As Niyut glares at her athamé, she sees, from the corner of her eye, lines of spectral blue warp and bend until her aged grandmother ghosts into being.
"Daughter of my daughter, what are you looking at?"
"Something is wrong with my athamé, grandmother."
The spirit glances down at the dagger in question. "First, that is not an athamé. Athamés are used to cut ethereal things and are primarily ritual foci. Traditionally, the handle of an athamé is a dark wood polished black. That is clearly a boline. You use it to cut physical things for spiritual purposes: the cutting of herbs, the letting of blood, carving of symbols, etc. Even the hilt is white as is appropriate. Daughter of my daughter, you practice the craft without truly knowing the craft."
The spirit spits to the side. Not in anger, but in amusement at youthful folly.
"You borrow lore from the lowlanders and practice half-remembered rites. You use whatever works in your cunning craft. That is as it should be in a way. Unlike my daughter's magic, your power is not learned. Rather it blossoms within you, seeking expression. Regardless of the origin of their power, shamans, spirit guides, and witches practice the same craft. The prejudices of the tribe are that -- prejudices. Yes, your power grows whether it is trained or not. Yes, in the past spirits have used spirit guides as safe vessels for their power. Beware their tricks! Yes, your power is aligned with blood, bone, the shadows of death. But never forget that your strength is still part of the First Lands."
"Though your need for my wisdom has not diminished, if you did not know the difference between an athamé and the boline you possess. Call upon the gifts I have given you and we shall see what has become of your boline and the trinkets you have claimed from these others."
Niyut's grandmother spares a moment to glare at the corpse of the tikbalang and make a complicated warding gesture. She does not see the wry glance that Niyut shoots her way.
Even death has not stilled her love for her own voice. Despite the pique of her thought, Niyut loves her grandmother and is grateful for the old woman's council. She intones the incantation that her grandmother's tutelage and presence allows. It connects them together and is represents not only their own knowledge but also the transmission of knowledge unbroken back to Simur.
First, they consider the boline.
"This is a Wonder. It improves one's practical engagement with nature and can set things alight," the spirit of the elder murmurs in a semi-trance.
Concentrating, Niyut responds, "I think it is called the Eternal Fire."
"Daughter of my daughter, you must be blinder than I was before I died not to have seen the magic of this dagger. It is bound to the spirit of another."
Niyut snaps with exasperation, "Grandmother, I specifically peered at it through the Ether when I first picked it up. I've been using it for months for blood magic. It's never lit things on fire before! Perhaps it was warded, but this is not my fault."
The twins' dead grandmother gives Niyut a dubious look, and the two women begin to bicker good-naturedly for a few moments before realizing that this spell has a limited duration.
Second, they look at the horn.
"This would be useful for a child of Chana. They love their music."
Niyut concurs, "Yes, it has powers of inspiration, but I think its power would be better used by us were it not bound to the horn."
"You do not have the knowledge to work such an unbinding. Stories speak of such things, but I've never seen it done."
"I do not have the knowledge . . . yet. All mysteries of essences will unravel through the Liber Sanguinem.
"You place too much trust in that book, daughter of my daughter. But, I cannot say that it lacks its uses.
Third, is they concentrate on clay statue.
"This permits the taking of the shapes of beasts."
"Consider its origins: better it be destroyed."
Fourth, the scroll yields its secrets.
" . . . a five-fold scroll of flames . . ."
Finally, they turn to the vial of silver dust.
"Ah, I see. Silver dust can strengthen illusions. How much do you think it takes?"
Once each of the nature and function of the five items have been discerned, Niyut's grandmother begins to speak again.
"I did not come from the Dream of the First Lands, exposing myself to those greater spirits that haunt you, merely to teach you the difference between an athamé and a boline. As I told you before, the witchery that binds the Dream to the lands needs power if it is to heal the shattering of the First Lands. Especially now that the we can no longer draw power from the moons nor the tears of the Mithril Father. I manifest here before you, daughter of my daughter, to offer you a witch's bargain. Let me draw upon your power to help bind the fraying dream and I will teach you charms to protect yourself from flames of your enemies and to restore the body from when the sacred markings of my old hands do not suffice."
The spirit pauses and sniffs. "Never think that the spirit of Life is your only source of succor; you are of the kindred of Simur -- the kindling flame of life anew."
"Grandmother," Niyut laughs, "you do not need to convince me. I will humbly accept the charms you teach. The magic of myself and my twin have always been for our people and our land. I am but a slender thread, yet what I can offer, I will."
The young spirit guide feels slightly light headed as words for two charms appear in her mind even as she feels her grandmother tugging on a sliver of her inborn power.
Korlez, may seek to change me, but even if he succeeds in making me of his kindred I will still be of the First Lands, Niyut thinks defiantly.
By the time that Niyut leads Tacal and the nameless goat back to the rest of the party, Foramdar was already on the field and Leeza had already warned the party of the next gnoll menace.
"Leeza!" Niyut exclaims in her soft voice. "What brings you down from the peaks?"
The spirit guide listens to Garidan's plan. "To my ears that is not a bad plan. With a few properly placed torches, I could hide the trap or make it appear that the gate house withstood the assault. It is a good plan if the horse-lords have no priest or wizard able or willing to throw up walls of stone to plug the hole. Foramdar should speak of the capabilities of his city before we rush to enact plans. Yet, it is not the object of our quest. We can help defend the gate. But first, one of us needs to complete the task that we have promised and take the Amber Key to the Hazard. For if the Circle cannot be opened, than the people of this city are already doomed whether this gate holds or not."
Turning his attention to Niyut as she offers a reminder of their goals, Garidan nods in agreement. "Indeed, indeed. But we do need Malthazir here as least long enough to set his summoned subordinates to work, and sooner rather than later since their time here is limited and I've no idea how many times more he can bring them forth to this plane." He then shifts his eyes to the ruins of the gatehouse with a speculative expression as he continues speaking, revealing more of his prosepctive plan to the party. "And your illusions are indeed a critical part of what I have in mind, Niyut. In addition to concealing the nature of the trap I'd like to set, I'm hopeful that you can do something special with the gatehouse. Whether it can be plugged or not before the gnolls arrive, I'd like you to create the appearance of a makeshift defense at the gap, something thrown together in haste and desperation."
He gives the oracle a somewhat vicious smile as he lays out the last elements of his plan. "I want those mangy mongrels so fixated on the prospect of overrunning that defense that they don't notice anything out of place, like mounds of loose soil from the trench that we can use to form a real barricade. Let them rush right for that gap and hit that trap, and though I know it'll probably only get a minor portion of the reinforcements at best, that'll do. They'll be bunched up, their advance stalled, and their thoughts momentarily split between what they planned and the sudden obstruction to that plan. That will be the ideal time to do something incredibly violent to the whole lot of them at once."
Niyut gives Garidan a slight smile. "If Captain Foramdar approves -- she pauses, lingering on the man's title to caution Garidan that they are no more in charge here than they were in East Gate -- then I will work such a trick. The courtyard could be a killing field with enough archers if they could overcome your trap."
She then turns to Leeza, "How many miles away do you think they are? Were their casters and champions among them? Do they come with siege towers and engines of war? Do they march in formation?"
As Niyut paused for approval, Gruskorb laughed quietly. Yes, they might have their ranks and banners, but we are the saviors they needed this night! He had been disappointed in the amount of currency among the dead, but he found no shame in the out-of-sorts elf eyeing him in his scavenging, the measured response in part why he found the half-orc's deference so entertaining. That captain is welcome to disagree with us and lose eight hands. How will he lean?..
In truth, the hobgoblin liked the ability to be contrary in action more than the execution itself in tight situations like these. Other than retreat, they really did need to work as a team - at least until this next wave was dealt with. And Garidan's plan is something I might have come up with myself. If those lips moved less sometimes, he'd be a decent counterpart...
He added to Niyut's requests for information. "Those approaching - is their pacing any different than these had?" The level of weariness in the group could help them look into their means of supply, a valuable thing in this everdark. And to think if they were nearly out of food and drink, a rout would render them starving then dead in but a few days.
The trick, as the rogue saw it, was less to win outright than it was to make this assault prohibitively expensive. Other than their crazed clerics, the chaff that breaks and runs will winnow themselves out of our hair. A few snares or pits should help us get to that point. And I have one particular trap of my own to add...
Leezzâ looks at the oracle and considers her questions a moment, "They are a distance from here and traveling slow across the cold, rocky paths. I saw no magic among them, but they are led by several riders upon large lupine beasts." She turns and looks back from the direction she came."No. I saw no siege towers or other large weaponry, but many were burdened with supplies. These dead gnolls must have come to harass the gates until the armies arrival. It was fortunate that you arrived when you did."
The thunderous approach of horselords led by Captain Foramdar draw the groups attention back to the present. As he brings his steed to a halt, the captain lifts the visor of his soiled helm. A wry grin crosses his face. "So... you're alive. Well done! When the alarms sounded that the enemy had attacked from the north as well, I thought your return was in doubt." He gestures in Leezzâ's direction, "And you've brought a stray back with you it seems. Quite capable from what our guard upon the wall tells me." He lowers hisses a moment from the snow elf in deference.
"The ogre has marched upon Earthenwork's main gates. They hold for now but the charm's of the gods' have seemed to have failed us since this... Shaping... as you call it. Their foul magic has brought the fiery power of the sun upon us," he continues. "Tell me, your news. Did your errand prove fruitful?"
"We call it the Storm -- for that is what it was for us. Others speaking of the Shaping, wherever we go. Strange it is to hear the same word on such different lips. But no matter. We have the Amber Key.
Garidan thinks we can hold the ruins of this gate with a trap. I believe that I might be able to slow or stop their advance to the north. I would dream a dream of power. I would dream of their deaths. However, my palace of bone would be defenseless while I work against them. Would you like us to try to hold this gate until you can summon a wizard or priest of the spirit of life to thrust walls of stone to fill the breach?"
Foramdar squints his eyes at Niyut as she rambles on about storms and shapings, but his mood quickly lightens as he hears of the Amber Key. "That is excellent news. The King has evacuated the lower city into the upper tier. The priests of Calladrym will activate the Circle of the Whispering Wind once they have the key." Hearing the report of the oncoming gnoll forces, he nods slowly. "With the King and the bulk of the army defending the main gates to Earthenwork, it will fall upon us to holdback the forces here. I have 80 men of Haemil with me, ready to defend the city with their lives... and we can protect your form as well if your magic would remove you to the spirit world."
After another moment of consideration, he continues, "Rhykal is with the King, but several of her apprentices are at her tower. Perhaps one of them could be of assistance with the repairing of the walls."
Niyut wastes no time. "Excellent. Have your men set up torches so that the breach is swathed in shadow. That will aid with my second part of Garidan's trap."
She turns to the nimble swordsman whose plan this is. "This working will take a lot out of me. Should it go poorly, I will begin to drown in my own blood. Watch my body. If I begin to die, please use a potion. Whether my dream is a success or no, I will return before they arrive to tell you what we face and give you time to make final preparations."
Lastly, she addresses her brother. "I love you. I can succeed. Please, while I dream, convince Malthazir -- once he has has summoned Garidan's diggers and heals you and Gruskorb -- to take the Amber Key to the priests. If the horse-lords have their people ready to depart, there is no reason to delay."
With her requests given, Niyut leads the animals into the courtyard a safe distance from where Garidan plans his trap and lies down. Soon her spirit is flying through the earth along the paths that Leeza had pointed to earlier. Once her naked spirit is beyond the sight of Haemil's defenders, she rises high into the sky and begins to hunt the gnoll battalion like an owl hunting mice.
The group follows Foramdar back inside the city walls to a guardhouse no more than hundred feet from the fallen gatehouse. As they proceed, the Riders of Haemil do their best to clear the battlefield of the bodies and rebuild a makeshift barrier from the rubble. The stern looks on their faces covers an uneasiness that is palatable.
Niyut gives her brother a long look before lying down and leaving her body behind. Traveling in the shadows she races to the northwest.
Let me know any other changes to your plan. If ready, I'll describe several rounds of activity until we hit a point that I believe you may change your plans or otherwise need to instruct me of your actions. I think trying to play out every round will be boring for the others. :)
Malthazir summons several earth elementals to dig large trenches that stretch over 150' before vanishing back to the Plane of Earth.
I wasn't thinking of contacting Leontil through snow. They are below the Great River, right? Using the paths that do not lead to the Pass of Shamet on the map? I wanted to know if he could use the river to erode the cliff above them to create enough mass loss to create a rockslide. If not that's fine. (Also the mage hand wasn't to generate enough force to cause a rockslide on its own but to find the pivot point where a small application of force could do the most good. :p)
Playing out every round would be boring to me too. I think we could use mathematical models to see how much damage she can do accounting for chasing and fleeing from people. We know her movement rate and we know theirs.
Whatever happens she is avoiding contact with that bear, the redmaned gnoll, and the archers with magic weapons. The moment they get into 60' of her, where their dark vision could find her, she is moving to a different point of attack using the earth to avoid detection.
Foramdar did not come-off as untruthful to Gruskorb, though something did bother him: "At her tower? Why? Is it of some strategic import"
Maybe their magic can reach farther than I expect. But maybe they aren't planning on giving the defense their all...
Their nebulous positioning was Haemil's problem though. His task would be to help this snare work well enough to slow any progress they would make to a crawl. Between Garidan and Niyut, a strategy was in place. He couldn't help shake the feeling something unexpected would upend that planning. Something always does
Querkus, what would you do if you felt this was your last stand to make in your home? Fight or flee?
Gruskorb felt he knew the answer, but the man hadn't been given the chance to fight.
With the elementals set to digging and Niyut adding her own special mayhem to the plan, Garidan alternates between keeping an worried eye on the comatose oracle and cataloguing the loot taken from the gnolls for anything useful. The coin and the longbow he sets aside, while the gathered arrows are handed off to a few conscripted members of the city's defense force for preparation in the trench; Garidan is so keyed up and tense that it doesn't even occur to him to seek Foramdar's aid or approval in this task, instead approaching several unoccupied soldiers directly for aid.
Unfortunately, his initial attempt at asking nicely gets him nothing in the way of assistance, and the swashbuckler--quite frustrated past the last few scraps of patience and courtesy left to him today--decides to be bit more direct and flat-out tell the guards to move their useless asses as he directs them to, or he'll cheerfully give them a personal demonstration of how he's been treating the gnolls of late. The swashbuckler makes it quite clear that he doesn't care if they run squalling to an authority after the fact, so long as they've done what he wanted, and to his satisfaction, first.
So, 5 rangers and 5 slayers dead.
Uh-oh! red-mane!
Just as you start to descend back into the mountains, the red-maned gnoll bursts into the area and fires a single arrow that penetrates your incorporeal being. The pain burns and Viosil shrieks. Back in the guardroom in Earthenwork, Truk'tosh snarls as he sees his sister's form convulse slightly.
Once Niyut confirms that they do, in fact have the weapons to harm her she takes a more conservative strategy when disaster is adverted only by the power of the spirits of stone. She remains within the rock poking and draining the feet of those she senses above. Moving around each round so they cannot hit her with readied actions. (Since how would they see ethereal fingers poking feet? Especially if she moves each round. They would more likely hit the gnoll whose feet she is bad touching than herself.) Given that this would mean she has only a 50% to hit, it would decrease the damage she deals by half. Much slower going, but also much safer.
Powerless to help directly, Truk'tosh dutifully guards his twin's dreaming form.
As the young swashbuckler barks a few orders at the foot soldiers peering over the wall, a growing look of discontent crosses the face of the ranking officer. Feeling his authority usurped by the outsider, he strides towards the unsuspecting Garidan. Yet, before he can reach the gatehouse, he catches the gaze of Foramdar who motions the officer over. A few quick words from the captain and the young officer nods and retreats back to the wall, encouraging his men to prepare themselves for battle. Foramdar regards Garidan for a while, before heading atop the wall himself, to see the elementals dig the trench before returning to the Plane of Earth.
The crow flies with its best speed towards the Circle of the Whispering Wind. Several guards and citizens take note of the strange bird, but the glowing amber shard in its claws brings looks of wonder and awe. As he approaches the Circle, he spies the clerics of the Tempest Eternal and circles them for several minutes before landing at the feet of a young priestess. The bright eyed half-elf smiles at the crown and bows as she reaches for the shard. "May the King's wind always lift your wings, my feathered friend." As the crow begins to take flight, she cocks her head to the side as if a strange sight passed before her. Shaking her head, she continues on and retreats to the main chamber several other clerics.
Where there is hope, a stand must be made. I would fight, responds the druid some where in the recesses of the hobgoblin's mind. All is not lost, and the memories of a world that once thrived may yet live again, I believe. Gruskorb looks to bear trap that floats by his side. It turns and opens it's iron jaws, bearing a wide grin.
As the large half-orc communes with the primal essence that drives his being, an uneasiness begins to overtake him. His hands fidget, twisting the grip of his axe in his sweaty palms. War is coming, boy! That much is clear, the impatient voice of Morgrym says in a scolding tone. How can you sit here so calmly when your sister strides toward glory? Call upon Mylesar! He must have taken notice of you by now... your strength, valor... hell, even the idol made by your own hands, have given him glory! Surely, he will taken notice and grant you his blessing... the dwarf's voice trails off in a series of profanities.
Niyut glides through the ground up the slope to emerge high in the cliffs above. Channeling the sorcery she has claimed, she bombards ice sheets with cracking, frozen blasts. Until, the ice sheets give way to bury more than two score of gnolls in the debris.
She then flits through the frozen jumble, draining the strength of those trying to claw their way to the surface.
Truk’tosh reflects on his partner’s warning.
I am a Champion of the Firebird. I protect and preserve. Mine is not the path of glory.
War is coming but I cannot beg Mylesar for his blessings. Your god asks too much. My spirit is not his as yours is.
Gruskorb respected the deceased's courage from beyond the grave. That would not have been my response.
He set his keen eyes and hands to work readying the defenders for the inevitable assault, though his mind wandered. I wonder how the hazards will interact with each other in person. It was an odd sort of dynamic, beings of immense power sitting around a table without command of armies or guilds. Loose agents despite which tabards they may wear.
Reassurance in his reverie was only found in the assumption they all wished the world the world to revert to a state fit to be fought over.
Too much?! Mylesar asks that you show courage in battle and praise his name as you strike down your enemies. For that... and that alone... he may bless you if the mood strikes him, the dwarf's voice shouts in Truk'tosh's head. Morgrym stews for a few moments before continuing. Mylesar is unlike the other great spirits of Midian. No tribute must be made... no blood sacrifice... no tithing or service must be made... no dedications... he demands little of his disciples but courage and strength... and you have an abundance of that.
The elven wizard watches the elementals carve out the earth around the northern gate with their powerful arms before returning to their home plane. He smiles broadly knowing that his talents are expanding at a rapid rate when he feels the surge of power in the essences he holds close to him. As if they knew their final resting place, the essences struggle to free themselves the the confines of his pockets. His eyes drift to the gnarled wooden staff he holds in his hands. The Sage Staff of Lorrynor. He wondered who last wielded its full potential.
I've never met a Hazard before the changing of our world, and now I've met three. I would hope that we will soon see how they interact. Sivantanpisil should surely have made it Talanor by now. Gruskorb felt the worry flow from his guest as they both think of a world now lost.
After a short while, Foramdar strides out of the rubble that once was the gatehouse. "Preparations are going well... or at least as best as they can, I suppose," he says to Garidan. "It won't stop them, but may slow them down long enough for us to take out a good number before they reach the gatehouse. When are you expecting the oracle to get back? From the elf's report, they can't be more than an hour away by now... I have rangers along the east bank of the river, ready to alert us of their approach" the captain inquires of the brash swashbuckler.
As they converse, a young officer comes running out of the city towards the captain. "Lord Foramdar," he says as he nods his head in deference before handing the captain a sealed envelope. Garidan sees the seal of the king upon note. As Foramdar scans the flowing script, his brow tights and his head lowers with an audible sigh. The young officer shoulder's hang lower as he feels his captain's worry. "It doesn't go well, sir, does it? May the gods protect..."
Foramdar extends a stiff arm, lying it upon the young man's shoulders. Then bringing him closer, the captain lowers himself to look him eye to eye. "The gods don’t protect people. That’s the work of men with sword and lance.” The young officer nods at Foramdar with a broad smile lighting up his determined face. The proud leader stretches tall and pushes his shoulders back, [b]"Tell the King that the Northern gate will be held. Once we have dealt with the gnolls here, we shall move to the Tower Lift and destroy it. If he should need to retreat, the Palace Lift will be the only way." The officer nods slowly and then departs in haste.
Turning to Garidan, Foramdar looks resolute then clears his throat to speak. "Lady Alessandra Thorne and the 1st Calvary have fallen in battle. The City Command now holds the main gates to Earthenwork while the last of the lower city has ascended the lifts..." He stares blankly up at the night sky. "I miss the moons. The world seems lonelier now without them," Formadar muses to no one in particular. Returning his gaze to Garidan, he is reminded of something. "I nearly forgot!" he says pulling a coin from his pouch. "It was Lady Thorne's bank coin that you and your friends found amongst our enemies on the plains of Haemil. It is now the property of Thomas, her young son. He was journeying to Talanor when the world was torn asunder. I won't see him again, but perhaps you will." Formadar hands Garidan the Bank Coin and makes his way back to the walls, barking orders along the way.
The first snowball crashes into the snow banks above the army of gnolls to little effect, but a second starts a cascade of ice and snow that gathers momentum and it races down upon Niyut’s enemies. The gnolls’ mounts are the first to take note, but it is too late for many of them. The gnolls begin to howl and scramble for safety. A massive giant groans and takes massive strides as well. Amidst the cries and yaps, the roar of the avalanche ushers in a great panic. With the back portion of their forces whisked away by the elements, the red-maned gnolls barks loudly. His voice booms like thunder and the others take immediate notice. Gathering what troops remain, he makes haste for the Great River and the advanced forces led by His priest. ”The horsemen’s city will be alight with fire when we get there!” he howls in gnollish. His followers cheer in delight.
Niyut glides through the ice and snow, draining the strength from the survivors. She had wished her plan would take a majority of the forces down, but this would have to suffice.
With aid from Gruskorb in finishing the trap's physical elements--the wily hobgoblin proves an invaluable asset in placing the assorted unpleasantness along the bottom of the trench to maximize the potential carnage--Garidan visibly relaxes and takes a few moments to rest. Only Niyut's particular addition remains, and he looks toward her prone body with a combination of worry and curiosity. Foramdar's approach halts his contemplations, and the swashbuckler considers the soldier's words before answering them. "Niyut will return when there is nothing more she can do against the gnolls," Garidan begins with a slight shrug over being able to offer no more precise a timetable. "That she has remained out this long, however, is quite encouraging. It means she has been, and is still, inflicting a meaningful level of harm and disarray upon them. It also means that they still approach, as she clearly has good reason to harry them so intently."
He's about to say something more when the pair are interrupted, and Garidan listens to what the experienced veteran has to say with an interested expression. He makes what he hopes is a suitably sympathetic expression upon learning of Haemil's newest fallen, though candor compels the young man to admit--privately, as he's not so foolish or rude to speak ill of the newly-dead, especially not to a peer of the slain--that the loss means little more than fewer able bodies to stand off the gnolls. The matter of the coin is a bit more interesting, and he examines it for a moment before tucking it away in a pouch. Who knows, Foramdar might well be correct in his assumption, and it costs Garidan nothing to at least keep it in mind.
As the last gnoll whimpers and releases his last morsel of life energy, the shadow of Niyut glances about. She tries to fix the place in her mind. Some of the gnoll elite had died here. Their magic bows trapped beneath the tumbled ice. Perhaps they could return here to have Malthazir's elementals dig them up.
She concentrates briefly to release her grasp on her shadow so that her body might awaken. Unfortunately for the oracle, something interprets her spirit in its transition back to her body.
"How does it feel, little sister, to reach out your hand to snuff the lives of my brother's slaves? Does it feel good? Does it feel divine?"
Part of Niyut fears that the ruby eyes and the hot-wind breath of the speaker of those questions. She does not understand how she can hear his voice in this moment between. But ever has she met fear with defiance.
"They did not go easily. They did not go quietly. If all gods have such trouble dealing with mortals, then no wonder you have all been shut beyond the Veil."
She feels the great spirit grab her ethereal substance and somehow squeeze before releasing her with a wicked laugh.
"You make mock of me, you defy me, little sister. Yet with each death you quicken. I wait for each life you take, collecting them like blossoms. You would deny me, little sister, but you cannot stop your own becoming."
With the great spirit's dire promise still reverberating through her, Niyut opens her eyes in Earthenwork and takes a gasping breath.
She looks up at her brother and smiles, "I have returned. I have dreamed of our enemy and I know their numbers."
Niyut sits up and brushes dust off of her silk dress that roils in the shadows. She looks around for Foramdar and sees him speaking to Garidan. Bracing herself against her brother she stands and walks to the two warriors.
"I have dreamed of our enemies and I know their numbers. I dreamed of an avalanche that culled a third of their numbers. Their leader has a red mane and wields a powerful, flaming bow. He sits astride a dire bear, filled to the brim with magic. Around him he has gathered twenty-seven rangers riding wargs. Each possesses a lesser ensorcelled bow. The remainder of their army is 106 rangers, sixty-seven slayers, two giants and five ogres. They come from the west and must ford the Great River somehow."
Malz holds the staff aloft with a mixture of fear and anger in his eyes. You will not resist me!
The Firebird warn of the dedication demanded by the Great Spirits. It is a singular purpose I cannot promise, Skaar thinks as his twin begins to stir.
But war requires risks... And in battle one often finds themselves forging bonds with unlikely allies. You say Mylesar offers his blessing to the worthy without bondage or servitude. How does a warrior draw his gaze down on himself and his allies? The horselords will need every advantage to endure what comes for them.
Empathizing with Querkus's unspoken worry, Gruskorb was nonetheless drawn forward by his handiwork with Garidan. This should be entertaining - at least to look at afterward if I can't see it during.
He questioned how many high warlords or priests the gnolls might send. Were it him, he'd feint from one direction and strike from the other, but the city's altitude made that difficult. Something that burrows like Malthazir's elementals would be the worse thing. Fliers would be troublesome too, but they could be shot at by archers.
Splitting from the talkative duelist, Gruskorb met with Malthazir to get some peace of mind. "Your earthy friends - you think the gnolls have things like that on their side? It'd be a problem if they bypassed our trench and had a tunnel to the city." He partially wanted to get a read on Malthazir's interpretation of army potency. "They use their magic to good results. What do you have planned this time?"
In any event, Gruskorb awaited the arrival of their forces with cracked knuckles and a keen ear.
Malz nods to Gruskorb. "It's possible, those creatures are not any sort of unique summons, and they can exist in other ways as well. I will plan on disrupting their backline with summons and battlefield control. I have a new spell in mind that I think is finally battle ready, a particularly vicious area of effect spell..."
As the elf takes a hold of the Sage Staff of Lorrynor, the shimmering essences in his possession begin to vibrate with excitement. Bursting from his grasp, they encircle the staff, dancing around it in vivid display of light. One after another slips into the staff’s core. Malthazir smiles as he feels the bond with the wonder growing, and he begins to feel its presence. He knows the staff’s wood is living and can faintly hear its history whispering softly in his ears. Stirred awake from the chorus of voices coming from the staff, Grunthrix, the half-orc bard, tenses and the elf shifts his focus a moment.
”It’s alive…” the bard says matter fo factly as though he was talking just with himself. ”It remembers and feels the pains of loss… and grief.”
Malthazir feels the pain as well, it swells within him. His heart begins to pound, and a feverish sweat overtakes the wizard. He opens his eyes, realizing that he has shut them tight, and sees his hands gripping the Sage Staff. His knuckles are white, and try as he might, he cannot relax the hold he has of it or the staff has of him. Light begins to fade and the sky grows dark for Malthazir. He looks back towards the northern wall of Earthenwork. The parapets are empty. No soldiers or workmen can be seen. He feels the anxiety that accompanies loneliness surge within his mind. He is alone and fading into darkness.
Looking to his hands, the staff is glowing brilliantly, golden essences dripping from the gnarled, carved head. The tendrils of ether begin to take shape, and he sees a elven wizard under attack by a host of orcs as a hideous laughter echoes in his ears. One after another, the orcs fall to the graceful blows of the Sage Staff. Amidst the battle, the diviner turns and looks back at Malthazir. Her eyes bright with shining light of the two full moons that linger above in the sky. Yet, the host of fiendish monsters do not not recoil. With an intense hatred that can be felt and seen, they continue their assault. Eleven more elves appear and take position to defend the wizard and her staff. Yet, one by one they begin to fall. Each giving their essence to the Sage Staff as it pulses intensely and receives their life. Finally, a massive orc emerges from the darkness and strikes the elven wizard down. She falls to her knees and consciousness escapes her. The few remaining elves rally around her still form, desperate to save the matriarch.
Yet, the orc’s blackened blade slices through the elves until only two remain. The smaller elf, a female in shining armor, kneels to fallen wizard and lays her hands upon the elder elf’s beautiful face. With a few inaudible words, she yields her soul to the ether, and the unconscious wizard begins to breath. Opening her eyes, tears roll down her cheek as the young elf takes a final breath and passes. Above her, the last remaining defender, a powerful and fierce elf, parries the blows of the commanding orc while cutting down his minions. Finally, as the elven warrior destroys the last of the orcs, their warlord cries out. A bolt of fire comes down upon the elf from above. Shielding the matriarch from its infernal power, the warrior succumbs and is lost.
Absorbing the last two life essences, the Sage Staff comes to the wizard’s aid and parries a killing blow from the hulking orc. Scrambling to her feet, she dodges and deflects strike after strike until the orc begins to tire. Finally, the wizard raises a hand, and a freezing blast of ice envelopes the orc. The wizard leaps into the air and comes down swinging the staff with a powerful cry. As the orc’s skull shatters into a thousand, forzen pieces, Malthazir awakes with a start.
He stands upon the battlefield, north of Earthenwork. The men of Haemil work to prepare for battle. The gnolls are coming.
Mylesar’s eyes are upon every battle field upon the world. He will see your deeds and watch in delight as you hew your enemies dow with your axe, Morgrym laughs. Wear your holy symbol proudly and call his name in battle when you need it. He will bless you and your companions!
"I have dreamed of our enemies and I know their numbers. I dreamed of an avalanche that culled a third of their numbers. Their leader has a red mane and wields a powerful, flaming bow. He sits astride a dire bear, filled to the brim with magic. Around him he has gathered twenty-seven rangers riding wargs. Each possesses a lesser ensorcelled bow. The remainder of their army is 106 rangers, sixty-seven slayers, two giants and five ogres. They come from the west and must ford the Great River somehow."
"This will be a night to remember... They will need to find a way to cross the river, that is true... I have forty horsemen that I can call upon. They can head north and stay concealed in the mountain road that leads to the pass. I would imagine that they will leave their archers at long range as they did previously. If one of you can illuminate the area, my riders can charge from behind when their ground forces... hopefully... fall for your illusion," the captain says with a contemplative look. "The question is who should be the target of our archers... the gnoll infantry or their giants? And where will that big red gnoll position itself... and the worg riders, where will they be? If they are in the back, they will certainly interfere with my calvary's charge on their archers."
He paces about a moment, then crosses his arms and bows his head. "We'll need to be flexible. Adjust our strategy once we see how they distribute themselves on the battlefield."
"My magic has limited ability to create light. Since you told us that Rhykal's apprentices are busy, could you send to the temple of the Sacred Mother? I would hope we could get a priestess strong enough summon a wall of stone from the earth, but even lesser acolytes could cast light spells on lances. Alternately, Garidan could you illuminate the field after the illusion shatters?"
"It is my hope that the illusion will draw in their giants and ogres. I suggest that our archers focus on whittling their numbers while my brother and Garidan strike down our higher priority targets. Their archers should not be especially relevant in the first moment of battle since the illusion will make it appear that there are few defenders remaining. Our archers should be well beyond the range of their dark vision. The ruined gate could be a useful choke point."
Gruskorb weighed Malthazir's description of his Black Tentacles spell in his eyes overtly. He is not like one of those dark mages, yet the power he has is like theirs.
"Haemil will have to accept that. You and Niyut would do well in the darker places of the world. Guess that's just about everywhere now though," laughed the hobgoblin.
As the time draws near that the gnolls are expected, Foramdar sends his riders north upon the Pass of Shamet, hoping to catch the gnolls unaware. Two young acolytes from the Church of the Eternal Tempest arrive and pay their respects to the captain before turning to the group. "At Captain Foramdar's request, we have come to assist in anyway we can. My name is Wülfwindt and this is Aedwynn," a well muscled half-elf says. He carries a gleaming bardiche in his hands. The young female next to him bows her head.
Malz looks upon the staff with excitement, then fear as the magic takes over. Blast...
As he wakes from the vision he gives a cry, sweat running from his brow as he swings the staff in a wide arc.
Hey, HEY! Calm down!
I...what...
You're here, it's alright.
They gave themselves...for her...
Deep breaths.
I...you're right.
With a deep breath Malz steadies himself. He dismisses any looks of concern with a wave. "Nothing, it's nothing. We have more pressing issues."
"I can create light, as can any fledgling magician." Malz offers.
"Focus the arrows on the smaller opponents. You're more likely to thin their numbers that way and as such lessen their offensive force, as a giant with five arrows in him is just as dangerous as a giant without."
"I am very useful at choke points, either closing them off or turning them into a killing ground." He offers the captain.