "It is enchanted such that it does not ordinarily kill its targets. If ... you feel the need to change that, tell it 'Elävä'. That will cause its arrows to pierce their targets normally, instead of merely bruising and bludgeoning them."
That's . . . "I fight with a sword instead of my fists because swords end fights faster and with less risk of me or a friend of mine getting killed. If the bow's got an enchantment on it that makes dropping people before they get close enough to kill us harder, then I think I should disable that now, before it gets someone hurt because of it."
Fyrtor takes his postion on the wall, bow in hand. Nervously he checks over his equipment. He puts his blunt arrow aside sure he won't be needeing them. He also make sure he can grab a thistle arrow quickly if needed. "Algric, Mel, any advice? I'm a decent shot, but you two have a lot more practice shooting orcs. Last time my arrow glanced right off the orc's armor."
"I'm not a great shot with bow or arrow," Muse admits. He's pretty sure that you're supposed to draw the arrow back to your ear, but his arms are too long for that. "But Legacy's been playing with them since they were invented. In our last fight, I noticed Rook protecting the bunch of you; it's something that happens to people I spend a lot of time with, the memory spirits start influencing how they act or fight whenever they're doing the same to me. It's possible that Legacy'll be doing that."
Apologetic, he assures the party, "It's small enough you wouldn't notice it if it wasn't pointed out, and it only happens when I'm channeling a spirit. You won't start hearing voices in your head, it won't influence your actions unless you let it. Which you should, in this case, because Legacy knows what he's doing. I really would have told you about it earlier, but they don't usually get to people I haven't known for months at least."
"The magic actually lends the arrows greater impact," Mel says. "They cannot kill the target, but they actually thump it a good bit harder than they might otherwise. We should all get to our positions -- they can't be much longer."
Fyrtor nods at the advice Mel and Algric give and watched with interest as Mel and Turion weaken the ladders. Then he waits bouncing slightly as he tries to suppress his nervous anticipation. Though he would hate to admit it Fyrtor has grown to be afraid and yet exhilarated by combat.
Killing the goblins he was used to fighting was mostly routine and hadn't really been dangerous for years. Dueling was challenging but lacked any real danger. But this, fighting at the very edge of his ability, and with everything on the line was terrifying... terrifying and terrifyingly exciting.
You hear the sounds of the battle to your north fading farther away but becoming no less fierce. Then orcs march in a relative order out of the tunnel. They hesitate when they see you but then look as if they are preparing to rush forward.
Seeing the orcs come, Kazador took the first arrow and...dropped it. He bent to pick it up, stepping on the arrow and breaking it. A good start!
Algric managed to do much better. His arrows actually left his bow and went towards the orcs!
Fyrtor peers into the darkness. Frustrated by his inability to see he grabs one of his arrows and mutters a word, "Lig." Then he moves to Mel's side profering her the now glowing arrow, "would you do us a favor?"
You hear pounding footsteps until an orc is barely able to make out Kazador. He looks surprised but is about to call out to his allies.
As Algric lay down covering fire, Kazador flew into combat. Literally. Magic was a wonderful thing, at time. His runic hammer whirled about him, with Kazador using his enlarged reach to attack all around him.
Hearing Kazador rush forward, Mel takes the arrow proffered by Fyrtor and launches it forward. Unable to see where Kazador has gone, and lacking any other target, she launches it slightly to the left of the sounds of battle.
The arrow thocks into the dirt surrounded by a group of orcs, and Mel lofts a second arrow -- a less shiny one -- at one of them. "Here they come," she says.
Kelian starts to draw an arrow, then hesitates. He slackens the string a bit and whispers to his bow, "Fly true."
In response the entire bow lights up, glowing brightly in the darkness.
"Thanks" Fyrtor says as he draws an arrow from his quiver and looses. The arrow flies true birding itself in one of the lead it's with a solid thunk.
"Thank you, Mel."
Túrion focused on the approaching Orcs, chanting under his breath in Sylvan, before crushing a tiny squid tentacle in his hand.
Almost inmediately, a huge number of giant tentacles erupts in the area around the group of orcs he targeted, attacking nearby orcs and trying to crush them.
Muse will enter Spirit Dance, channel the champion, gain an influence, and fire an arrow at the most injured orc he can see.
Kazador flies forward in rage at the invader's of his home and strikes a powerful blow to one of the orcs. Mel lights an area containing four orcs and Brolin and Fyrtor land strong shots on an orc. Black tentacles then erupt from the ground and grasp all four of the orcs!
Fyrtor and Turion react quickly before the orcs can do anything else!
The tentacles maintain their grapple against the Orcs, bruising flesh and trying to crush bones where they can.
Looking at the Orcs with distaste, Túrion casts another spell, and webbing spreads out over the Orcs already suffering from his previous spell, further restraining them while the Tentacles constrict them.
Túrion stood and watched. It would have been easy to sidestep or duck back into cover. But his will was already made manifest in objective reality, and he wished to see with his own eyes what horror his newfound arcane power was capable of bringing down on his enemies.
All of the orcs fail to avoid Turion's web. One of them then manages to break free from the tentacles but not the web.
There are many more orcs on the way and you can see them now. Two come around the corner of one of the buildings and see you. One speaks to the other. Then one of them, carrying a sword, reaches out and your hammer flies from your hand and he catches it. The other snaps his whip at you and it elongates incredibly before your eyes. It wraps around your enlarged legs and pulls you to the ground.
Several of the orcs nearby you then move and grab onto you, dropping their weapons.
You see more orcs approaching from the tunnel.
"Come! A rune warden! As we handled them before!"
You hear a lot of action but can't see anything but the orcs struggling in the web and tentacles. No more orcs are approaching at the moment.
Kazador’s eyes went wide with panic and rage. He...had failed? His back hit the ground hard and all he saw was orcs. The bastards had got him. And he couldn’t flee. Not without his hammer. That hammer was part of him. It was who he was. Without it he was nothing. Yelling out a prayer to Angradd, he punched at the wounded orc, aiming between the legs. He was down so there was little else he could do. His gauntlet dripped acid as he worked the runes of his armor. It was that, or his god was listening. Either way he was resigned that he was going to die. He just wished that it could have been more heroic, with less folly and hubris.
”Angradd! I fight in you’re name! Magrim! To you’re halls with head up high!”
Seeing Kazador go down, Algric quickly put two arrows down range...
...his thane would die, but Algric could try to make sure some orcs did too.
"Kazador is ... praying?" Mel says. "That's bad. We need some light over there. Sweet Ostara, why did he have to engage them outside of our range of sight?"
Lacking any way to do that, she sends a pair of arrows at one of the unfortunate orcs stuck in the writhing mass of shadowy tentacles and webs.
Kelian quietly leans his bow against the battlement, extracts a torch from his bag, and begins lighting it.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Similarly unable to aid Kazador, Muse'll direct his attacks at the most injured orcs still standing . . . or writhing in tentacles, as case may be.