For a second, a dark look clouds the general’s face when he sees that he has lost. But it quickly gives way to a genuine smile and a low chuckle. “This is what I get for underestimating my opponent. It was the dragon that doomed me.” He stands, and offers a gauntleted hand to the hobgoblin, with newfound respect for the warrior. “Well played, Rolg. I will not forget this match.”
General Thunderhelm turns his gaze to the Stonebit. “Now I understand why you keep the hobgoblin with you. A cunning ally, to be sure.”
He looks down at the chessboard again, and shakes his head, before returning the pieces to the wooden box. “I would ask for another game, but I understand you have some pressing business to attend to.”
Leaving the board and box on the table, he reaches under his metal collar and appears to unbuckle a strap. Once loose, he pulls aside a metal plate from his chest to retrieve something kept under his armor. A dark, flat, irregularly shaped stone, about the size of a hand is revealed as he buckles his armor back into place. “Allow me to speed you one your way, so that we can at last begin this war in earnest.”
The black rock is inscribed with runes on both sides, polished by centuries of wear. He offers it to the one with Torag’s shield. “Do you know what this does? Presenting this stone to the official of the king’s court will keep you from waiting days to be heard by the king. You will get to speak with him immediately, though you will need to address all three for a matter this important. This stone will magically return to me in twenty-four hours, so you have until then to present your case.”
The dwarf keeps an impassive expression at the laughing hobgoblin's horseplay.
"Why should it? I've seen bugbears with better stratagem. You've yet to capture your first piece..." He says as he slides a rook forward.
The dwarf general repositions his knight around the pawn, and raises a look of amusement (or approval?) to the hobgoblin.
The general says nothing, though his smile wanes at Rolg’s answer. He turns his attention back down to the board, and squints at the moved knight. The dwarf takes on a pensive expression as he slides his knight forward as well.
General Thunderhelm’s eyebrows raise at the sight of the fine scotch. “A special occasion indeed! It is good to see a fellow dwarf of good taste. If you are truly feeling charitable,” he nods to the empty glass in acquiescence, “you will have my thanks.”
He takes the glass of scotch, and raises it to Bolgrith. “To your generosity, priest,” he then looks to Rolg, “and to the victor.” He absently nudges a pawn forward with most of his attention on the spirit in his hands. He sniffs, nods, and then sips. He pauses before swallowing, taking in the complex flavors. He gulps and sighs in satisfaction, and a hint of a content smile lies hidden under his thick beard.
If other whiskeys can be described as a kick with a burn, this particular scotch feels like a sledgehammer still orange from the kiln. In truth, the fumes from this scotch sting at the eyes when the glass is brought close. After the initial shock, flavors of peat and sea salt blend to oak and smoke, and then roll into a peppery herbal aftertaste. "Can you taste the lemon? The anise?" the general conversationally asks the civilized hobgoblin.
If and when Rolg finishes the finger of scotch, I’ll need a Fortitude save DC 15. Failure imposes a -2 penalty on skills based on mental stats, and +1 bonus to saving throws against fear.
With an almost bored expression, General Thunderhelm plucks a knight and rests it in front of his line of pawns.
The stone-faced dwarf pushes a pawn forward.
General Thunderhelm looks up at those not directly involved in the game. "If you are thirsty, should be some water downstairs in the mess hall. You might find a recruit on kitchen patrol who would bring up a pitcher and cups."
He nonchalantly moves a bishop one square.
The dwarf general nudges another of his pawns forward, with his eyes on Rolg for any facial expression that might betray the hobgoblin's plans.
General Thunderhelm peers at the hobgoblin. “Only if you swear by the mark on your shield that you will keep peace while you are here. If you try any treachery, Torag’s wrath will be the least of your worries.”
After the stern warning, his hard expression softens slightly when Rolg asks to be refreshed on the rules. “Of course. And if your companions see a beneficial move for you to make, I would allow such a suggestion. But once a piece is placed, the move cannot be taken back.” He outlines the moves of the various gamepieces, picking up each in turn. After describing the queen, he drops his black queen piece back into the wooden box. He brings out a small figurine, a black and fierce-looking dragon. “I will play the goblin forces. In exchange for the queen, Gartok’s dragon will be played as follows: the Dragon can move over other pieces like the Knight. Similarly, it must move in two L-shapes, but if the last square of the first L-shape (and the first square of the second L-shape) contain an enemy piece, the Dragon’s movement stops and the obstructing piece must be captured. This is a comparable disadvantage, no?”
“Given the lack of preparedness of this surprise attack,” General Thunderhelm gestures to Rolg’s white pieces, representing the side of the men and dwarves, “I will be taking the first turn.”
When the hobgoblin indicates that he is ready, the general plucks up a pawn on the end of the board and places it two squares forward. He leans back in his seat and watches Rolg think.
DG is updated.
General Thunderhelm listens, and replies briefly to Logan’s answer. “Yes, cutthroats and thugs, but remember that they are united by a hatred of man and dwarfkind.”
He quietly opens the rattling wooden box, to reveal a couple dozen game pieces. He centers the checkered granite slab and begins to set pieces on the board. “Let us exercise the strategic muscle of our minds. Young Stonebit, do you, or any of your companions, know the king’s game of chess?”
The dwarf general looks up from the game piece placement at the five on the opposite side of the table.
I hope at least one of you knows how to play, in real life…
The dwarven commander takes the letter and reads it as the Borderguard speaks. He frowns but continues reading at Logan’s mention of the size of the goblin army, and seems to be finished by the time the Stonebit names the warlord and his fire-breathing pet. At this news, he raises an eyebrow. “Were it not for your presence, I would be disinclined to belief the report of a dragon on Ytramond. But your envoy conveys the dire need of dwarven aid, if mankind is to survive this attack. Is it safe to assume that the hobgoblins have finally shown their true colors, and join their wilder kin in the onslaught?” With measuring look at Rolg, he turns and makes for a staircase, not waiting for an answer.
“Come. Let us speak of this out of the common area.”
His strides are deliberately slow until Logan is apace with the general, and as they climb the stairs with the rest of the adventurers in tow, General Thunderhelm asks, “Gut instinct cannot be learned from books, and often it saves warrior when facing a foe, in personal combat. It takes some sensitivity to expand it to a tactical application of legions and armies, but nonetheless it can be done. I would like to hear what you, Lieutenant Stonebit, would do if you had command of every man-at-arms, horseman, and warship of the Commonwealth to repel this threat.”
A Profession (soldier) roll will help come up with logistics and deployment, Knowledge (history) will recall strategies used in the past, and Knowledge (local) rolls will recall more details on what is available to use.
The dwarf officer listens as he leads them into an upstairs room. A few stout wooden tables and chairs stand in this small chamber, and by the presence of other high-ranking dwarf warriors, it seems safe to presume this to be a sparsely decorated officer’s lounge or study. A gesture from the general empties the room of the other dwarves, save for Bolgrith, and he wordlessly indicates that the five take a seat around a table.
Fishing out a single seat cushion for Coral, General Thunderhelm remains silent as he peruses a bookshelf. After a moment, his gauntleted hand pulls a hard, checkered square of polished granite out from between two tomes. On the same shelf, he retrieves a wooden box that rattles with many small pieces inside. He returns to the table with the granite slab and wooden box.
I’ll pause the narration there so he can react accordingly to Logan’s answer.
A few minutes later, a bulky but nonetheless stunted form of a warrior dwarf strides into the waiting room. Encased in full plate armor, a shield slung over his back and a warhammer hanging from his belt, the red bearded dwarf has a bearing of command and competence. By the sweat on the unarmored parts of his face, he most likely just came from sparring, though he does not seem winded at all. Under his steel helm, calculating eyes look over the visitors, and his gaze lingers on Rolg before speaking.
“I am General Thunderhelm of the Stormcall Isle. I understand you wish to speak with me.” He states, waiting for one of the adventurers to answer for their unannounced visit.
Don’t forget about the letter from the guard captain!
|
