(002) To the Ruins!

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
The party agrees to follow young Olaf's plan.

As the dusk light is failing, Olaf (wisdom 8) finally settles on a good spot to make camp.

As agreed, you push on for a further hundred yards and are about to double back to your elected camp site when Anwyn warns, "Look there!"

Out to your left some 70 or so yards, a group of hunched Man-like figures come loping over a ridge and scamper toward you. They number roughly as many as you do, and spread out in a wide line as they close. You see they carry round shields, spears and curved swords, though they do not brandish their weapons or cry out as if to charge you -- yet.

Neither party is surprised.

Dusk is almost spent. The others approach from your front and left, range 70 yards.

Please declare your intent.

[waysoftheearth]

tombowings wrote:
Rodrick readies his flail, prepared to *follow* an ally into the heat of battle. For now, Rodrick waits to see what the oncoming do.

[waysoftheearth]

billhooks wrote:
Victor lines up alongside Rodrick, with an eye towards keeping the majority of the strangers to our front.

[waysoftheearth]

TheMyth wrote:
Anwyn makes sure her bow is well-strung but does not nock an arrow.

She slips behind Rodrick & Victor (and any other Men who have their weapons drawn).

Once she is behind the Men, she scans the other directions to see if another group might be trying to corner them.

[waysoftheearth]

danhem wrote:
Ulric decides to err on the side of caution and begins his incantation of The Baleful Somnolence of Morpheus (aka Sleep) directed at the approaching armed figures.

[waysoftheearth]

makofan wrote:
Caine dumps his encumbrance at his feet, and palms a few daggers. He is ready to throw them if things turn hostile

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Rodrick, Victor, Dieter, Mads and Olaf form a line of imposing muscle protecting Anwyn, Ulric and Caine as the hunched-men lope forward in the demi-darkness.

Anwyn scans the flanks and rear but doesn't spot any further movement in the deepening gloom, while Caine dumps his heavy pack and rope and gets ready a couple of blades, and Ulric begins to invoke his magic...

Meanwhile, ten hunched man-like figures have drawn to a pause only 20 yards to your front, growling and cussing. In the half-dark you can see their gleaming yellow wolf eyes glaring from beneath helms, the steely glint of their ring shirts, and their clawed hands hungrily clasped about sword hilts and spear shafts.

By now Ulric has commenced his utterance in the unsettling Draconic tongue which Men were never meant to speak. The gruesome phrases are more hissed, spat and snarled than bespoke as he teases at an unseen web of mysteries with his fingers...

One creature, near the center of the line, demands in the common tounge with a nasal rasp, "By whose leave do you brigands roam these lands?" just as Ulric completes his spell, and (2d6 = 2, 1) three of the creatures along the line suddenly fall comatose upon their very feet! Their comrades hiss in shock "What sorcery is this?!", but the herald glares directly at Ulric and yells "Get them!".

[waysoftheearth]

billhooks wrote:
"Obliging of you to leave us something to do, Ulric," quips Victor, as he readies his morningstar for head-smashin'.

[waysoftheearth]

tombowings wrote:
Rodrick readies himself for the oncoming charge, waving his flair around to build up some momentum. "Hold the line guys. Don't let them pass."

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Caine flings a dagger through the dark air to meet the charging enemy and strikes with uncanny precion (1d20 = 18) even in the near dark. The enraged brute suffers a slash across his face (1dd = 2) for 2 hit-points, but is not slowed. Anwyn is almost as quick; she puts arrow to string, draws and fires in a flash, but her deadly missile only pierces a foeman's stout shield (1d20 = 12).

Two of the enemy hang back to hurl their wickedly barbed spears over the heads of their charging fellows. These missiles are aimed at Rodrick (1d20=14) and Victor (1d20=4), front and center of the line, but that aimed at Rodrick clangs loudly off his shield, and that cast at Victor is harmlessly under-pitched.

The snarling herald and three of his burliest men (including the one wounded by Caine) assault the wall of steel with curved and notched blades. Initiative is rolled -- Mads 1d6=6(+1), Victor 1d6=3, Rodrick 1d6=2(-1), Dieter 1d6=3(+1), Olaf 1d6=5, the enemy 1d6=3.

The impact is brutal.

Mads, Dieter and Olaf strike the opening blows (1d20 = 17, 3, and 5 respectively), but only Mads aims true in the cacophonous night-fight, his antique battle-axe -- a colder piece of dark -- strikes a staggering blow (2dd = 5, 6) of 6 hit points against the Herald's right-hand-man, but doesn't drop him.

The enemy reposte with feral savagery at the same moment as Victor attacks. Dieter finds himself against the canny herald, who hisses, "Sorcerers and brigands are not welcome here," as he fients, then lunges with frightening speed and strikes a murderous blow (1d20 = 17), (2dd = 3, 3) of 6 hit-points. Victor sees the fient, and anticipates the lunge, and swings his morning-star in a brutal arc (1d20 = 10) but clear misses his target in the semi-dark.

The herald's right-hand-man lashes back at Mads (1d20 = 7) though in his sorely wounded state his attack is little more than a defensive feint. The remaining two brutes target Olaf and Rodrick (1d20 = 1, 16 respectively). Olaf is too clever for his opponent by far (previously injured by Caine), and stays well out of harm's way, but Rodrick takes a ringing blow to the chest (2dd = 4, 3) for 4 hit-points, which but for Thuul's Grace may have been fatal.

At last Rodrick brings his unwieldly flail to bear (1d20 = 18) landing a perfectly weighted blow which crushes helm and splits skull with all the unstoppable force of Thuul's Mighty Heel (2dd = 6,6) 13 hit-points.