Garidan eyes the new arrivals with a curious expression before addressing them. "Not meaning any offense by this, but what can the two of you do in the coming fight? It would be wise to work out a plan that incorporates your skills while we still have time in which to do so." As he speaks, he occasionally checks what progress is being made toward what last-minute defenses can be assembled for the ensuing struggle, his left hand unconsciously twitching toward the grip of his sheathed rapier.
Niyut gives a very slight frown at the two priests. She doesn't trust any of the slaves of the great spirits, especially the one known as the King of the Gods. She had hoped for priestesses of the Sacred Mother. Of all the great spirit, it was she, that made Niyut feel comfortable and it had been she who had given her at least two blessings.
Nevertheless, more allies are better than fewer in these dangerous times. Smoothing her frown, she gives the two slaves a more friendly look.
"I must prepare the trap. Please excuse me."
Once the rangers spot the gnoll army crossing the river -- May they be swept away by its wrath -- She wards her brother and Garidan. She wishes she had enough magic to protect Gruskorb as well, but given his poor luck in the last fight she hoped her would stay back from the melee.
Weaving the shadows together, she covers the trap and creates illusory defenders taking cover behind equally illusory barricades. If one were a blood thirsty conquerer it would look almost inviting.
Niyut nods her agreement with Malthazir. His tactics concerning their enemy archers matches her own.
Not completely trusting of the newcomers, Gruskorb still did not think they were saboteurs with another cause. And if they turn-out to be strong enough to stem this tide, I'll be pleasantly surprised.
"We've had a good go if we don't come out the other side of this," he says to his companions, flexing his wrists. "Never thought I'd be doing this sort of thing - not even getting paid for it!"
The walls about him in their belligerence against the state of the world gave a serious overtone to the pending battle. It wasn't the number of assailants coming, but rather the idea these waves of strife were as inevitable as waves on a beach. In this new darkness and shaped land, everyone is testing the boundaries.
Gruskob had always been a boundary tester though. He just knew better than to break them and tell people about it.
"Wülfwindt and Aedwynn, hmm? If you've got any of those divine favors before we're off to meet them, I'd be happy to partake."
Before Niyut moves to set the illusions, she and her twin mutter incantations to each other. She clutches her petrified wand as it begins to softly glow a dull, angry red. Truk'tosh presses his hands to the cobble stones reaching out to the spirits of these mountains, asking that they strike against the enemies of those who shelter in their embrace. He pours the fire that his twin has summoned into the earths, reminding the spirits of the volcanic energies that had long ago thrust them into the sky. The glow from the wand passes into the stones which glows briefly and then disappears.
Waiting. Waiting to strike the feat of those who would profane these hallowed stones.
As the discussions of tactics and strategy unfold, Malz is preoccupied with a map of the area, occasionally adding his insight or analysis but mostly letting the experienced warriors do the planning. But as Malz glances up from the map he does a double take at the group, then freezes. <"Don't move."> He says in orc.
Malz slowly stands, eye burning intensely on...some piece of air behind Garidan. Suddenly he raises his hand and shouts "Clax rihlilg!" A green arcane symbol appears around Malz's wrist, and a similar if slightly larger version appears in the air behind Garidan. A strangling cry is heard coming from it, as if a wild animal was just caught by a bear trap.
Malz marches forward, brow furrowed. "Reveal yourself, devil!" Another strangled cry is heard as Malz clutches his fist and he directs the arcane symbol the ground, landing with a small thud. "Now!"
After Malz's command is repeated, the arcane symbol wobbles and a tiny creature appears trapped inside the symbol. Fiendish wings and a whipping scorpion-like tail lash from a red body, and a sharp-angled face with spikes resembling an uncomfortable crown look up in fear and anger. "Stop, stop! I did nuffin! I didn't do nuffin!"
Malz keeps his grip. "You were hovering invisible, listening in. Are you a spy for the approaching army? Or an underling of a more powerful devil?" The creature struggles against his magical binding for a moment before Malz tightens his grip again.
"Ahhhhh! Awight! Awight! No I'm not with 'em, I swear! I'm with you, I've been with you the whole time!"
Malz sneers. "Oh please, your kind are supposed to be good at lying. You're not even trying."
Leezza cocks an eyebrow at the imp as Malthazir argues with the little devil. Unalarmed she continues to listen to the tactical debates without much input or concern. Spending the majority of the time surveying the soldiers of Haemil, the snow elf flashes a subtle grin but says nothing.
Foramdar lays a hand to the pommel of his sword but does not draw the blade as he sets his feet upon seeing Malthzir wrestle the foul little creature. "What is this thing! It should be dispatched at once... and sent back to the void to be with its master!" the captain sas sternly.
Niyut makes a sign of warding off of evil spirits. She saw two possible explanations. First, it was the foul servitor of their enemies making note of their plans. Alternatively, Malthazir's interference with the veil that keeps the world of flesh separate from the world of the spirits had drawn an evil spirit like how flies are drawn to rotting carrion.
The first possibility is a short term problem -- though deadly -- while the second is a long term issue. The lore of her people claims that only tears can come from consorting with unclean spirits.
"An imp, the lowest form of...intelligent devils. Oh I intend to dispatch of it, after an interrogation."
"Stop! Stop! I told ya I'm not with 'em!" The imp struggles to get comfortable in the arcane bindings around its torso, almost comically struggling like a woman in a corset far too tight. With a exasperated sigh he gives up. "I'm Torenz! Well you call me Torenz anyways..." The imp scrunches up his face and seems to fold into himself, then feathers come out of his red skin. In a few moments he appears in the exact same guide as Malz's familiar.
Malz sneers. "Do you think me stupid? Impersonating my familiar is a paltry trick."
...I know this is kind of your area of expertise but where is Torenz?
Likely the imp has killed him by now.
Soooo...the imp has been spying on you but just now decided to kill your familiar on the off chance it was discovered so that it had a cover?
...not an unfair point.
"Aww look, I can prove it awight!" He twists around as best he can in the bindings, switching back to imp form as his belly protrudes over and below the ring like a belt too tight. "'member that orc that was sneakin' up on ya? I came down to warn ya and he broke my wing for it!"
Malz's eyes go wide for a moment.
I think you're right.
Wait, did you just admit I was right about something?
Don't ruin it.
Mhmm.
Malz releases his clenched fist and the arcane binding vanishes. The imp falls to the ground then floats into the air, rubbing at the sore spot around his midsection. Malz looks at the others staring and stands up strait, straitening his robe. "I apologize for the distraction. I will handle this on my own time." He looks at the imp. "Wy sudd zidc ikafz zmuw dizyr. Rypiul ul rijyl oarp." The imp gives a sour look before transforming into the raven form again and coming to rest on Malz's shoulder.
Initiative
Domain power use.
The air grows heavy as only the sounds a shallow breaths amongst the warriors of Haemil can be heard in the still of the night. Tension creeps over the northern gate of the grand city. Heads are lowered as every mortal struggles to hear the signs of an approaching enemy that is felt, yet not seen.
Atop the partially crumbled walls of the of gatehouse, Malthazir and Niyut look out beyond the bonfires that lit the battlefield. Memories of the recent struggle resurface and old wounds throb with a pain-filled memory of open war. The pari strain their sensitive eyes, but begin to makeup movement. It is then, they see the first sign of the gnolls among the dim light beyond the bonfires to the north.
Niyut concentrates on her most impressive illusionary efforts to date, marrying her magic with the essence of shadow. The trick is to catch the tattering edges of shadow as the illusion of the guards slips from her grasp every few seconds. It is a feat that she could not have accomplished before taking power from the gnoll bard. It was his magic that leaves the illusions whole for more than enough time to pull off the trick.
As she hides, crouching in the shadows of the wall, she hopes that her twin wards himself well.
Out in the darkness, a lone wolf howls. The echo of the lupine's voice carries over the gatehouse and the warriors of Haemil look at each other. With a furrowed brow and determined look they nod at each other, ready for the attack.
The archers along the walls with Malthazir and Niyut look out upon the battlefield but see no approaching army. One turns and looks at Malthazir. "Does your elven sight grant you vision of their approach? We see nothing." No sooner did the words leave his lip, that a silent arrow stuck his shoulder. All around the gatehouse, a volley of arrows crash down.
Most harmlessly strike the ground in the illusory trap, but several hit their mark.
Malz frowns at the loss of life, as it was an inconvenience. No. I'm afraid I failed to see that coming.
Malz moves up in the air, getting out of range of the arrows. Even invisible, with such a volley coming in he would likely to be hit accidentally.
Truk'tosh sags slightly after he and his twin finish weaving their magics, calling spirits of earth and flame to stand guard against the coming army. The resulting effect on the battlefield was impressive but taxing for the mighty Firebird champion. His connection to the elements was stronger than ever but like any muscle the big orc's growing bond with elements would need continued exercise to reach its full potential. For now, the field of tiny motes of hidden magma was all he could muster.
When the gnolls finally annouce their arrival with a volley of arrows, Truk'tosh is quick to work a warding spell.
With a muffled groan, the injured warriors of Haemil keep quiet as they were ordered. Only the quiet whisper of "arrows" can be heard being passed about the archers who further press themselves against the battlements. Looking about the archers, Malthazir and Niyut see that the word is slowly spreading outwards from the gatehouse. Many of the soldiers within the city walls, bring their shields above their heads to protect themselves.
Suddenly another volley of arrows sprays about the ruined gatehouse and surrounding walls. Niyut looks to the east as an already injured archer is pierced by another arrow through his neck. He collapses in a heap. Before she can stiffen up, one of her images is struck by an arrow and disappears. She grunts in disgust, as she catches the eye of another archer who leans from the wall to grab the dead body of his companion, when three arrows pierce his back. He stumbles forward and falls over the wall into the city... another lost archer.
Malthazir sees two of the archers on his side of the wall get struck by the volley. Looking down into the city, he sees the illusory pikemen raise shadowy shields to protect themselves, but the arrows pass through them. I imagine that the gnolls cannot see through this illusion from their distance. Let us hope that none make it close enough to see a volley fall useless before they rush the gate... the bard within Malthazir's head says dryly.
Niyut had never built a wall, nor had her village built walls of this kind. But, for city famous for its walls, she was rather unimpressed with this one.
Pressed against the crenelation of the walls, she frantically thinks, This stone should have a lip, so that one could shelter beneath it! Why aren't these walls enclosed so that people could shoot down from impunity but not get riddled with arrows themselves!? It's almost as if they want to be conquered.
Her thoughts are not exactly charitable, but in her defense, she doesn't being in the line of fire.
One of the illusions clutches his leg as an "arrow" pierces it and then takes another arrow through the "neck."
I need to draw them in, excite their bloodlust. Though, if they waste all their arrows, then that's a win too.
Garidan spends what little time remains before the fight begins checking over his equipment a final time, then resting. What he can do, or assist others in doing, he has, and so the swashbuckler decides to try relaxing some. He says little to the others, though the revelation of the unwholesome thing behind him by Malthazir does draw a few muttered curses of shock (followed by a few made in disgust when he finally realizes that is apparently a pet or somesuch of the elf's). Niyut's overheard request for something to add further depth to their defenses does get a response, as he digs through the party's meticulously-hoarded bits of kit and smilingly hands off six rather weighty sacks of stiff leather, whose contents clink and rattle loudly as the containers shift about. "Caltrops, picked them up in the Font back in Eastgate after those goblins were put down. Seems like the perfect moment to get some use of them," Garidan finishes with a chuckle.
When the call to assemble is finally made, the swashbuckler decides to make use of something granted by one of the essences he'd recently taken possession of, bending the magic within to his will in a way he only half understands, though the effect is unmistakable once the magic takes hold and links his companions, Malthazir's dubious-looking minion and--with their assent--Foramdar and Leezza in a web that allows for instant communication between them.
From his post at the center barricade, Garidan can only watch anxiously as the battlements get swept with periodic volleys from the outside, each taking a small but steady toll in blood and lives. Their illusion in the gatehouse takes fire as well, though most of the figments of the soldiers convincingly sell their reflexes and protection and don't go down as the real ones do. "Well, Niyut really is brilliant with that illusion magic of hers," the human muses idly in an effort to calm his growing urge to take action.
"There are many gnolls here... I see over two dozen gnolls and a pair of ogres ready to charge the battlefield. They stand just inside the darkness! Another fifteen rangers have lined up for another... well, now they fired another volley of arrows! Oh, and there is also five or six gnolls riding worgs." Torenz hisses at the group.
Moments later another round of arrows comes clattering down upon the gatehouse and walls. Two more archers fall from the barrage. They warriors of Haemil begin to look anxious as they see death come from the mountains for the first time in the history of grand city.
Torenz goes further in, searching for any kind of leader.
Torenz looks about and realizes that he currently flies in the midst of the greatest concentration of gnolls to the north of the city. With a quick count, he relays to the group that he sees more than two dozen archers and about twenty foot soldiers all about him. Further, just slightly southeast are another half dozen foot soldiers being commanded by the leader of a group of ten gnoll rangers riding dire wolves... and three ogres beside them. He can also make out a few gnoll archers directly east of him at the limits of his darkvision.
Lezzâ takes no action as she has yet to lay eyes on any gnolls, but strains to see anything from Torenz direction.
Malz quickly relays the information to his allies telepathically. Too dark for Torenz to see everybody, he counts two dozen archers and about twenty foot soldiers within sight. Potential leader of a group of ten gnoll rangers riding dire wolves... and three ogres beside them.
"The illusions look well enough, but worgs and their noses could give us some trouble."
The riders of the worgs Gruskorb hoped would usher them toward the pits which clandestinely awaited. A plethora of projectiles as the new precipitate in this endless night panned his thoughts to the death under the umbrella of silence. And their brethren keep their tongues. Well-trained.
Suspenseful as it was, this was more Gruskorb's style of strife. Well, minus the large approaching army. Quiet, clean ... but a bit busy. He waited for their approach at the threshold with Garidan. [i]"Say your prayers to the divines we don't end up like those archers..."[/b]
"Give us a target, elf! My archers can give them a volley!" grumbles Foramdar amongst the message recipients.
Yet, just as the captain asked his question another volley came dowun upon the gatehouse, killing another of the human archers and injuring several others.
One of the illusory soldiers takes an arrow in the leg, this prompts the other three to begin a slow tactical "withdrawal" from the gate area.
Yet more waiting, and Garidan curses softly as a particular detail of the battlefield finally becomes obvious to him; the fires beyond the wall provide more than sufficient light that he could have put his bow to use once the enemy started their advance. Nothing to be done for it now, however, and he goes back to waiting in a peculiar blend of anxiety and irritation for the gnolls and their allies to finally move in.
Wary of the hail of arrows, Truk'tosh calls another wind ward and waits out the storm.
Unsure where the enemy lies, the archers upon the walls of Earthenwork await Foramdar's command while the riders of Haemil look upon the empty battlefields ablaze with the light of the bonfires. The soldiers and archers that surround the intricate illusion, smile briefly with amazement but then refocus their concentration as the groans of injured comrades fill the air. The archers press against the battlements sure that another volley will soon arrive.
In the tension of the darkness, a howl from the north pierces through the hearts of the men and they take an step away. "This is it..." the Captain says to those upon the west river tower. Several rows of gnolls burst into the fire lit fields and race towards the gatehouse.
As the hill giant surveys the battlefield, he hears a whisper in his ear. "If you continue you will die. The enemy is laying a trap that will kill you. But if you fight your way out now you may yet live."
Malz continues to wait patiently. His time will come.
While he awaited the inevitable battle, Gruskorb sought the opinions of his visitor. "Tell me, Querkus - would you feel safer in these stone walls or in your grove? Those tall fires wouldn't fit so well there, but you might be able to escape it easier and save yourself."
The rogue didn't expect his druid companion to flee his home, yet being alive and able to retaliate had its advantages. And he should know that's what I'd do. Along with the rest of his group, Gruskorb imagined. The siblings might stick up for each other, but they're already out of a home here and don't seem too off about it.
Foramdar seeing the gnolls advancing shouts, "LOOSE!" A wave of archers turn and fire a volley of arrows at the incoming gnolls. As they charge the battlefield, one of the ogres slows his gate momentarily and swats at his ear as though a fly was becoming a nuisance. Overhead, another volley of arrows flies from the darkness and cascades down upon the gatehouse and surrounding walls, killing 3 more of the archers. The others look around at each other with a worried brow.
Torenz sighs that his deception failed, but just then the arrows come down upon the gnoll soldiers. Two arrows even strike the ogre to whom the imp had just whispered. He looks back at Earthenwork and flashes an invisible sign of anger with a simple hand gesture at the human archers.
Through the gap made by the missing gatehouse, Garidan can make out a mass of foes in the light of one of the bonfires, and he wordlessly urges them to advance and be slaughtered. Then a random thought occurs to him, and he quickly acts upon it by spending a few of the moments still available for such things securing his rapier to his person with the aid of the oft-neglected length of cording wounding around his wrist for just that purpose.
Niyut shakes her head imagining an alternative timeline when Foramdar ruined her plan. Instead, she focuses on her illusions.
The three retreating "warriors" slowly move deeper into the city beyond the range of sight and easy arrows. Their speed such that were a gnollish army to charge it could easily catch up with them and rend them limb from limb.
The fourth downed warrior continues to pump his dark life's blood into the earth.